This is my audio instalment for my Creative New Media class that takes place at the Kelowna Airport. The purpose is for somebody to experience a story in the place I wrote the story for. The track is downloadable, and the starting location is on the second floor viewing deck across from the White Spot, looking out at the planes.
Attached is the script, and the audio is embedded.
Come, come. Sit down, grab a seat. I have a story to tell you. It takes place, well, here, in this very airport. Right now, it’s being retiled, although I want to be very clear that the airport did not just happen upon a bunch of money to retile the airport. However, the contents of this story will reveal why the retiling process began. It was February 24, 2017.
Our story begins with you, sitting right here, looking out the big windows. You’re watching the planes land, take off, land, take off. But after a while, something catches your eye. Past the planes, across the valley, and up the hillside a bit. You look at the pine trees. You breathe them in. There’s nothing quite like the smell of an evergreen. Suddenly, you see something coming down the hill. It’s going fast, and leaving a trail of devastation. You look closer, and suddenly you recognize it. It’s Bigfoot. Yes, Mr. Bigfoot himself.
He’s barreling down the mountain, causing quite the ruckus. He smashes through trees, snow squishing between his toes. He’s coming down incredibly fast. He’s just across the field now. He runs over, jumps the fence and runs across the airport Tarmac. You stand up and hurry to the window. His dark eyes look up at yours for a second, before he again focuses on his target. You notice the yellow 6, and realize that Bigfoot does too. You watch him run over and climb up inside the tunnel, disappearing.
Suddenly, you hear walkie-talkies buzz around you. Something is up. No kidding. BIGFOOT’S IN THE BUILDING!
You turn around and speed walk to the staircase, Mrs. Lee’s words ringing in your head, “Sweet, sweet, marshmallow feet.” You bee-line it straight for the stairs, watching a security guard run by under you towards departures. You hasten down the stairs. While coming down the stairs, you hear screams coming from the departures area. More security guards run by. You stop at the bottom of the stairs for a second to make sure you’re not dreaming. You pinch yourself, subtly, on the thigh. Yup, you’re definitely not dreaming. You turn right at the bottom of the stairs, walking cautiously, always looking towards the screams emitting from departures. You go over by the ski rack. You see terror in people’s eyes all around you. You sit down on the seats behind the ski rack, full of equipment from group of Aussie’s waiting to be shipped off back to the down unda.
You sit, peaking around the rack down the hallway towards departures, and wait. You listen. And then you hear him. A wookie call rings out and echoes up into the rafters of the atrium. And then you see him. He reminds you of so much of Chewbacca, sound and all. He runs by you, clearly with a goal in mind. His gait is large, and he goes fast. His toe catches on the carpet. He stumbles, and reaches out. You hear what sounds like a screwdriver on a chalkboard. You stand up at the noise, searching for the source. He gets up and continues towards the arrivals wing, walking. You walk over towards the staircase, and then you notice it. There’s a scratch about 6 feet up on the staircase. It’s deep. It’s fresh. You reach out and touch it. It’s rough.
You begin walking again, towards arrivals. You turn your focus back to Bigfoot, 20 feet in front of you. You follow him. He’s ahead of you, just past the WestJet desks. You look past him and notice an RCMP officer walking forward. You watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Bigfoot clearly isn’t dumb. He begins to duck, dodge, and throw anything he can get his hands on. You continue to follow him. The RCMP officer has a look in his eyes like he wishes he had stayed home today. Bigfoot continues forward, almost at Tim Hortons. You briefly think about a coffee. The officer reaches down and un-holsters his gun. Bigfoot begins to run right at him, talons outstretched.
Suddenly, you stumble. You look down, checking your shoes laces. And that’s when you smell it. Gunpowder. Your ears are ringing too much to register the gunshot, but the smell is unmistakable. You look back up to where Bigfoot was, almost to the Tim Hortons entrance. But, somehow, it’s all roped off already, covered in plastic tarp-wrap, Canadian Security Intelligence Service are everywhere. Did you pass out? You feel your forehead. It’s clammy and damp. You walk over to where it’s rope off as fast as you can and peer in. It’s just Bigfoot lying there. You see the green blood that pours from his wounds, onto the old tiles, through the plastic. Yes, the old tiles. His blood gurgles and bubbles, steaming and burning. You stand, staring at Bigfoot and the green blood, and then you feel someone grab your shoulder and push you aside. Another CSIS agent. It’s almost as if they were on a stakeout…
You watch the agents swarm Bigfoot, and then you notice the RCMP officer walking away, back towards the baggage carousels. You follow him. You’re so tempted to stop in at Tim Hortons for a quick chocolate glazed donut, as you tend to overeat in stressful situations, but you push on, following the officer instead. As you walk behind him, you watch him wring his hands, rub his temples, and wipe salty sweat from his brow. He brushes against his gun, and then recoils from it, sitting on his hit. Curious. He breaks into a jog as he turns left around the corner towards the exit. You keep your steady pace, hoping you won’t find him buckled over and vomiting when you round the corner. Wouldn’t that be gross. Instead, you see sliding doors closing as his silhouette gest smaller. You walk through the same sliding doors.
The moment you step outside, you feel the wind whip against your face. You hear the sound of sirens and helicopters everywhere. You glance around. CSIS agents are swarming everywhere. But none of this affects you. And none of it affects the officer either. You watch him get into his police cruiser, sitting right where it always does. He just…sits there, for a moment, before lowering his head into his hands. You watch him for a second before looking up. You look up and a little to the right, across the valley, at a bare hillside. And then you see them. Dark eyes matching those you saw just moments before, and right beside them are a smaller pair of eyes. You wave. They run away.
Alastair Heinrichs 