Tasteless Recreation of a Pollock - SCP Foundation

TW: Suicide and Suicidal Ideation Present Throughout

So, remind me again, Elliot, why are we here?

It's good inspiration.

Well, this is the fourth time this week you've walled yourself in here.

A small price to pay.

I'm concerned about you.

There's no reason you should be.

Elliot…

Lana, I'm fine.

…

What have you even been doing in here?

Research.

Research?

Mhm.

How?

Well, come here… Oh come on, just lay down, I don't bite.

That's debatable.

Heh… alright… what are you doing?

Just watching you.

I'm not the interesting thing here.

Elliot, we're in an empty room, what else is there?

The paintings.

What?

Lookup.

Holy shit…

They're not that impressive.

They’re amazing.

Eh.

Were these here the entire time?

Yes, you didn't notice?

Well, no, I was too busy making sure you're not doing something stupid.

Mmmm…

… So remind me again, why can't you do this at home?

I need a dark place to create an illusion.

Well, I can cover up the studio windows.

Why would you do that?

Well, I want you to be comfy.

It’s comfy here.

I have a hard time believing that.

I dunno, something about this asbestos-filled junk pile really just kicks my mind into gear, ya feel?

Elliot.

Yes?

You realize that asbestos can harm your lungs right?

I'm not an idiot Lana… I just don't care.

What? Why?

Well, like here let me just show you.

…

Elliot.

Yes.

That's the Mona Lisa.

It is… is there something wrong with that?

What does this have to do with you slowly killing yourself?

You’ll see.

…

Elliot, seriously I'm getting sick of your shit. What do these paintings have to do with you?

Well, they’re all famous. They’re classics. They’ll be remembered for generations to come! They're priceless gems that could never be replaced.

Your life is too.

…

It is Elliot.

Eh.

…

So why do this anyway? Why stare at these paintings for hours in this scummy old place? You can go to a museum, you could look them up, you coul-

Sh, sh, sh, I could. I could do all of that, but, I don't know if it would quite match me and my methods.

Oh yes, because getting lung cancer is better than sitting in a museum and taking a photo of a painting.

It could be.

What?!

Well, like, look around you, at all of these paintings and tell me what makes them famous.

Elliot.

What?

You're not serious, right?

About?

Oh my god… dying doesn't make your work famous.

Arguable.

Elliot! Oh my god, there's tons of living artists all over who are known worldwide.

Yes, but their work isn't priceless. They can always produce another piece, but Rembrandt can't create another portrait.

Elliot… times have changed.

Really, how would they have changed?

There's the Internet now.

Lana, look at me. The Internet has a lot of fads, a lot of passing trends and with those trends go us artists.

You're looking at this backwards.

I'd say the same to you.

You won't become famous because of your death.

My pieces will be priceless though.

No, they won't.

They will.

Elliot, seriously, stop.

…

…

Lana. Have I ever told you about my paintings from New Orleans?

I didn't even know you've went.

Well, I went years ago, I was a kid with my dad and we had just bought three paintings. One of jazz players, one of the French Quarters, and another of a graveyard. Now we couldn't take these through the airport, so we had to ship them.

Shipping sucks.

Really does, so we got them appraised. The lady kept on telling us about our terrible investments-

She sounds shitty.

-and didn't stop until she reached the jazz players. She stopped and gawked at us before telling us about how this makes up for everything and blah, blah, blah. She went off on a rant about how he was dying and how she doesn't think he'd make it through the hurricane season.

Was she wrong?

No. I sold the piece for triple it's price.

Elliot…

Yes.

You don't have to be dead to be famous.

No, but it sure does help.

…

Elliot. What is that?

What?

Those canvases?

Failed attempts at fame.

What do… oh my god… Elliot…

I know, they look like tasteless recreation of a Pollock.

Elliot.

Yes?

You need help.

I’m fine.

…

Lana, why are you still here?

I’m concerned about you.

There’s no reason to be.

…

Elliot.

Yes.

What were you doing in Indiana?

I was seeing my uncle.

Really?

Yes.

Elliot…

Yes?

Seriously, tell me.

I’m being serious.

Elliot.

…

…

… I was buying explosives… you can get a fourth a stick over there…

Oh.

…

Lana. Are you mad at me?

I’m just concerned.

…

…

Lana, are you going to leave?

Not without you.

…

…

You have to eat soon.

So do you.

…

…

Lana, what are you doing over there?

Just looking.

Looking for what?

Nothing, I’m just looking.

…

…

Lana.

Yes.

Can you just leave?

No.

…

…

Lana?

Not leaving.

…

…

…

Don’t you care about me?

I’m not leaving you to die.

You wouldn’t be leaving me.

I would.

…

…

…

Lana?

Yes?

Who have you been texting?

My mother, she’s concerned about me.

Oh.

…

…

…

You’re a fucking bitch.

What?

You fucking lied!

What? Hey! Dude chill!

You fucking called me in! Didn’t you?

Elliot chill.

You fucking called me in!

Elliot, chill. Deep breaths.

Don’t tell me what to do!

Elliot.

Don’t fucking touch me.

…

Fuck you.

You’re being a child.

I’m not going in.

You really don’t have a choice.

I do.

… you aren’t.

Watch me… Get your grubby fucking hands off of me!

No!

Fucking bitch!

…

Lana?

…

Lana?

…

Oh fuck… Lana?