“On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous” ^†

Francesca Ayers & Samuel Scully
Screenplay by Matt Butler

Francesca Ayers, from the series So therefore I am, 2021

Samuel Scully, from the series Going West, 2022-2024

Stained pink bedsheets and the drooping orchid and the soaking towels on the floor and the scab stuck to the wall and the ducks in their frame and the daisy chain crown and the empty coke cans and the two story doll house and the scattered hair ties and the burning bulb and the honking cars on the street outside and the creeping sun-

We’re in a suburban bedroom. Pale cream walls are hidden behind a tapestry of things and people seen and done. This room is almost a living thing. It breathes.

Francesca Ayers, from the series Wax & Wane, 2022

Francesca Ayers, from the series Somebody roll the windows down, 2023

CLAIRE sits on the windowsill, cradling a vape like a newborn baby. She cracks the window, opens her mouth and lets the vapour lazily roll across her tongue. She looks grateful for the quiet.

And then she notices the Outside.

Suburbia is nowhere to be seen. Instead, there is an ocean of green, unkempt grass, interrupted by the occasional outcrop of splintered concrete. There is no sound save for the wind. It’s as if the whole world is holding its breath.

Samuel Scully, Going West

She notices the BOY standing in the middle of this ocean,
his back to her. He’s shirtless. Covered in tattoos.

CLAIRE
Oi!

He turns.

CLAIRE
You real?

TATTOOED BOY
...Are you?

He strides towards her with enormous, gangly steps.

CLAIRE
Oh yeah. Look.

She gestures to her bedroom. He leans against her window, inspecting it with quiet curiosity. She pockets her vape.

CLAIRE
Want a tattoo?

She grabs a small pot of ink and a pencil, a large sewing needle half buried in the rubber end.

CLAIRE

Stick and poke party. You just missed it. There’s a bit of ink left if you want it. Looks like you’ve got some room on your back.

Samuel Scully, Going West

Francesca Ayers, Wax & Wane

She caresses a thumb across the space between his shoulder blades.

TATTOOED BOY
Do I get to choose?

She pulls a twenty sided die from her bra and hands it to him. He rolls it. It dances across the windowsill. Fourteen.

She runs her finger down a piece of paper taped to her wall- twelve... thirteen... fourteen.

CLAIRE
Heh. Good one.

Samuel Scully, Going West

Francesca Ayers, Somebody roll the windows down

TATTOOED BOY
Do I get to see?

CLAIRE
(With a smirk)
...turn around.

He does, sitting on the windowsill, facing that emerald ocean. She dips the needle and gets to work. He winces.

TATTOOED BOY
It stings.

CLAIRE
Aw, big baby.

She continues for a beat.

Francesca Ayers, So therefore I am

Samuel Scully, Going West

CLAIRE
I’m Claire.

TATTOOED BOY
I know who you are.
(Off her look)
You told me.

He gestures to her bedroom. The specificity of it.

CLAIRE
You’ve been peering through my window? Good.
I like to keep em open.

TATTOOED BOY
You’re an exhibitionist.

CLAIRE (Playfully)
I am what I am. Who are you?

TATTOOED BOY
Who do you think I am?

She thinks long and hard. He could be anybody.

Samuel Scully, Going West

Samuel Scully, Going West

Francesca Ayers, So therefore I am

CLAIRE
...You remind me of a boy I once knew.

TATTOOED BOY
Tell me about him.

She snorts. No way. Until she sees him peering over his shoulder, gently gazing at her with a look asking “Please”.

CLAIRE

...You’re not going to believe me.

But it’s all true.

When I was like fifteen, I lived in this Place in the country.
Sort of Place where people would stand around thinking about making a decision. The whole Place was this big held breath. Except for the Bush. The Bush was different.
I was... I was really goth back then. Told myself I was way too cool to skip stones or run around or whatever... So instead, I spent all day hanging out in this massive hollow Totara. Thing about this Totara, it had a window. Must have been there when the thing first sprouted cause it was literally in the side of the tree, like a knot that decided to take a more comfortable shape. It had glass, curtains, a little latch that locked from the inside, everything. I painted it black and filled the tree with balloons and blankets and other things that made it mine. Spent a whole summer in that tree, smoking shitty cigarettes and reading Virginia Woolf.

