Rochester, New York
United States of America
September 2111
Free, Ansel Altair
“Are you sure you really want to push
through with that?” Marissa eyed Ansel’s college application wearily. “It’s…a
difficult thing to get into. Even though you have your portfolio ready and all
your credentials.”
“I can’t believe you’re doubting me, Mar.”
Ansel threw her a scathing look. “When you were the first one I told about
this. So when I’m about to send my fucking application, that’s when you decide
to tell me that it isn’t the best idea–”
“It’s not that!” Marissa defended. She
exhaled, “It’s just…it’s not exactly the most practical of career paths to
pursue.” Ansel’s look turned harsher and Marissa rolled her eyes, looking away
and trying to avoid her own application. “I’m sorry, okay? It just suddenly
came to mind how people in your career path manage to live. You said it
yourself, Ansel. The life in direction and production isn’t the simplest shit
ever. I just don’t want you to end up blaming yourself once you get to the Big
Apple and find yourself totally lost.”
“I won’t get lost,” he refuted stubbornly.
Ansel huffed. “I wasn’t president of the Film Club for nothing, Marissa.”
“I know.” The sounds of the noisy
cafeteria filled in the gap of silence. Marissa looked back at her application
and picked up her pen, Ansel leaning against the blue chair and folding his
arms over his chest. Neither of them spoke to one another until Ansel stood up,
picking up his tray as well as the brown manila envelope containing his
requirements. “Going?”
“Yeah. I’ll be at the library.” He swung
his bag over his shoulder, “See you next class?” Marissa nodded and looked back
down, Ansel trying not to exhale loudly as he made his way through the crowded
room. After returning the tray, he swiftly spun on a heel and made it a point
to leave the room as quickly as he could.
* * * * *
He had been studying and creating
different kinds of videos since seventh grade and photography since ninth. The
interest had began when he spotted his father out doing photography while out
in the park; while his father wasn’t looking, Ansel caught the camera and
managed to handle it properly for the next few minutes until a frowning Mr.
Free tapped Ansel on the shoulder and patiently asked for it bck.
Ansel then received a camera of his own
that Christmas. It wasn’t as advanced as his father’s, all black and
professional with different buttons and settings. Ansel’s was a smaller version
– it was simpler and easier to understand, lens able to focus easily and take
good-quality pictures of whichever form of life he was able to find.
However, there was a time wherein photos
weren’t enough. Eventually he discovered the video feature, and after videoing
a quick clip of a family reunion, realized the capacity of the video camera and
ten seconds’ worth of information and details. Interested, he began to get into
filming more and filmed everything he could – from social events to his own
life.
He then found out that video editing came
just a easily as videoing and filming did. The more he edited and created, the
more he found himself falling in love with the craft. Come his last year of
high school, Ansel found himself leading the school’s film club; not only had
he discussed the different aspects and best films with the club, but he had
also taken charge when it came to direction and production.
With that, he decided that it was
something he wanted to pursue for the rest of his life. The amount of movie
posters he had owned grew considerably while portions of his upgrades went to
camera upgrades and new lenses. Around the end of eleventh grade did he set his
sights on university and a final destination: the Big City.
A map went on his wall.
A small container labeled “NYC” rested on
his study table.
* * * * *
“Hiya, Free.”
“Freya,” Ansel greeted. Wild-haired Freya
Lancaster slid next to him, removing her wireless earphones and resting them
comfortably around her neck. “Not studying?”
“Calc can go to hell because of its sines,”
Freya shot quickly. The smile fell off Ansel’s place and he groaned, a smirk
rising to the other’s face quickly. “Eh? You like that one, Free?”
“We were getting somewhere, Caster. We
were getting somewhere.” Laughing quietly to herself, Freya curiously peeked at
the screen of his laptop. “What do you think? The college was asking for
portfolios and this is part of it,” he said excitedly. “The piece I made for
English class in Junior year.”
“The Macbeth video?” Ansel nodded and
Freya hurriedly put back on her glasses, “You’re too good at this shit,” she
bemoaned. “You’re going to be a surefire acceptance. Fuck the haters. They
suck. You’re – shit. You’re one of a kind and president of the Film Club.”
“Thank you for the compliments, Caster.”
Freya shot him a wink. “…just tell Marissa that in these times, support is more
needed than doubt.”
In an instant, her supportive gaze and
playful grin went away. “The fuck did she say?”
“She just asked if I still wanted to push
through with my dreams of directing,” he said nonchalantly. Freya gave him a
dark look.
“If you tell me you’re not, I’m going to
steal those and mail them.”
“You don’t have to.” Ansel’s green eyes
flickered back to the playing video, “I’m still pushing through with film.
Despite what Marissa said about it.”
“…was it that bad?” he could only
shrug.
“Hell if I should know. Whatever.” He
closed his eyes, “All I know is that I’m going to mail this later and
just…await the results.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Freya chimed.
She reached over and gave Ansel’s cheek a pinch, “I believe in you, Film
King.”
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