“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
We can’t see much. Edward Newton stands in his usual green suit and he’s out doors, but that’s all we can see. The sky looks overcast, and rain appears to be on the horizon, but he doesn’t pay that much attention.
“And you’re dying inside, Mr. Van Chan.”
“Deep down inside your bitter, tormented, twisted little soul, Bruce Van Chan is beginning to fade away. Your morality has become lost to corruption. Your dignity was sold to vengeance for bargain prices and your integrity has been found wanting under the sheer pressure of your thirst for violence. Each passing moment signifies the slow and calculated death of every single thing you treasure. Do you know where it leads you, Mr. Van Chan? Because I do.”
He questions, shrugging his shoulders.
“Riddle me this, I have a name, but it isn’t my name. My weathered face shows signs of age. I always mean the same thing, no matter what I say. I’m born in mourning, and I last ’til the end of days. Men plant me, but I never grow. They run from me, but I never move. They look at me and see their future, rotting in the fields where I bloom and I never rest alone. What am I?”
“I don’t fear death so much as I fear its prologues; loneliness, decrepitude, pain, debilitation and senility. As your desire for revenge eats away at your soul, bite after bite, you suffer in silence. You stand behind two glass windows, watching the world pass you by; hearing the blood curdling screams of your enemies, watching as they’re destroyed by your uncontrollable lust for violence. You are alone, a decrepit out-dated philosophy forced inside your mind, locked inside a cage, debilitated and senile. Because of this, your broken mind is held together by glue and bubble-gum, just waiting to fall apart at the seams.”
Newton walks onwards, but the camera remains at head height, focusing on his face as we continue.
“You’re dying inside yourself. You’re rotting away behind those pale eyes and everything you once stood for means nothing. You have tainted everything you ever touched. Your wife, your children, they are but reminders of an unconcealable past, proven to be a façade by your own hand. They are dripping in deceit and fabrication. So, I ask you once more; what am I, Mr. Van Chan?”
“What am I?”
“I’m a Tombstone and I sit upon a field of death, weathered is my existence. I signify the end of life and you cannot run from me. I am your present, and I am your future. Inside that weary carcass, you have died a meaningful death and lived a meaningless life. Because everything Bruce Van Chan was has been lost to everything he’s allowed himself to become. You sold your humanity for vengeance. You gave up your family, for violence. At Invasion, you will give up your life in pursuit of victory – one that cannot be obtained, one that has not been obtained.”
We open up to the world and see a field of tombstones that Newton has been walking through. He grimaces, stopping at one stuck in the ground beneath his feet.
“There’s nothing left to teach you, my nemesis. You’ve wanted sleep, and eternal rest is what you shall receive. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
He bends over, reading from it.
“Here lies Bruce Van Chan.”
“Rest in eternal peace.”
Newton pauses, his eyes closing as he smiles.
“Now, you may sleep.”
Fade to black.