The boy was chosen for his spiritual tenacity. Among a robust resource of well past worthy candidates, this was an impressive feat.

Entangled with the thirsty lineages of the world’s every past heritage, folkway, and lifestyle, this rich blood would be the last to walk the beautiful Earth in numbers shared by their first ancestors at the first dawn. His people were the most proficient that had ever come into being, who in their modest thousands of years, achieved stability – peace, was it – founded along with an impossible kindred civility among every brother and sister and a devout respect for Nature.

Within every mind ran a sparkling, fluid force of wisdom, seemingly limitless in capability. They ensured each loaded potency full and infallible right to thrive; imitating some bizarre alien race not originating from the same ground on which occurred every atrocity of the human race. But indeed, the boy and his people surpassed any dream that crossed Earth in any hour or age of darkness that she could offer in weeping regret.

And so they knew. They conceived with graceful acceptance the knowledge of their imminent demise. The end of life, of time, of being. But they were compelled by something… by a bound duty? Respect or responsibility? Love? Was it their hearts that with every thump pounded a wave that was to echo forward and forever into the next world? Some beautiful, remarkable child that possessed the allure and whispered Earth’s breath? It was to be their last great effort, they concluded, to create this place.

They understood immediately how to go about Creation. Like a tacit and essential emergency plan without the dillemas of urgency, the plan was conjured with the brevity of any passing thought. They only needed to choose one – man, woman, or child – to bestow this engagement and cast off. Hundreds, thousands of their people were deserved and in full physical, intellectual, emotional bloom… but the boy possessed an emanating essence that somehow could not be denied. A certain spiritual quality that was impressive for anything they had ever seen was embraced.

His elders made it clear and repeated once again: fear not the visions or life you will experience on the island. Anything that happens remains in the strict reigns of your volition. There will be past, present, future, and things you cannot comprehend, but when it ends – and you will know this – you have done what even Earth cannot thank you for. And then you will come back and we will celebrate legacy.

Sequel to Travelling Medicine Show.
Samantha Dick

As the boy paddled through the clear grey waters, the island was nothing but a small speck behind him. Feeling weak, he place his oar into the boat, then lifted the bottle of red medicine from his suitcase. The sun beamed down upon his frail body as a bead of sweat glistened on his brow before he wiped it with his sleeve. He put the medicine to his lips, the cool red liquid flowed down his throat, and his energy increased with every swallow. He stared down at the glass bottle in hand. Focusing on it, trying to look through it, look into it. It was incomprehensible to him the power of the medicine, he was confused by how much he was drawn to it, confused by why it suddenly felt like a necessity.

A loud thud was herd as the boy looked up from the bottle to notice that his boat had hit the shore. He placed the bottle back into the suitcase and stepped out from the boat and onto the island. Placing the suitcase safely onto the sand, he paused to look up and down the shore. As he walked back towards his boat, he notices that this island looked identical to the last one. He then pushed his boat off from the shore, and let it sail off into the water leaving him behind.
The boy removed his shirt and walked over to where the sand met the water, and crouched. He began to wash himself with the water, but as he continued to spread the water over his arms and chest, the water was a black tar like colour. As he stared up into the sky, the boy did not notice the water’s colour or content, and continued to enjoy the cool water like substance being rubbed onto his body.

While walking along the shore, the boy noticed three people wearing large masks. The person in the centre, was holding a long stick up-right that had a circular globe on the top of it. He tilted the stick to one side and the person closest to it grabbed into it. He sunk his teeth into the globe and caused it to rip slightly. The person in the centre lifted the stick and globe away from the person latched onto it and forcefully brought it back up to the centre. As it was then tilted to the other side, the other person also latched onto, it sinking their fingers into it, causing more damage to the globe. As the person in the middle pulled it away to lift it back up to the centre, both masked figures on either side of him began to jump up and down savagely as they tried to grab the globe.

