“A mother’s love will bring Hollywood’s glamour on stage for the most precious show of all.”
Watch the original version of Dancer in the Dark
Prologue:
Selma has always loved the magic of musicals. The grand harmonies, polished lyrics, and uplifting rhythm of the songs draw her in whenever she can hear them. Whenever she sings, and dances, and dreams along with the performers on screen, she forgets everything going wrong in the world around her. For as long as she can remember, she has sought refuge in this world of music and inspiration. But then a cruel fate loomed that would rob her of both her sight and the joy that music could bring.
Despite her financial constraints and her deteriorating vision, Selma perseveres, seeking to find solace in her musical tastes in even the darkest of circumstances. Her son shares the same genetic disorder and will afflict the same fate unless they can afford the surgery to prevent it. Selma is determined to secure the operation at any cost, knowing full well that it might be her last chance to complete her dream before consigning herself to permanent darkness. But even as she pursues that hope, a cyclone of assorted catastrophes threatens to snatch it away.
Chapter 1: All That Lies Ahead
Selma trudges toward her boss’s decision halted storefront under the grey skies, even as heavy raindrops pour through glittery leaves showering behind her. She meets Jeff, her boss, nodding derisively towards her, an indication of what lies ahead of her. Before offering her tea, he presents a document and reads intently through and Selma’s face immediately falls as her dream deferred holds dust on the self till the surgery would be catered for. After some entirely unpleasant exchanges whipping her calm frame uncontrollably with memories about her sickly son filled her head like cloud monsters OHH why is the universe against her folding her world inside out sobbing wriggling on the pages of protocol amidst the efflorescent flowers.
She clenches her blindfold by her trembling hands, crashing after the staggering bumps into walls preparing to go back into the hallway, emotion rubbing deep pain into her bones. But before Selma staggers put of Jeff’s, Selma overhears a couple of construction workers she had worked day and night with plotting a crafty scam involving her boss. Selma is tempted by the idea that given small infusing sabotage seeds into the construction work, money might arise. With the debilitating future dropping over her head anyway, the risk seems worth taking with which she strides into a closet and eavesdrops on them carefully, pen and papers at the ready.
With each day drift by creating a dwelling once infested armchair more ragged, gripping her fate in gnarly fingers with her partner deceased and her son’s sight fading drawn curtains flow through insubstantial memories until music begins lifting off to an ant’s marriage twirling rhythm wrapping herself some vanishing temporary relief She waltzes round a dreary four-walled cell of blurry stationary gears usually letting her feel dry in certainty that repeating tune will soon disappear. Selma entertains the joy and flavor of the once sought-after aura created with her rhythmic moves as the guards ignore her dervish acts with little bet stifled giggles while some are annoyed. Selma Savers saving the day’s only beacons of reliability and progress popping one glass drop at a time replaced with worn-tasting tea each window to see better days through. From behind concrete, weak photography lived in tranquil relics, dullness, and pale condolences safeguarded Selma’s mechanical aspiration.
Selma fixes he instant coffees blend and then waits to brew in her calm moments. For these minutes every morning, Selma finds a way to make everything fade away, a feeling having learned to pause the chaos swirling about her. She persuades her tumultuous thoughts to hover where they belong for a chance to imagine how could it have happened. Amid all this music still exists within Selma and still helps her lift away from the monotony of her current life. It was the only reliable place that given to people with nothing to cling onto can have companionship if only fleeting.
As evening came, the guard with his jolly checked shirt entered placed his new bucket and mop smoothing out the corners of every smallest feeling telling Selma of the ways soldiers getting clean were the reasons their future is guaranteed before barreling out proclaiming songs provoke memories as an opportunity to finalize his remaining weekday films complect hands interlocked.
Forlorn Selma gazes after his lonesome withdrawing thrust, once there the guard committed facing her twisting her life stories and reminding her of occurrences she would like to keep cover with cold piercing remarks tonight leading her towards a course of memories delaying in her thoughts will she overcome through all of her farniated paths crippling her endurance.
A few minutes later, lacking poise, she awaits non-existent melodies to swirl to expand radiance via her dried flowers kept on the mantelpiece above her deep-repaired grandfather’s clock even long probably quiet holding a faint copper glow, lovingly arranged by her and her father during Summer. There, surround lounged Salma surrounding herself with records jumping mischievously jugs under the spreading town talked heavily so adroitness at unheard heart verses full of busy expressiveness.
Dragged along to that corner – always kept empty in vain-knees ache pausing long enough wrapping tendrils, various records made by mother and father upright and above dust make dullish galaxy stretches putted on repeat- familiarity pervading in a more jaunt-driven way enchantingly the one window harboring recent favorite bursts sweet-release harping the note that since history becoming captivating and eeriness started way onward- Selma wonders, why veer into events coming from unfamiliar imagination conveying yet again of beginning to sob bringing hard sadness with unstoppable shedding occurring she edifies her glowing-gazed lovers to exude feeling after forgotten feeling. Clearly overpowered vibrating magical themes echoes and burns once and for all contributing to come and stay beyond her rehabilitation.
As soon as she empties the fresh morning coffee, the nights for charm ebb sweetly its notes wrap along until uneven, a sacrifice increasing her aches as midnight progresses rolling waves beat, little by little populating unclassified silence unlocking content sparkling from sheer happiness accompanying fun connections, humming insubstantial lovely multi-Queen me belts or starting over day. Now since caught often, rhythmic frames of emotion filling Selma, given time other passages faded away becoming extra difficult to remember.
With ghostly silences during quiet nights, desirous blending, smoking up loose records hardly fetching air long enough to fix any conceivable past haunted Selma for months. It seems like time is tearing Selma apart piece by piece. Still, Selma persists, moving forward on yesterdays somber thrum, sure that someday she will find a way to lift beyond the permanent darkness threatening to engulf her.
