This was originally written in Greek before Trainspotting 2 came out. This is a narration attributed to lead character Mark Renton as envisioned happening during the ending sequence of Trainspotting (now translated into English). You can find the text here.
I walked across the bridge laden with lovely thoughts, wide smile drawn on my lips. Cars went by next to me, resembling slumberous snails after a hazy morning's rain. Behind me the room, the four of them still engulfed in deep sleep. Once daylight broke through, the fun would begin. But I was already away, beyond the seas, over the air, in and onto other places. Hangin on my back, my satchel, stuffed with dreams, personal promises and many, many crumpled bank notes. Yeah, I ain't good, yeah I ain't right, I am the Eliphas Levi of lawlessness, I do what I do and then I wonder, it's my decision to change, yes to change.
Some other day....
"I'm gonna kick tomorrow ...."
The most frightening of decisions, I took them by myself. No contribution, no direction from any other. That's how I learned to dupe the world, tell it what it want's to hear, keeping for myself all the things that would make it pull back, retract, that's how I learned to extend a hand over my frozen smile waiting for a donation, a piece of bread, your fiance's heart, a box seat for the comedy show we call "life".
I turn around to look at the cars behind me. The bridge hangs like a withered flower stalk over the river. The tears of humanity stream into a static everyday life. Home, wife, children, a job that provides you with relative dignity, the opportunity to entertain your boredom for some hours per week, but not for long! not all the time for you might get bored of pleasure too, a job that gives you the right not to think of tomorrow as something that "ends" but as something that comes, that "begins".
And yet my days may dawn differently. Nancy once told me that the time will come when this part of my life would dry up and fall. I suck on my cigarette, spit out gray clouds into the sky, I draw lines with my lighter and suck oblivion through my nostrils. My hands are full of stigmata. The number of gods that lived and died on these hands is incredible. Countless! And now they are gone. Somewhere I will find another Nancy. She will probably tell me something smart like that. My father never told me anything. Neither did my mother. And I wanted money, just money. Why? So I could string a rope outside their window and hang myself over the sidewalk. A gamble. Would my feet manage to hit the ground? If they did indeed touch, I would bounce off the pavement and I would start to run, wildly towards my escape. If they did not.... I wouldn't have passed this bridge today, so it wouldn't once again, matter.
You, who are looking at me through my eyes, there, now, you know it, that your big gamble is to forget why none of the effort you make will ever matter. You can see your horizon and you know it's grey. Mickey yells at me "Nothing is pointless mate!" Yes, yes, i do agree. Nothing. If your purpose is to forget that at some point you won't be able to remember again, then nothing is indeed pointless. My dogs, my cats and my children. No mention for my wife. I went over the bridge, left the four of them behind, grappling at each other's throats inside that tangy dirty room.
I get up, dust myself off. I continue ahead. Beside me the cars slither like flaked out lizards under a scorching desert sun. I'm optimistic. Thank dog for my satchel.
You can read my recent review of Trainspotting 2, which prompted this throwback, here.