The boy watched this and then turned away to take the medicine from his pant pocket, and drink more of it. He then continued to walk along the shore. As he continued, the sand under his feet and between his toes grew increasingly warmer, causing him slight discomfort. He crouched down to touch the sand and placed some into his palm, as he looked up he saw figures ahead of him. He walked towards them curiously, and as he grew closer, he began to hear a faint wailing sound.

Walking towards the figures, the boy saw 4 obese men laying on the shore. They looked like beached whales, with human faces. They lay on the sand eating cupcakes as they cried helplessly unable to move. There were hundreds of cupcakes surrounding them, and with each frosted baked good that they ate, their cries become louder. The boy came closer to the cupcakes and found a familiarity in them. He picks one up and felt a warm comfort wash over him. As he became increasingly engaged in the cupcake, the scar on chest began to burn. The treat in his hands hypnotised him and while taking no notice in the pain he felt, he took a bite.

Sweet sugars bleed down his throat,
Coating the insides of hope, of desire.
He exhales.
And the imagery pulls him in to the point of no return.

The sky
Falls slowly towards him
It falls and falls and falls
until it was were it should have been all along.

Tears flow but taste not of salt
Tears flow red down his cheeks
The medicine escaping from within his soul
Catch the tears as not to waste

Frosting on his body,
Like a leach.
He is now swimming in medicine,
surrounded by what aids him.

The red tide rises and the island disappears under it,
He swims upwards but the sky is gone.
Bodies float with scarred T shapes on their stomachs
Gasping for air in the pool of power.

As he drowns in the ocean of medicine,
His eyes open once more to see the sphere.
It is drenched in red and torn at the seams
As he reaches for and touches it, it falls to pieces.

Floating in a sea that extends forever, he paddles. He paddles across still waters. He paddles across storms. He paddles across blue water. He paddles across green water. He paddles across the current. He paddles against the current. He paddles with the current. He paddles alone. He paddles. He paddles. He paddles.
The boy squints as the Sun glares into his eyes. The Sun’s heat wraps around him like a blanket and cool beads of sweat trickle down from his forehead.
The boy looks forward searching for a new island.
In the distance, he spots a small silhouette against the big blue canvas that surrounds him from above. Having nowhere else to go, the boy heads for the island.
It takes him days, months before he finally reaches the island’s sandy shore. Every muscle in his body is exhausted from paddling. He steps out of the boat and collapses onto the sand. He slowly drifts into a deep sleep, and the sky above slowly fades to black…
When he wakes up, he feels something heavy on his face. He is wearing a mask. As he attempts to pull it off, it feels as if the mask has been stitched onto his face with needles instead of thread and a surge of pain runs through him as his whole body goes numb. He screams but it comes out muffled and the boy lies weeping on the beach.
He runs his fingers along the edge of the mask, trying to feel any sort of stitching, but there is none. He moves his hands to the back of the head to try and find a string to untie, but there is none.
After minutes of lying on the sand in pain, the boy stumbles to his feet. He looks all around him. To the left, the beach extends on for what seems like forever; to the right, he spots a cliff off in the distance; in front, the vast ocean lies before him; behind him, a dense lush forest.
Through the trees of the forest he sees smoke. He follows the trail of smoke until finally he reaches a campfire. Scattered around the fire are perfectly round and perfectly red apples. A few feet away from the apples a girl in a green dress is sleeping. She too is wearing a mask…

he wakes up and he knows it’s time to leave
hears his father’s heavy breathing
and the sheep jumping over his mother’s head
grabs his sweater in case it’s cold
his knife
his map and compass
the brief case
he looks at the lake
at the horizon
his shoulders feel lighter
his breath quickens
his blood like serpents through his veins
anticipation and relief
and gravity.
he wakes up and he knows it’s time to leave
leave the mice who whisper at night
leave the milk that has been sitting there for too long
leave the muffled dreams
the silenced ambition
leave the geometric shapes
the plumbing
the smell of burning peach cobbler
puts on his boots
turns the key
says goodbye.
he wakes up and he knows it’s time to leave
no more petty distractions
walks down the cobblestone path
no more stop signs
steps onto the rotting wood
no more chalk lines and toy trucks
sticks a toe into the boat
no more telling and doing and thinking
kisses the dock
no more gravity.
he wakes up and he knows it’s time to leave
leave for the place he’s never known
the one that is not home
the one where new beginnings grow like weeds.