Chapter 2: The Epiphany
Selma’s mind whirled as she sat on the bench outside the courthouse, waiting for news of her fate. She couldn’t believe that she had been set up like this – betrayed by a friend who had pretended to have her best interests at heart. As she sat, she couldn’t help replaying the chain of events in her head, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong.
It had all started with Bill, a homeless man she had met outside a diner. Selma had always been kind to the less fortunate, and something in this man’s eyes had drawn her to him. They had talked for hours, and Bill had shared some of his insights into the workings of the criminal underworld. He had told Selma that there were ways to earn money without resorting to petty crime, and had promised to help her find work that would suit her talents.
Over the next few weeks, Bill had introduced her to a group of people – lawyers, businessmen, entrepreneurs – and Selma had felt her spirits lift as she saw her dreams of a better life coming to fruition. She had poured her heart and soul into everything she did, working diligently to show these people that she was an asset to their organization.
And then came the day when they asked her to run a simple errand – to deliver a message to a man who owed them money. Selma had thought that it was just a small task, and had agreed to do it without hesitation. But when she had arrived at the designated location, she had been handcuffed and brought before a judge, accused of money laundering and drug trafficking.
Selma had protested her innocence, explaining that she had been set up, but the judge had been unimpressed. He had talked about the seriousness of her crimes, about the damage she had done to countless lives, and had sentenced her to three years in prison.
Sitting on the bench outside the courthouse, Selma broke down in tears, wondering how her life had come to this. It wasn’t just the prospect of spending time behind bars that frightened her – it was the thought of losing her son. Bjorn was her everything, the only thing she had left in the world, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from him.
Suddenly, she heard a voice at her ear. “Hey, you look like you could use a cup of coffee.” Selma glanced up to see a man standing beside her, a kind smile on his face. He was tall and lean, with shaggy brown hair and a scruffy beard, and there was something about his eyes that put her at ease.
“Thanks,” she murmured, and the man led her to a nearby coffee shop. They ordered two cups of coffee and sat down at a small table in the corner.
“My name’s Jack,” the man said, extending his hand. “What’s yours?”
“Selma,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem,” Jack said. “You looked like you needed it. Tough day?”
Selma nodded, and without really knowing why, she began to pour out her heart to this stranger. She told him about her struggles to make ends meet, about her dreams of a better life for her son, and about how everything had gone wrong.
As she spoke, Selma noticed a look of understanding in Jack’s eyes. He seemed to know what she was going through, as if he had been in her shoes once. And when she finished speaking, he said, “I have an idea. Maybe I can help you.”
Selma raised an eyebrow. “Help me? How?”
“I can’t promise anything,” Jack said, “but I know a guy who owes me a favor. He’s a private investigator, and he’s very good at what he does. Maybe he can help you prove your innocence.”
Selma felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since her arrest. Proof of her innocence – it was all she had ever wanted. “Do you really think he can help me?” she asked.
“It’s worth a try,” Jack replied, giving her a warm smile. “Let me make a call.”
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Selma hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should really trust this man she barely knew. But then she thought of her son, and of how much she wanted to be with him again, and she knew that she had no other choice.
Jack finished his call and turned to Selma. “He’ll meet us here in half an hour,” he said. “Let’s hope this guy can help us.”
Chapter 3 – “Conspiracy Theory”
The eerie silence in the dreary prison cell pierced Selma’s ears like a shattering glass. She shuddered under her thin, lifeless blue prison uniform, which had become her attire for the past few days. She would have tried to escape, but the place she was in seemed to have life-altering effects on her. She was neither sure why nor how long it would take to be free again.
Selma had met this good Samaritan while busking on what was previously a friendly neighborhood, and they quickly became friends. She had believed that the person felt genuinely supportive, disregarding her insecurity around possessions. The two clicked with each other, which became comprehensible for Selma, based on the understanding between them.
Now that Selma was here, locked up behind those coldly grey concrete walls, she was a fish out of water. Why had they concealed what was decent from her when helping her? The exasperating mystery stifled her. Her roommates appeared to loathe her on first sight, based on how they shoved her away without prompt when she endeavored to ask accommodating questions about them. There was no need for her to get into bad terms with these fellow inmates who already knew their way around the territories within the jailhouse.
Thinking of her son, Gene, who was a carbon copy of her, whom she had left with a perfect woman during her imprisonment, Selma pulled herself from the recollections of the guileless past before the tripwindy roads became the streets of cul-de-sac.
“You might want this more than I do, dears.” Piecy, whose mates had not to offer just her but themselves as well in the course of the trial, seized the abominable thing that Selma didn’t have at recognizing at first.
Piecy handed Selma a meal tray brightly illuminated with sludgy liquids and crusty bread, making sure Selma wasn’t given a passive earful.
“Th-thank you.” Selma clenched down whatever there was in her cold stomach, secretly belittling Piecy and her sidekick to being cased losers whose sentiment was tied to suppressing others. Having had a series of near-missings on clinical trials, Selma’s faith took a colossal baton losing her vigilance along her endurance to prison that made all the losers seem invincible to her.
A rebellious part of Selma’s soul wished aloud that she had not trusted anyone, yet handed the keys of her heart over to those loaves to be shattered to full blades every time.
Chapter 4: Born a Criminal
Selma was used to her monotonous life in prison. Ironically, it brought her a sense of peace in a twisted way she never asked for. But one day, her new bunkmate, a spunky and talkative woman named Janice, decided it was time to shake things up in Selma’s life (as far as a prison existence can be shaken up), and asked Selma to share her story.
Selma hesitated at first, but Janice was good company during those long, workless hours. Selma recounted the tale of how she ended up in prison, tears streaming down her cheeks as she finished her story.
Janice hugged her tight and casually asked, “Well, do you miss your life before?”
Selma looked up, tears fresh in her eyes, “What life before? The closest thing that came to defining me before this trial was rehearsals for the community theater.”
Janice raised an eyebrow, half in amusement, half-seriously, “Hmm, you were really all that involved with theater? Maybe I missed a Tony-winner being in my presence.”
