Act V - The Coastal Paradise
Scene: The Coastal Walk
(Sydney coastline. The four flatmates trudge along a sandy bush track under the blazing sun. Waves crash below; cicadas scream overhead. The salt air is sharp and alive, a world away from their usual cluttered flat.)
MARK (panting):
I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this. We talked about it last night, but I thought it’d end like every other plan—with takeout and Netflix.
AMBER (swinging her water bottle, grinning):
Shows what you know. For once in our lives, we followed through. Miracles do happen.
WAI (mock-solemn, wiping sweat from his forehead):
Miracles? More like madness. Who in their right mind trades air-con for cicadas?
WILL (smiling faintly, hands tucked behind his back as if strolling a promenade, not a bush track):
People who need reminding there’s a world beyond deadlines and dirty dishes. Admit it—you feel better already.
(They pause a moment. The sea breeze tugs at their clothes; gulls wheel above, shrieking. For the first time in a long while, the four are together outside their flat, without laptops, phones, or schedules clawing at them.)
MARK (softening, almost surprised at himself):
It is… nice. I’ve lived in Sydney for years, and somehow I’ve never walked this path. Feels wrong—and yet perfect.
AMBER (teasing, but gentler than usual):
See? You can be a human, not just a spreadsheet with legs.
WAI (grinning despite himself):
Alright, alright. It’s not awful. But if there’s no ice cream truck at the end, I’m writing a formal complaint.
WILL (with mock gravity):
To whom, exactly? Poseidon?
(They laugh, the sound carried off by the wind. The track bends, leading them deeper along the cliffs. Amber strides ahead, Mark and Will walk side by side, Wai drags his feet at the rear. None notice when his steps begin to falter, his gaze snagged by the glimmer of a distant lighthouse, white and stark against the horizon. His backpack shifts; inside, an unfamiliar book’s cover peeks—'Annihilation', with a beast sprouting blossoms. He had slipped it from Will’s shelf the night before, fascinated by the strange artwork.)
(As the others vanish around the bend, Wai pauses. The lighthouse gleams in the sun, calling. With a glance back at his friends, he hesitates—then trudges alone towards it.)
Scene: The Lighthouse
(The lighthouse door groans open. Inside, shadows crawl. The walls pulse, sprouting grotesque tendrils tipped with flowers. The air smells of salt and pollen. Wai staggers back.)
WAI (yelling):
Nope. Nope. Big nope.
(He bolts outside—but the world has changed. The sky glows violet, the sea churns emerald. Strange figures drift inside translucent bubbles—explorers with sextants, sailors, and one massive creature with coral sprouting from its back, eyes like lanterns.)
CREATURE (voice like whale-song):
You are not of this tide. Why do you run?
WAI (gaping, then blurting):
Because walls aren’t supposed to grow tentacles! And who are you—Finding Nemo’s nightmare cousin?
(The creature hums, amused. A bubble drifts down; inside is a weathered EXPLORER with sunburnt skin and gentle eyes. She steps lightly as if gravity barely touches her, a notebook clasped to her chest.)
EXPLORER:
Fear not. You’ve stepped into the bubble of the Southern Reach. Here, nature remembers itself. The land, the sea, the sky—untouched, eternal.
WAI (scratching his head):
So… this is like… paradise? Looks a bit mouldy.
EXPLORER (smiling faintly, her gaze sweeping the horizon):
Paradise to some. A warning to others. You humans tear at the world too fast. Perhaps the bubble shows what is lost—or what could be, if you listened.
(She opens her notebook; the pages shimmer with drawings of luminous corals, impossible birds, plants glowing with inner fire.)
EXPLORER:
I was once a biologist. Out there, my research was always half-finished—papers lost in politics, species dying before I could name them. But here… here I complete it all. Every creature thrives, every pattern of life unfolds before me without end.
(Her voice softens; she gestures to another bubble floating near, where a second figure waits—an older woman with kind eyes. The two exchange a look that is wordless and eternal.)
EXPLORER:
And I am never alone. My love and I—no wars to part us, no time to steal her from me. The bubble grants us what the world denied: a life uninterrupted, side by side.
(Her eyes shine, not with fanaticism but with awe. She looks back at Wai, almost pitying.)
(Wai stares, speechless. For once, no joke rises to his lips. He takes a shaky breath, caught between yearning and dread.)
Scene: The Temptation
(Wai stumbles back into the lighthouse. At its heart is a radiant light, pure and beckoning. He squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The voice of the light thrums inside his chest, promising unity, peace, timelessness.)
(The chamber shifts around him. The floor becomes glassy water; reflections ripple and solidify into images—wars raging on TV screens, choking smoke above cities, oil slicks smothering seas. The hum of the light becomes a chorus of newscasters, protests, sirens. Wai clutches his ears, but the sound is inside him.)