Due to the whole creationism aspect, I think after he drifts back into the fog he must exlore a realm dealing with the universe instead of just Earth. I think his terrestrial journey for answers must lead him into the extra-terrestrial field. I think it goes along with the “in the beginning” idea and it would produce new, fresh imagery that goes along with the first movie. With that said…

He drifts in the thick fog for a long time. He is visibly hungry,exhausted and is on the brink of death when he notices a dark figure looming in the distance. He approaches it and finds it be a black tower maybe 7 feet high with a large, ominous orb resting on top. He climbs the tower’s supports and circles the orb. There’s an area on the orb where the outer layer is amorphous. It’s the same colour as the orb and is camouflaged from far away, but up close it is easily discernable. The boy sticks his hand inside and pulls is out. He does the same with his head, then enters. Inside the spherical room there’s a seat with pedals. He takes a seat, unaware that the entrance has solidified. He begins to pedal. He notices that the faster he pedals the more light penetrates the black encasing. He eventually pedals so fast that the light overwhelms him, blotting out the orb he sits in. He is beginning his journey…

Sequel

And so, I paddled, I paddled until the sun went down. When the sun went down, I slept, I slept in my boat. My boat with nothing around it, surrounded by an infinite shapeless border that was the sea. Despite the overwhelming darkness, I still had trouble falling asleep. Perhaps, in fact, this rare occurrence was cultivated by the overwhelming darkness itself.

When I woke up, the sun was already high above me, licking my skin, reddening the integument that covers, and inadequately protects my neck. I let out a yawn, stretching my limbs to the east, west, north and south, or some variation on those terms. My stomach craved food that my mind did not, a consequence of my desiccated imagination, worn contained and weary by the events of my recent past, and thereby rendered unable to conjure any amount of hunger whatsoever. As well, the lack of any appetizing sights, smells, or even sounds did not help this situation. I need not announce yet again that I was surrounded by nothing but water.

If I had not already slept so late, I would have considered taking a nap, or at least shut my eyes to the monotonous red television screen that was the back of my eyelids being penetrated by the summer sun. Until, that is, I would have decided to change the channel to full-fledged reality and opened my eyes, bringing myself back to the very same position I am in now, with the sun in my eyes, on my neck, and pressing its rays upon my yearning stomach.

Travelling Medicine Show
A Sequel by Emily Jenkins

The boy is paddling farther and farther into the ocean. We see images of the horizon, of the sun rising and falling, rising and falling. The crests of the waves are rising and falling, rising and falling. The boy is now middle aged. He doesn’t look any wearier, and he is wearing the same clothes, yet several decades have past. The man dozes in the boat. The water laps against the paddle and the boats bobs along. The clouds move across the sky. The man lets his leg hang over the side of the boat and the tips of the waves break over his toes. He dozes, and does not notice as the current steals his paddle.

The man is now elderly. He is leaning over the boat with his arms dangling in the water. He looks up, rubbing his eyes, seeing land. He futilely tries to rock the boat in that direction.

The elderly man stumbles upon the beach. He lies on his back, laughing gently, as we saw in the beginning of the film. We start to see similar trees, similar animals, and then we see the ashy remains of a campfire.

The elderly man swims, taking deep breathes before plunging into the ocean as we saw in the beginning of the film. Later he walks along the beach. He rounds a corner and stops dead. What he sees are hundreds and hundreds of the little wire, mud, and water made earths. They lie on the beach, piling up into the foliage, and some ebb on and off the sand with the tide. In the distance, hundreds more form a solid raft that meanders slowly along the coast. It is sunny, and the last thing we see is the man touching his chest where an old scar remains.