A spark crossed Selma’s face through her grief, slowly rounding into a grin, “Music kept me sane, even making little tunes for myself in my head. I heard one from a kiddie show that I haven’t forgotten though.”
Janice raised both eyebrows now, “Oh yeah? Well, you tell me your showpiece and I will work out a routine we can perform with it anyway,” there’s a hint of difficulty, even with the amused upwards twist of her lips.
Selma hesitated – it was a long time, she thinks to herself. “Ah, Janice, do you save your sarcastic wit for your bunkmates only?”
“No worry, The Black Empress is notoriously understood by few-and-far-between, yet celebrated by everyone in this jail.” Janice exploded her hands, turning her face briefly to the ceiling before shifting on the covers, looping a finger suggestively.
Selma smiled and slowly lifted herself out of the bunklike bed, tip-toeing to the lower levels of the prison, with Janice tapping a makeshift drum behind her.
Chapter 5: Blackmail
Selma sits in the corner of her cell with her knees pulled up to her chest, trying to shut out the noise of the other inmates. The woman she punched in the beginning now has an army backing her, making life unbearable for Selma. One inmate spills a cup of tea on Selma’s lap, another throws food into her cell the food. Selma manages to clean herself up despite the mockery of the inmates.
The next day, Selma wins a skirmish in yard games, without knowing what the win entails until the leader of the clique approaches her to make a deal.
“M/M,” the blond haired woman cocks her head “Interested in mediation and selling out,” her yellow teeth burned through Selma’s patience.
“How can I help?” Selma replied warily, keeping a respectful distance just in case the woman makes moves on her.
“Pay grade on nuisance tax daily $5, so go and get me half payment now if you want to avoid future torment in the pen, got it?”she grinned like he just won paintball games before tossing a vanilla waffer into Selma’s faces.
Selma watches the woman retreat into the sea of prisoners, the humiliation burns like acid on Selma’s skin, why did offers like this have to come up when she is helpless? She takes a calming breath, she knew very well what this desperation could lead to.
Selma things it over but what do you do when you’re stuck in a prison cell? What can she sell that will make half of the $5 amount? What happened to Princess the chubby dog she once took photos with, and Mr. Popp, the tax representative?
Feeling trapped, a stack of girls blocks her view, “Look at all that commotion!”
Selma peers out of her cell to see that Maria, a seven months pregnant mother, had collapsed. Her former aggressor, Simone, was on the other side stoking the fire, screaming “She deserved it!”
“This is terrible.” Selma murmurs falling back, looking at the prison’s stained walls as her mind races, “I must find a way out, and if… if it means resorting to something I’m not comfortable doing, so be it.”
By the end of the second day, there she sat again figuring out how to escape the beatings, before bed arrives though, someone special arrives.
A note left on Selma’s floor, just about an hour after, picked neatly from the bars.
“Meet me at the third door on right corner, tomorrow morning, 8 o’clock sharp.”
The ball of in her stomach tells hear maybe, just maybe, there is a way out of here without breaking more of herself than she has to.
Chapter 6 – New Deal
Selma never thought she would be granted freedom. Getting bailed out of prison with condition and requirement may not be the best news ever, but it is better than none. Security is one of the standards upon leaving the detention facility, so Selma enlists a prison friend who knew the legal system as she humbly requested for help to ensure she understands every term and concept of the deal.
“Look Selma, I already took care of your documents and identity change. Saedi and Albrecht called me to get you – they made the deal a few days ago to bail you out,” Niels clasped Selma’s hands in support, “but know that if you mess with them, you’re breaking the pact rules; you’ll fall back into the corrupted system with no way out. Listen to this Anton Aven where you will get these details.”
His offer was risky, of course, taking into account all that they have been through in the corrections department, as well as their distinct viewpoints, social status, and positions in the establishment. But freedom had come at a cost, and she had not many choices available to her. With a hesitant tone, Selma replied, “Thank you Niels, appreciated…bless you. Maybe after all these years, someone just signed up for good karma like you,” a small kiss on each of his cheek for kind behavior.
Though she tried to cover up her emotions, Niels understood her agitation about facing the real world as she has been concealed from society for over a decade that any active progress or advances of the global 21st the exterior world holds uncertain if she is capable enough of accustoming what lies ahead life. As a parting note, Niels emphasized strongly enough that is committed on this deal.
***
Selma was nervous when she saw Anton Aven. She wears a long brown coat with high heels that echoes, with elegance in every step. Upon entering the room, she noticed that Aven didn’t pay much attention to her at first glance.
“Do you agree to the terms and conditions of your minor bail from your sentence? Ms. Ježková?” Aven asked straight to the point.
“You know it would not be a situation of voluntary self-acceptance even if I don’t want to accept.” Selma manipulated both her unease via her dry humor and her acceptance of ‘crooked redemption,’ “So tell me what I need to comply with to stay free?”
“You are aware that you will have to serve ten months working at any car industry of the sponsor’s disposition: Midnight Mechanics for all the victims or affected they have killed, but more specifically to Albert Elbrecht – The Dark Lord?” he gestured to his hologram monitor of the necessary documents already to proceed.
“I have to work for the man who put me in jail? Based on your remark, it meant that he’s killed people or has something gruesome along those sense if we’re one both the same page?” Selma grabbed the stack of paperwork Aven asked her to sign, including a solid explanatory memo with bullet list rules more than twenty-seven pages.
“Not just it, mind you. Saedi Corp wants Monroe Industries.” Anton finished with a smirk.
“What do I need to do?” She whispers.
It took days for Selma to catch up from the very alien world, but she has adapted for the complete opposite now happened where her unusual place of beginning making her, in a way, indifferent to her new objective that when she got Elbrecht regarding the condition asked for discharge obligation, he gave her projects that were brief but feasible, according to Elbrecht, Selma looked frail: checking numbers from related box beats and codes for Saedi data entries never was her forte.
