Haram?

FORLORN is lying on the table. He has been bound by ropes. WESSON has a whip in her hand; APOTHECARY holds a peacock feather. They take turns lashing and caressing their victim’s torso. The victim is not in agony or ecstasy—in fact, he seems quite bored.

WESSON

Feeling anything?

(FORLORN shakes his head.)

APOTH.

Gimme that.

(WESSON and APOTHECARY trade their tools. The whipping and caressing resumes. FORLORN starts singing to the melody of “Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime” by the Korgis.)

FORLORN

(Sings)

    Everybody’s got to earn sometime

    Everybody’s got to burn sometime

    Everybody has an opinion

    Everybody is an opinion

    Each, an asshole

(WESSON and APOTHECARY give up.)

WESSON

When they said “occupational therapy,” swear to God, I never pictured this.

APOTH.

Me neither. And it’s haram, to boot.

FORLORN

I’ve been thinking.

WESSON

Don’t. It doesn’t suit you.

FORLORN

What you said before. Why the need to be someone? Where’s that urge come from? Why can’t we just let go?

APOTH.

Comes from above. We have to do what’s right.

FORLORN

To get into Paradise.

APOTH.

You don’t need to bother yourself. Way past that, you are.

WESSON

Otherwise, we would have lived in vain.

FORLORN

So what? Live in vain, love in vain: it’s only pain! Bring it on, is what I say.

(The Marseillaise starts, loud. Sound of marching.)

WESSON

Now look what you did.

To be continued. If you want to know what happened before, check out Her Name Is Chatty Wesson here, or send a note to the author (me). -- This post was updated March 19, 2016.

The photographs, I think, are less important than the life one leads.