The Other Green/Transcript: Difference between revisions

Line 99:

NARRATOR: "With this exclamation I pour a minuscule amount of white into the bowl and mix it. It looks slightly... whiter."

RIN: "That's not good. It has to be like... like the color when you wake up and you ~~{b}~~know~~{/b}~~ that you saw the meaning of life in your dream but can't remember it. Maybe it's yellow..."

RIN: "That's not good. It has to be like... like the color when you wake up and you '''know''' that you saw the meaning of life in your dream but can't remember it. Maybe it's yellow..."

NARRATOR: "... Despite the impossibility of mixing a color like the change of seasons or any other nonsense that's being imposed on me, I find myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. Seeing a painting being born on the plastered wall feels like magic. I spend the moments I have between mixing paints crouching down on the paving and just looking at her work. It feels slightly intrusive at first, like breaking some imaginary intimacy, but Rin doesn't seem to mind the least bit. Maybe it's just in my head. Her entire presence emits a completely different air as she patiently works the details, adding layers of paint on top of other layers of paint, steadily moving her foot across the wall to add new shapes. When I manage to produce a passable mixture of paint, the rare smile on her face is oddly rewarding."

@@ Line 99: / Line 99: @@
 NARRATOR: "With this exclamation I pour a minuscule amount of white into the bowl and mix it. It looks slightly... whiter."
-RIN: "That's not good. It has to be like... like the color when you wake up and you {b}know{/b} that you saw the meaning of life in your dream but can't remember it. Maybe it's yellow..."
+RIN: "That's not good. It has to be like... like the color when you wake up and you '''know''' that you saw the meaning of life in your dream but can't remember it. Maybe it's yellow..."
 NARRATOR: "... Despite the impossibility of mixing a color like the change of seasons or any other nonsense that's being imposed on me, I find myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. Seeing a painting being born on the plastered wall feels like magic. I spend the moments I have between mixing paints crouching down on the paving and just looking at her work. It feels slightly intrusive at first, like breaking some imaginary intimacy, but Rin doesn't seem to mind the least bit. Maybe it's just in my head. Her entire presence emits a completely different air as she patiently works the details, adding layers of paint on top of other layers of paint, steadily moving her foot across the wall to add new shapes. When I manage to produce a passable mixture of paint, the rare smile on her face is oddly rewarding."