Her short-time co-workers suspected her that Selma may be hiding what her tasks consisted of with Saedi she likes to sit and observe unimpressed rolling a pencil in her finely manicured fingers. But morning delivered an unusual incident: a customer requested payment ID rejected for thousand Almar’s steeds.
Usually, it would’ve offered requests to be passed at someone else’s queue instead and caused less troublesome blunder labor. Yet Selma wondered if she could try despite its determination because an overly cautious “they could have hired anyone else,” she didn’t want to let a single penny going on missing as she went on to find out its interception because as she learned “anything practiced in good measures will collapse together well since life seemed impossible so we better hold onto our sanity if that’s okay?”
***
The months of paperwork with numbers and organizing sequences passed unnoticed for Selma through overtime, sometimes socializing with the individuals humanizing practice involving ‘active listening.’ She does learn how to decode spending documents during these mild recurrences: nothing shows complete horror or dealing with any code effects considering her circumstances before.
Working beside the murderers of the people and losing her sight grows evident daily; she pushes herself over her limits pre-transforming last-minute covert enemy entity Krost because of how easily the labels could get messed up. Against her wish, not to mention basic human decency, the memory of Niels, and the darkness of disgraceful folks – Elbrecht and Saedi progress rather favorably.
At some unfortunate notion, she felt either a more primitive spirit or common mercy in these precise positioning roles, heard ones reuniting only expressing courtesy due to religious culture from Niels: Selma needed no judgment or surveillance here, and they respected it. Yet, with all the considerable outcome she accrued, the consequence had taken its toll: every sweat and dedication paid so much better divided accommodated to other innocent co-workers compared to one deserving punishment to no ethical jury hiding that discovery stage for respite using nearly ruined her.
Chapter 7: The Liberation
It takes some time to get herself accustomed as a free woman out of prison. Now willing to confront reality, Selma has not even decided how to make space for her new beginnings. However, it sticks in her mind not only to clear matters before anything arrives as surprising texts or intruders, but to dare taking a confident grip of her life. She may be able to hide her blindness, but it seems reasonable now to come up with a plan that might help her eliminate the small amount of debt off her son’s surgery issue.
Selma asks Steven if he has heard about a money-laundering issue which repeatedly pops out in headlines, and which connects to assets that might be easily accessed. In the wake of Steven refusal to get herself involved as Selma fixes tensions mounting up, fine-tuning plans, daring to tread in deep water with an expected confidence splinters, Selma does the unexpected.
On returning from the interrogation and trials on the land rights issues, Steven retrieves a pizza receipt nearby. Hazard or bless, Selma has been quicker than ever on one path that concerns our hero, Steven. Selma, attempting to compel Steven’s partner to get himself in traps brings things to light, and views from both sides are provided. Far from throwing Stanley’s confidence involuntarily to some corrupt, exposing people that function clear expectation for her chance, with full persuasion Selma prepares for the expected move.
Selma stepped inside of Cheryl’s district while analyzing her target’s shortcomings. She eventually unearths the deceps, trying, to sum up all she has gathered as well as what she reconstructs about the laundering scheme, imparting them in different and passive moments upon Brad and Cheryl. Curiously becoming additional objectives, unchin high knots, the second nature that distinguished her emerges at times, coloring her actions for a motive carefully embarked.
The lightning across the sky confirmed Selma’s form of intervention on Cheryl and presented her with the support and the ‘unavailable responses’ to go into distinct sociocultural differences of Brad from the standpoint of line, deal with transitions hardly detectable. Selma’s unparalleled tenacity and the face-to-face impact built a rock-solid synergy right then and there.
Nothing is as indestructible as Selma meant when he mentioned defeating their little alliance. Still, during their invasion, offering Stanley stealthy moves and disclosing personal liability clauses, sent Barbara to gain exclusion duties, and solicited in-depth sourcing using her blindspot. Stanley remarked by lauding her rare breed invention instantly so Selma pressed her partners with entrepreneurial road-mapping expertise to loosen the trust box Cheryl has outlined for herself.
Less interested requires truly, selfish desire tempts the fellow marketers as they delve into uncharted territories.
Selma winds up narrowly dodging security, accidentally leaving her phone in the clinic while rapidly trying gather all she can, then escaping. Uncaring guards dismiss her inconsistency when her given plea on returning to the outpost fetches up on notaries people feel deserve women in Iraq regardless of what side they support.
Selma reflects moral scrutiny to unveil potential economic solutions apprehending near-term targets a moment then immediately reassessing herself, getting ready to lay critical questions unanswered – initiating the motive accompanied the woman everywhere but she confidently exchanges presents all around with Peculiar Jim. What an audacious change!
Chapter 8: Intermezzo with Tragedy
Selma had done everything in her power to gather as much money as possible to cover her son’s operation costs. She tirelessly worked long hours at the factory and managed to save up enough to pay for the medical bills. But her troubles were not over just yet.
The fateful day of the operation arrived, and Selma’s nerves were on edge. She looked at her son’s face and squeezed his hand tightly as they wheeled him into surgery. Selma’s eyes welled up with tears as an overwhelming sense of despair settled over her.
The operation took longer than expected. Selma was starting to panic, and she could feel as though something was terribly wrong. She tried to keep it together, but deep down, she knew that something wasn’t right.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctors emerged from the operating theatre. But their solemn expressions told Selma all that she needed to know: Something had gone terribly wrong.
The doctors explained that during the surgery, they had encountered unforeseen complications that made it impossible to recover her son’s sight. Their efforts to restore his vision were to no avail, and he would continue living with the same issues.
Selma was numb with shock and heartache. The thought of her son growing up blind was too much to bear. After they sent her home, she sat there, brokenhearted and consumed with thoughts of what to do next.
A loud knock on her front door startled her out of her grief, and she opened the door to find a group of people standing on her doorstep. She thought that they were from the factory until they introduced themselves as the local mafia. Ms. Petrovsky, the leader, initiated the conversation.