The boy wakes, for the first time. His eyes open, adjusting to the nothingness.
Eternal, endless nothingness, undescribeable and indistinguishable.
He moves his arms, his legs, hoping for some platform or surface to gain stability.
There is nothing, he floats.
He doesn’t wonder, doesn’t question.
He perceives.
He is able to gain a knowledge of himself. His hands, his legs, his perplexing face.
Breathing in, breathing out. Joints, muscles, bones: he is aware.
He knows merely of himself, but nothing else.

Something has changed. The visual field has been altered. This shall be known as a light.
A yellow beam shines down on a figure.
A craft of some sort. An apparatus.
Circular in shape, a perfect fit for the boy.
He enters the the craft. He sits.
This is his new condition. Around him, water.
In all directions, something new.
He floats. Minutes? Hours? Days?
Time is a concept not yet determined.
At some point, he washes on shore.
He exits his craft.
He enters the new.

I had several ideas for a pre-sequel, however having to make it a bit realistic; I thought this was a great start to your film. I’m sorry it’s short, but it’s only the beginning! Enjoy.

The boy lives on a small island with his mother and father, he is an only child. There are no other kids on this island; just a few other couples occupy it, leaving him with no friends or communication with others at all. Have being home schooled all his life; the boy has never been to the mainland before. In fact, the mainland is so far away from the island you cannot see its coast. So, bored and depressed, the boy decides to make his own boat and take it to the mainland. Everyday for a whole week the boy would wake up very early, and work on his boat. He used branches, rope, mud, and whatever supplies he could find around his home in order to make his boat. When he finished his boat, which came out looking like half of a coconut, he packed up his backpack with clothes, some water and a little food, he grabbed his most prized possession, which is his magic suitcase, and he was on his way. Two days had passed and he had not reached the mainland, or any land at that. With a shortage of food and water, he decided it was time to turn back. Until, to the left of him, he saw an island. Excited, he worked his way over to the island. The Island had been further than he expected, but without worry he managed to make it there the fallowing morning.

If it were I doing the continuation of this film, I would do it as follows:

First of all, I really like that in the beginning of this piece the boy comes into the film and leaves the film in such a way that the audience may be left to assume that this process of “creation” will continue to be played out infinitely on islands to come as the boy continues his journey at sea. It is for this reason that I would suggest not becoming too attached to the specifics of the narrative (in terms of continuousness) but instead to make each scene its own small narrative. (Think Monty Python’s Quest for the Holy Grail, or The Meaning of Life)

I think it would be very affective to organize the film as a sequence of thematically inter-connected “episodes” which would each stand alone in terms of narrative. (I think this would be a logical choice given the title card that appears following the first piece, which reads: 1. Creation) I think it would be very affective if each piece began and ended as though it would also continue to play itself out endlessly (it becomes less the traditional end of a narrative, and more the impression of the viewer simply moving from one “room” to the next, with the idea that the story they just saw, continues to play out even when they stop watching it).

It is my thinking that the structure of the film could follow the lifecycle of man, with continued symbolic allusions to the Old Testament. If a viewer could be left with the idea that the first “episode” portrayed God’s creation of the Earth and Adam, the second installment (perhaps titled “2. Growth and Learning” or something of the ilk) could introduce a veritable “Eve”. It could follow Adam’s process of identity development (following his “birth”) and would naturally conclude with the inevitable human tragedy of discovering “too much truth” – perhaps a snake and an apple here? And this would again lead to the protagonist’s continued journey(/banishment?) to elsewhere.

The next sequence could follow the proverbial Adam through the course of abandoning teachers and mentors/parents (God?) and therein leaving the “Garden of Eden”. The film as a whole could base itself on the lifecycle conflicts laid out by Erickson’s psychosocial development model.

That was just my first instinct after watching the film (which I very much enjoyed by the way).

Also, if one this you are trying to accomplish with this film is the somewhat the idea of the non-linear ever-branching-outward narrative, you might want to read (if you haven’t already) “The Garden of Forking Paths” by Jorges Luis Borges. It might offer some inspiration as well…

Look forward to meeting you,
Arielle.