WAI (hoarse, muttering):
The world’s a bloody mess… Politics tearing people apart, cities choking on their own fumes.
(The light shimmers. Out of it steps another Wai—an apparition, sharper, calmer, radiant with the glow of the lighthouse itself. His twin smiles knowingly.)
OTHER WAI:
Indeed. Out there you’re just noise, a joker with a tennis racket. Here you can be pure—part of something vast, untainted. No smog, no bills, no pretending you like the city’s grind. Just nature, eternal and clean.
WAI (hesitant, swallowing hard):
I do hate the city. Hate the traffic, the screens, the rush. I’ve always wanted the bush, the sea… a place where air actually tastes like air.
OTHER WAI (stepping closer, coaxing):
Then join me. Merge with the light. Leave behind their shouting, their endless appetite. Here you are whole. Here, no one laughs at you.
(Wai trembles. For a moment, the glow tempts him, promising release. He sees himself running free across meadows, diving into turquoise waters, never trapped again by deadlines or apartments.)
(But then another memory hits: Amber’s voice, scolding him even as she covers him with a blanket after training too hard. Will’s smirk on the tennis court—“rematch next week, don’t you dare flake.” Mark’s awkward grin as he fixes Wai’s tangled shoelaces with neat precision, muttering but never truly angry. The warmth of being needed, of belonging, even in chaos.)
WAI (voice breaking):
No, this isn’t it. This bubble… vast enough to hold oceans, stars, maybe the whole universe. And part of me—God, part of me—wants to stay, to float here where nothing hurts.
(He presses a hand to his chest, breath ragged.)
WAI:
But if I sink into this… I leave them. How do I trade my own chaos for silence, even perfect silence?
(His voice cracks, almost a plea.)
(The apparition falters, its glow flickering. The Other Wai sneers, then dissolves back into the light. Suddenly the walls begin to shudder. Cracks streak across the stone like lightning. Flowering tendrils wither into ash. The great beam of the lighthouse flares, blinding white, then fractures into shards of light that rain down like broken glass.)
(Wai shields his face as the whole tower convulses. The floor splits, seawater gushes through, the spiral stairs twist and collapse. Outside, the sky itself buckles—the violet fades, the emerald sea drains of colour. The world of the bubble is dying with his refusal.)
(With a thunderous roar, the lighthouse implodes into a whirl of salt spray and petals. When the light clears, Wai is hurled out onto the sand, coughing, clothes soaked, the ordinary ocean roaring behind him. The lighthouse is gone, leaving only an empty headland.)
Scene: Reunion
(Moments later. The others appear around the bend. Amber charges ahead, her cheeks flushed with sun and irritation.)
AMBER (storming up):
Where the hell did you wander off to, you muppet?
WAI (forcing a grin, still pale, brushing sand from his hands):
Took the scenic route. Saw a few things. Maybe too many.
(They regroup, trudging together toward the lighthouse cliff. The ocean spreads beneath them—the blinding blue, the endless sky, the green bushlands swaying in the heat. Wai slows, staring out, something shifted in his eyes. His voice comes low, stripped of his usual bravado.)
WAI (quietly, almost to himself):
You know… we walk too fast. Chase too much. And all this—(he gestures at the sea, the headlands, the sky)—we barely even look at it. Maybe the world’s already giving us paradise, and we’re just too stupid to notice.
(The others fall silent. Even Amber doesn’t quip. For a long moment, the four of them stand there, letting the surf and sky wash over them. The cicadas scream, gulls wheel overhead, and the waves crash against the cliffs below. It is rare stillness, unhurried, unearned, yet wholly theirs.)
MARK (softly, with a faint smile):
Feels like… the kind of day that deserves to be remembered.
AMBER (relenting, nodding once):
Yeah. Don’t get used to me saying this, but… not bad, you lot. Not bad at all.
(Wai tilts his face toward the sky, the sunlight sharp on his skin. A thought flickers, and he speaks almost idly.)
WAI:
Clear skies like this… means tonight’ll be perfect for stars. Maybe we should stick around. Camp here.
(Amber arches a brow in surprise, Mark blinks. Before either can answer, Will finally speaks. His tone is smooth, agreeable—but his eyes glint with something unreadable, as though the suggestion has unlocked a thought he was already carrying.)
WILL (smiling faintly):
A fine idea. Stay the night. Watch the heavens turn above us. After all… what’s the point of rushing back, when the stars are waiting?
(Mark studies him, sensing a weight beneath the easy words. But Amber claps Wai on the back, laughing, and the moment breaks. Together, the four turn from the lighthouse, already imagining firelight, tents, and the southern sky burning clear above them. None notice how long Will lingers on that sky, his expression calm, patient—like a man counting down to something only he knows.)