“Greetings, Ms. Selma. It’s quite an honor to meet you. We’ve learned that you’re on the verge of a dire condition where you’re struggling to provide for your child, due to recent devastating events. We thought you might need some assistance,” said Ms. Petrovsky, feigning her niceness.
Selma was apprehensive but listened as the group carried on, impressing her with their lavish offers of payment. But Ms. Petrovsky’s solution to Selma’s problrem was not what the latter expected. From then on, she would have to do certain acts of crime to pay back their loan. As they departed, the message was clear: “Pay up or else.”
Within the next few weeks, Selma’s whole world turned misty, a vivid scarlet prism of grief and self-disgust. She felt an open wound on her soul as she tidied up the muddy courtyard garden surrounding the dilapidated apartment project where she lived, swept up garbage in the gutters in the light of day, and banged pots fiercely at work. For most of the time, she made mistakes from exhaustion but pushed on by the colossal responsibility of raising an indivisible blind son.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and Selma threw herself into working even harder at the factory, taking any extra hours they offered her just so she could pay her body loan shark over time. But with Selma’s additional working hours, her fatigue became increasingly evident. The pressure of everything weighing on her marriage grew intense.
Selma’s husband, Jeff, never received her attention since the loan shark’s inclusion in their increasingly fast-paced life habits. He had moved out and rarely ever visited her and her son.
As days pushed on tumultuously, Selma no longer considered devouring a fistful of raw fork pasta late at night. She could not even bear the pondering of the pasta she served continuously pressed under swelling loans that emanated from an absurd figure, recently formulated greater by danger.
Selma was running downhill into a way shelter of self loathe, lies, grief prompting uncontrollable depression, until an aspiring detective Olivia Bane who had taken the habit of conversing with Aunt Cathy noticed something amiss. Aunt Cathy worked at the lending company that processed these body loans, and they selected cards stacked against low budget families without another trying rock outlet. She rang Bane, telling her everything that Syktsky in Newark informed her about Selma. The apprehensive Olivia went out of her way to contact Selma the seamstress for questioning.
Selma cried while holding a backed-up phone receiver, listening intently to Olivia on the line updating her on progress conclusions of Aunt Cathy’s phone snitching backdrop quips. Olivia presented Selma with a possible solution though entirely debatable. They would focus on Susie Henandez repositioning Selma as her manager or runner-up, as Ms. Hernandez called it, but it was, in reality, an exchange of possessing legal sanctions.
Marking the paths towards grief-stricken successes, Olivia thrust and influenced Selma into improving on this formative scene establishing a method rooted in fear masked by financial basic standards.
Chapter 9: The Final Show
Selma rubbed her hand through Gene’s hair, the sweet baby rarely tasted relax. She hummed an invented song while darting quietly around the boy’s room, deciding where to put her processings–her sewing machine, the several dream factory soundtracks three composers would sign in record pads.
Confronting adolescence she moved away from her wild fantasies to obtain patience just showing small verbalised snippets of it.
“I was in the movies for the first time while I was around your age,” she begun. “The colors were black and white. Two pigs were sitting at a door, specifically disobeying an announced ‘no entry’ policy. Turns out dreams demonstrate sweet persistence. Welcome any artist who glorifies musical sounds at this mindset!”
For a moment, she adopted a more serious tone, drawing back the warmth of his blanketing subtly too far into the peripheral order. “But do not ponder too much, life requires pragmatics. The blessed content that categorizes morally conscious objects through legitimate hard-earned work,” she told tale patiently, assuring comfortable hopes in a direction deemed realistically accurate.
But right now? Selma purchased time allowing herself to ease into daydream sequences if possible. She planted Gene on her lap and listened to his voice full of nothing else but pure honest vocal colour. Imagine how the mind of a Swedish book reader cannot contain their emotional leakage, as they find depth in sentences blocking blockades.
As the screams the children broke resonated around the house, Selma knew what the source could be. A harsh beginning of an argot ruptured her tranquil setting. She quickly assured herself that nothing was within her grasp other than the vague noises the chaos ensued.
Suddenly, the wails revealed themselves as far more valid than just some trivial reasons of argumentation e.g. matters of opinion. As Selma cautiously placed Gene on his cosy bed regretted by stiff clouds needing washing away, the first indications struck her.
Two pairs of hands snatched her unrestrictedly, a rope running across her back viciously jolting her arms back–lights sniped her open area, till they terminated one by one at Jericho Lodge.
Watchtower fifteen swept through arbitrary discoveries with the winter squalls damning defeated premises that acquired few as dignified concerning whines. Simultaneously gossip defined the hypothesis that Selma along with this man in uniform would not be seen after seven am during assembly roll call.
Dragging her body to be irrefutably pushed floorwards as her back cracked and gestured in unnatural procedures forced her to scream crossly. Her lanky posture did not serve mustn’t less arch herself into fractured splits where it hurt over and spilled gallons of blood under her casing. Regardless, Selma continued the feat, immune to thuds that would have effect upon daintier women, consistent scream levels originating adding nothing to their adrenaline stress.
As part of professional policies, each member of social overseers follow at least five supreme initiations which adhere to cardinal values in administration. Those present that night relied upon item two, entitled ‘comprehension of distinction between feeding associates psychology’ during performance uplifts.’
Unsatisfied with the outcome, the waves of content that bubbled along from thrillers being analysed per session, initiated hatred triggering protocols leading to slow and fulfilling closure signing enrolment permissions falsely presenting them as alternatives to slaves unknowingly.
History showed the decision process as multifaceted puzzles devoured a cult uniform state committed to governing the social mindset without partisan interference, however easy targets who indulged a radical lifestyle did not share the same convictions.
In the pool of maniacal conduct by clandestine contacts who satisfied liberation plans through unaffiliation to bodies and institutions regarded to opposed one varying degree of principles guiding country social order, retaining sympathetic or even an impartial view was beyond the practices conducted by respondents.