Samuel Scully, Going West

Samuel Scully, Going West

Francesca Ayers, So therefore I am

Francesca Ayers, So therefore I am

Samuel Scully, Going West

CLAIRE

Course, the only other people who hang out in the Bush all summer are kids, so word started to get around that there was a Witch living in a tree. Every now and again they’d throw rocks at my window or try to peek inside and I’d chase em away, warning I’d curse them with my magic or whatever. It was fun.
One day, there was this Boy. Like, maybe eleven. He knocked on my window, no kid in the Place was ever polite enough to knock, and asked if the Bush Witch would tell him his future. I asked why, and he told me that the Place was a carnivore. That it ate little boys and was going to eat him too. Unless I could prove different.

TATTOOED BOY
What did you do?

CLAIRE
...what do you think?

Samuel Scully, Going West

The Witch sat perfectly still, legs crossed, eyes closed, black lips sucking on a tiny hand-rolled cigarette. She was unlike any Witch the Boy had seen on television, or read in books, or even seen in his dreams. Her black and blue hair fell down the back of her head in a long mullet. She wore a creased t-shirt and a pair of muddy blue jeans. Her face was pierced in a dozen different ways. She was surrounded by silver moons and stars, ambling symbols of ancient power. The walls were covered in thin, black marks, the remnants of long dead matches, struck on the trunk.

The Window framed her in a perfect rectangle. She looked just like a tarot card.

Samuel Scully, Going West

Francesca Ayers, Wax & Wane

Francesca Ayers, from the series From The Matriarchy That Made Me, 2024

“I’ve got maybe three drags of this durry kid” she rumbled. “That gives you three questions”. She kept her eyes closed. The Boy was grateful for that. He was certain that looking into her eyes would mean seeing something not meant for mortal men. He spoke as clearly as his trembling lip would allow.

“Will I ever be in love?” the Boy stammered.
The Witch smirked.
“When you’re in love, you’ll want to keep his picture in your pocket. But a photo is just chemicals, mixed, flattened and sliced. Your love would never fit”.
“...Will I ever be a man?”
The Witches brow furrowed. This was tougher.
“...You will grow a beard, purchase cigarettes, lose the lottery, crash your car, kiss someone who does not love you and vote. You will never stop growing. Last question kid”
The Boy’s heart had never beat so fast. He could feel it thumping in his eyes.

“...Am I going to be OK?”

The Witch’s smirk melted. She let her cigarette burn down to her fingertips.

“You will see a pale rider. The day you do will be the last day of your life. Or the first. Which one will be up to you”
She crushed the butt between thumb and forefinger. Paper and plant dissolved to dust.

“That’s all I got kid”

She drew the curtains.

Francesca Ayers, So therefore I am

Samuel Scully, Going West

CLAIRE
That night, I dreamt about him. We were back in the bush. He was him, but he was all these other boys as well. He was five and seventeen and twelve and twenty three and he was wearing these boxing gloves that he couldn’t lift off the ground. I could hear his shoulders tearing from their sockets. And then...

On the other side of a tiny wire fence, up came this white horse. Like porcelain. Imagine, pale white, and all that green. The Horse didn’t have a rider. She was staring at the Boy. He stared back.

TATTOOED BOY
What did he do?

CLAIRE
I don’t know. I woke up. Done.

Francesca Ayers, Somebody roll the window down

The tattoo’s finished. A bloodshot eye in between his shoulder-blades. She takes a photo on her phone and hands it to him. He looks at it and she looks at him.

CLAIRE
You don’t believe me.

He flexes his shoulder blades. The tattoo bleeds a little. He stretches it as far as he can.

CLAIRE
It’s true.

He slides off the windowsill and turns to face her. They share a long, quiet look...

TATTOOED BOY
Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. You’re the one telling the story.

Francesca Ayers, So therefore I am

He wades into the green. She watches him go until he’s gone.

Samuel Scully, Going West

† The title On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous comes from Ocean Vuong’s novel of the same name published in 2019.

Francesca Ayers Bio

Samuel Scully Bio

Matt Butler Bio

PhotoForum Exhibitions

Essays Lissa Mitchell Matt Butler Charlotte Huddleston Natalie Robertson Marian Macken Theo Macdonald

PhotoForum
Exhibitions

Essays
Lissa Mitchell
Matt Butler
Charlotte Huddleston
Natalie Robertson
Marian Macken
Theo Macdonald