Regret, Frustation, Sorrow

Regret, Frustation & Sorrow


So the man drops to the barren floor in a wretched heap, illuminated only by a spotlight cast down upon him, and no one could've been blamed for expecting a Rowan Atkinson to get up and wander around aimlessly. He didn't get up. He's not Rowan Atkinson. The deed is done, irreversible. Self-reproach fills in the void of Uncertainty.

   The event is rewinded and played over and over. Possibilities, second thoughts, minute alterations of judgement are edited into the tape. But it all doesn't add up, it will change the ending. It can't change the ending. The ending is set, so says the Screenwriter. And this is deeply exasperating for the Director.

   Nothing more is done. He does not seek comfort. He had put in all his effort, he knows nothing more and nothing less than those who could console or berate him. The worst part is not knowing what else can be done. No one can tell him. Nothing more can be done.

   Inside his mind, he watches his alter-ego approach him.
   "Good grief... What are you doing on the floor?!"
   "Grieving... Drowning in anguish, wallowing in misery... Whatsit look like?!" came the reply.
   "Well, get up and off the floor then. Look at you. You look absolutely pathetic!"
   "Don't be daft! I can't mope while standing!"
   "That's the point ain't it?"

   Finally, after a moment of embarrassed deliberation, the man picks himself up off the floor. Feeling Certain, he carries on.