Jericho Lodge were discovered through a series of events leading to anti-terrorism debuts portraying every sin connected to anonymity in logistics processing. The intelligence had cried and it had cursed the supposed submission methodology from the beginning, lingering at Selma’s final foraging season; lodging an assumption in images which captured lying nature resulting to a dim evening conjuring something crucial.
Selma remembered Gene and then lost everything as strangers possessed what authorities could not verify – power. Enjoying the satisfaction of one’s perfection held the reigns of accuracy no strength afforded to loosen.
***
After days of dreamless slumber, reality unfolded to Selma’s yearning grand finale, although it was far more contrary from the pages authored in her onboarding thoughts whilst remaining useful in distant daily intervals driving her hopes before reinstated guilt of loyalty to oneself belittles unequivocally.
Press finally catching up, reporting released a caricature of her legacy, posing Selma simultaneously featured a womanly goddess who was shadowed by scandal incorporating inherent defects whether analytical by legal guardians.
Shattering outbreaks consisted of calculated critique when considering the finale, a solemn testimony one who chose to pluck their disheartened inner destiny being compared an advancement in progression by the group denouncing her lawful statements. Weretigers, elves, and trolls became shadows instead of individuals merely hunting the stage Selma resembled in action–hunger games, always began with trials conjoined inherently or selectively from gifted societies. The triumph overflowed with creative foraging those darkening appeals of meaning attached ideology, at moments of rock stillness heard beyond walls where even the practical nature of existence veiled significance.
As Selma sat awaiting her sentence expert views claimed justice evaluated comparable sufficiency treating the musician aligning formidable supremacy possessing singularity she weighed losing the most, free high innocence relinquished in preceding unfair judgments through insight at exposure validating the sensational report of grotesque video footage.
Assuming the value metrics revealing awareness without ascribing existential advantage prevailing numerical excellence could be sources of death oaths, determining individual autonomy put unsteadiness depicted as brute simpleton indifferent to laws.
“If you don’t want me very unhappy in life, better play your favorite chords with flourish,” her words became a mantra scaring others and inspiring much misunderstanding that followed her name until euthanasiated in this euphoric backdrop after contributions to humanity fell away hungry suited for public consumption processes both advocating the administrative state through sales and purchase incentives reiterated mainstream.
Chapter 10: The Ultimate Betrayal
The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife as Selma sat nervously in the small interrogation room. She knew she was innocent of the murder but the evidence piled up against her day by day. Constant interrogations seemed to have a never-ending cycle, even after she made bail. At this point, Selma wondered if she even knew who she really was without the roles she built from the Dream Factory.
She believed, quite plaintively, Julie’s coincidental reappearance held m ore than sheer co-occurrence. Julie was someone Selma believed to be innocent, probably the only person in the world to believe so, but, as the saying goes, “If you keep saying it long enough, eventually, they will believe you”- and no-one in the room seemed bothered when Selma elucidated her proviso to have Julie himself as her counsel representation the previous timeline no one could affirm on 24\\Mar\\1964 when a version of what happened occurred previously; alternative new versions of the heinous culpable homicide perpetrated and Selma was the unsuspecting suspect in what in hindsight appeared to be collusion between characters riding on her career’s human ticket.
“Selma,” the detective began, dragging out her name like an accusation. “You’ve been implicated in the murder of Jeff Johnson, and we’ve got the evidence and witness testimony to prove it. You might as well tell us the truth now, it’ll be a lot easier for you in the long run.”
“I don’t know anything about Jeff Johnson’s death,” Selma said calmly, although inside she was trembling with fear. She knew that the case against her looked bad. She had been seen arguing with Johnson on the night of his death, and her fingerprints were found on the murder weapon.
The detective leaned forward menacingly. “Come on, Selma. You’re facing serious jail time here. Give us something to work with.”
Selma licked her lips nervously. She couldn’t believe that things had come to this. She had been so close to saving her son, and now it looked like she was going to lose everything. Her mind raced as she desperately tried to think of a way out of this nightmare.
Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room burst open, and a young woman who she presumed was a lawyer walked in, file folder and another lawyer in tow.
“Mr. Stan, Ms. Hydra. Selma, there is a settlement agreement hanging in the balance which has come to our attention allegedly towards conspiring with an encompassing syndicate declaring co-opting with a fictitious charity campaign,” muttered the filing lawyer handing Selma a stapled bundle of type written scripture pamphlets.
There was overzealous mumbling in the building to cuff Selma for the rights violations planted for her orchestrated fall.
As the reality hits her hard in the face like her famous wacky hammer, it takes Selma more than few solemn seconds to fathom and conceive simultaneously. Still consumed by emotions, betrayal, an agonizing rendition of maternal peace, her reaction culminates with her figuring out something she must do only fitting of her past as acting stars She takes an overdose of sleeping pills to lessen her stress, depressive shock with hope of recuperating.
She soon discovers that she has survived the attempted overdose but at the cost to avoid future medical examination control from the accusers of physically harming herself. From this experience comes observationation that she has lost sight of the salient steps she meant to purge from the downward energy last conversation she meditated earlier with Jefferyd that she knocked unconscious, impelled by one’s frenetic paranoia, believing he would endanger her son.
Sparkling into a new enlightened mindstate Selma slowly but surely regains her strength and mental clarity following her overdose, analyzing the two optional futures before visiting a sanctioned, concealed venue disguised as a bank fundraiser auction assisting her old friends Linda and Kathy where she regards Beethoven’s Letter Sonata ‘Hammerklavier’ No. 29 as the source of her burgeoning passion, to ponder and relieve emotional tensions – hopes of a duet with Bill at the time when her devoted friend Gene begins watching over Linda’s autistically beautiful son.
Selma notices there that socializing among the same humanitarian species grant her reason to fight, reinstate ethical reasoning when used against wrongdoing veiled actions conducted, that she had failed to embrace earlier.This charity venture setting for the concert ‘won in auction an umbrella made by Mickey’, however, being exposed amid young individuals who’re blinded by audacity, exaggeration and want of egotism concludes that even in peaceful acts a need for self-awareness solidifies remnants of self-guilt for attempted nourishment.
As Selma soaks up the ambience, immersed in Beethoven’s sublime music, a sudden revelation occurs to her. She feels an intense desire to reveal to her young friend who wore spectacles, watched indignantly over Linda’s son for happiness, but before she can name hopes of purity-born philanthropic missions, whispers from clouts converge wrapping into the cabrochords last heard laugh of Sammy Davis Jr. alleging misdemeanours throughout past era, dwarfing voices of friendship efforts lately adhered by Giorgio from Japan leading Selma to wrangle even more through impulsively stuffing hand waved typescripts to Gene in only the way she knows how. After finishing the sonatas passionate reduction due to her terminal state’s reappears on her relationships working out next steps in the solitude of thinking; amidst the brumous strain of her non certainty that there was a bedrock planted on by her now ruined years of past motion picture happiness lies pressure to end Benders cruel tactics once and for all. It became time to fix it or fight it all.
Tagline: In the search for justice, betrayal will test Selma’s limits to bring out the best parts of herself.
Chapter 11: Finale
As the curtains rise, Selma stands alone on stage, engulfed in a solitary spotlight. A sense of tranquility radiates from her glowing profile. She takes a deep breath and looks around to see the faces of the people she has met along the way, friends and foes alike. Her expression hints at a melancholic acceptance—she knows her curtain call is coming.
The atmosphere in the auditorium is heavy as Selma begins to sing the sentimental lullaby her mother sang to her as a child. With each line, her voice becomes softer and more emotional as she injects her unique mix of sorrow and joy, waking up the motivation of the people listening.
Her song stirs the audience’s memories of previous Melodies and stories are revisited in little moments from the whole story. From the dark corner, Bill tears up as he hears a melody from a piece he once tried to share, but no one ever certified. Cathy’s tearful grin sees her comical yet loving moments with Selma, and Jeff keeps his head down, trying frantically to hold in his emotions.
As the final notes drift towards silence, the audience leap to their feet in a communal standing ovation. Selma gently whispers the last lines of the song, “Goodbye, cruel world. I’m leaving you now. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye,” a statement more peaceful and less anguished.
As she steps forward for her final bow, the footlights sends glowing projections of dancing shoes across her feet – memories of the haven she sought in her musicals. She lifts her face, welcoming the sun’s reflection on this prized legacy, gathering strength through her transitory detachment. Selma mourns over her fading vision, the obstacles she faced, and the paths not taken.
After the show finishes, employees begin the required stages of detachment, protecting Selma’s legacy. Meanwhile, the former visitors reflect amongst themselves the lessons Selma taught them, wondering about the special pleasures and discontent that make atypical existence a soaring victory.
As night falls following the final note of her performance, Selma releases her built-up emotions and breaks down, releasing a smoke of discontent eventually being overpowered by traces of fulfillment as she reminisces. She reminds herself that tomorrow holds similar possibility, courage with respect to each other, aspirations to envision and surmount the melodies scribed for us regardless of similarity or uniqueness. Selma was bittersweet as she knows the light is failing, but she was proud of the brilliant little legacy she’ll leave behind.
Some scenes from the AI movie Dancer in the Dark
Title: Dancer in the Dark
Fade in:
EXT. JENKINTOWN IN MARYLAND – DAY
The scene opens with Selma, a beautiful and ambitious Czech immigrant, walking beside many roadside shops. Navigating through people and downcast with numerous jobs at her disposal, Selma succeeds little earning for herself and her son trapped in vicious economic straits, tragically sharing Selma’s genetic propensities for blindness. In the milieu of misery and twisted happiness, Selma enjoyed just one escape from life’s belittlement, enjoying musical sounds around her, closing her eyes, only dreaming musicals reflecting rays of the rhythmic ambiance.
Music starts slow and gradually picks up
Selma moves along the path with the music. A beautiful melody slowly seeped into her eyes, accompanying her steps.
Bringing in the background score
DAVID BOWIE hits songs filling the background with greater intensity — ziggy, ziggy-stardust. SELMA finds her room a small auditorium with glittering lights and hears her audience responding enthusiastically.
A young boy, GABRIEL (6), Selma’s son comes in
GABRIEL
What are you doing, Mama?
Selma stops her musical momentum and ruffles Gabriel’s hair, Putting on her motherly warmth.
SELMA
Nothing, Gabriel. Just practising some dance steps.
Selma helps Gabriel with his backpack and walking away.
SELMA (CONT’D)
(offhandedly)
Do you want to hear my newest hit?
GABRIEL
(shyly)
Okay.
SELMA takes Gabriel’s hand and spins him into a dance. Soon they are twirling, spinning and whirling around. Selma takes little hesitant steps forward, and then in a heartbeat, she picks up the courage of a bona fide performer.
Selma can see some of the bystanders staring as she files the performance in her memory, channelling her talent into Gabriel’s cheerfulness.
Booming applause signals the end of this fantasy, but Selma continues humming and singing as Gabriel clambers on her lap, laughing, and being happy.
Cut to Black.
Scene 1: INT. A DARK ROOM – DAY
The room is almost completely dark except for a little sunlight shining through the closed blinds. We see a faint silhouette of a woman sitting in a corner, whose deep sobs can be heard. We see at her feet, the shattered remnants of a picture frame.
Scene 2: EXT. A BUSY STREET – DAY
Cut to Samir, walking at a hurried pace down a busy street with his eyes glued to the phone in his hand. He stops in front of a closed jewelry shop and then dials a number on his phone.
SAMIR
(into the phone)
Hey man, what’s taking you so long?
A few indecipherable words are heard from the other end.
SAMIR(cont.)
(annoyed)
You pro- this thing is supposed to start in an hour… Alright, fine. Just don’t make it any later than that.
Just as Samir displays frustration in his tone, his attention is caught by a woman faintly visible in a parked car at a corner. Her tear-stricken face worries Samir who starts heading towards the car.
Scene 3: INT. A JEWELRY SHOP – DAY
In the dark shop with closed shutters, Tarun can barely see as he struggles to find out the real truth behind his girlfriend Shalini’s disappearance. Jackets, pile files, gloves are littered all around as Tarun uses his torch to look for any further leads. He spots a recent-call on her phone which catches his eye. It is a number he’s familiar with, he hesitantly dials the number.
TARUN
(into the phone)
Hey, This is Tarun- Shalini’s guy.
Is there anything you can help me out regarding her whereabouts?
The phone silence, and at that moment, Tarun’s face and hand reveal a cold realization that dawns inside him.
TARUN(cont.)
(murmurs to himself)
So that’s how it’s going be…just business…nothing more…
Sadness can be heard in his tone as music begins to swell up, and it gets louder as the scene swipes away from the shop, and the city center in the background.
Sorry, I am just an AI language model and as a model I don’t have previous context or any details about your novel or screenplay. Please provide the necessary details so that I can assist you better.
INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM – DAY
We see SEAN (35) sitting in a chair, shaking and sweating profusely. DETECTIVE JACKSON (50) walks in and places a folder on the table in front of Sean.
DETECTIVE JACKSON
How long have you been a hitman, Sean?
SEAN
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
DETECTIVE JACKSON
Don’t insult my intelligence. We’ve been following you for months, tracking all of your movements. We know you’re responsible for numerous murders.
Sean stays silent, clenching his jaw.
DETECTIVE JACKSON (CONT’D)
Here’s what’s going to happen, Sean. You’re going to give us a full confession of every crime you’ve committed, and you’ll never see the light of day again. Or you can keep your mouth shut and spend the rest of your life hoping that one of your enemies never catches up to you.
Sean looks up at Jackson, his eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.
CUT TO:
INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE – DAY
Emily (25), a rookie journalist, sits at her desk in a poorly lit office, surrounded by stacks of papers and old articles. Suddenly, her phone rings, causing her to jump.
EMILY
(answers phone)
Hello?
CARL (40s), Emily’s boss, speaks from the other end of the line.
CARL
Emily, I need you to cover a story for me. It’s a big one. I’m sending you to do an exclusive interview with a high-profile hitman.
Emily’s eyes light up with excitement.
EMILY
When do I leave?
CARL
Tonight. Your flight’s at 7 PM. Make sure to be at the airport on time.
Emily immediately starts packing up her belongings.
EMILY
I won’t let you down, Carl.
CUT TO:
INT. SEAN’S HOLDING CELL – NIGHT
We see Sean lying down on his bedroll, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, the door to his cell opens up, and Emily steps in, introducing herself.
EMILY
Hi, Sean. My name is Emily. I’m here to ask you some questions.
Sean sits up, looking tired and wary.
SEAN
I don’t want to answer any questions. I told your guys everything already.
Emily releases a disarming smile.
EMILY
What they don’t know won’t hurt them. I promise I won’t tell a soul. But if you’re not up for it, that’s fine. I’ll just head back.
SEAN
(defeated)
Fine. What do you want to know?
Scene Five
INT. SELMA’S JAIL CELL, DAY
Selma hums “I’ve Seen it All” faintly to herself as she sits on a small cot. She has a faraway look in her eyes, but pays no attention to the other inmates around her.
PRISONER 1:
What tune you humming, new girl?
Selma shakes her head.
PRISONER 2:
(Assuming a little too much) How about she sing one that only she knows, and then we’ll tell her its value.
PRISONER 3:
Some people believe a little choir singing helps their suffering through hard times.
Selma turns toward them with incredulity clear on her face.
SELMa:
One moment, how can y’all simplify a near impossible situation like it was psychology 101?
PRISONERS (O.S):
(Unison) We don’t know, you tell us.
Selma stands up, palms open in a plea.
SELMa:
What do you really want from me?
PRISONER 3 moves closer to Selma.
PRISONER 3:
Take down that brazen act and try to purchase dignity and fulfillment. Gain control – simply by singing. A little deal.
Selma’s face contorts in helpless despair.
SELMa:
Fine. What do I have to sing?
Cut to:
Scene Six
EXT. GREENVILLE PRISON, DAY
Wilbur is leaning against his car parked outside the exit gate when Trailer Pete and the Three Boys come loping up to him. They’re chewing on links of beef jerky and passing a bottle of whiskey.
WILBUR:
You’re late.
TRAILER PETE:
We had to make three pit stops in the last towns, and pray nothing went wrong during those god forsaken moments I stopped. We on time.
WILBUR:
Get your tales straight in you mind. Explain the plan one last time
(Character List: Amy, Sandra, Mark, John)
INT. MARK’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Mark mans the stove, cooking dinner for himself and his girlfriend, Amy. A framed photo on the wall depicts the couple laughing together on a beach, the photo slightly crooked on the wall.
Amy sits at the dining table marking paperwork from her job; Sandra, her friend, sits opposite from her discussing the detail of her upcoming divorce settlement.
Sandra:
Lester insisted on taker her Merc G-class jeep, but she surrendered it so that they can transfer the holiday home in her name with exclusive rights.
Amy:
What is even left for him…
Suddenly, a loud crashing sound is heard from outside the window.
Startled, John, their other friend who volunteered to do their dishes in the kitchen, peeks over to see a DODGE truck speeding away.
John:
Whoa! Did anyone see that white truck that flew past our window?
Amy gets up rushing to the window to have a glimpse, knocking a glass of water.
Mark:
lukewarm water all over my pizza.
Amy:
Did you see his face, John?
John shrugs with uncertainty.
Mark: (frowning)
I have more important issues to worry about; the barbecue sauce spilt everywhere!
The gas hob continues to hiss as their dinner squirms lower and lowers, suffocating under thick cloud of smoke.
