KUMBAYA - Short Film (Beta)

Captured by Mitchell Royel, the scene unfolds like a heartbeat resonating in the stillness, as the haunting notes of "Beating Heart" by Ellie Goulding permeate the air. Each pulse of the melody echoes the characters' struggles, drawing us deeper into their intricate world—a realm where every moment is imbued with the gravity of their choices. Reminiscent of The Family That Preys, this evokes the exceptional style of Veronica Roth, where the fusion of music and narrative crafts an emotional tapestry, rich with yearning and the unyielding quest for connection.

by Mitchell Royel: The short film follows Jake, a young man feeling trapped in the monotonous town of Millbrook, where life is predictable and suffocating. Alongside his friends Mia, Sam, and Lily, he grapples with their shared dissatisfaction and dreams of a more meaningful existence. Their lives take a turn when they discover the Ascension Circle, a community that promises transformation and personal growth. As they delve into this new world, they confront their fears and the societal pressures that hold them back, leading to a journey of self-discovery and awakening.

As the story unfolds, the group's commitment to the Ascension Circle deepens, culminating in a pivotal ceremony of surrender where they must face their fears of death and the unknown. This moment serves as a catalyst for change, forcing each character to confront their past and aspirations. Ultimately, the short film explores themes of community, belonging, and the struggle between comfort and authenticity, leaving readers to ponder what it truly means to live fully and connect with others.

The morning mist enveloped Millbrook like a heavy blanket, wrapping around the identical houses and deserted streets with a sense of oppressive familiarity. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of my bedroom window, gazing at the same gray landscape that welcomed me every day for the past eighteen years. Nothing ever changed here. Nothing ever would.

“Jake!” Mom’s voice sliced through my thoughts like a knife. “Breakfast!”

I trudged downstairs, where the same conversation unfolded like a broken record. Dad buried in his newspaper, grumbling about factory layoffs. Mom scraping burnt toast while complaining about Mrs. Henderson’s garden gnomes. My little sister Emma scrolling through her phone, yearning for any connection to the world beyond our stifling borders.

This was life in Millbrook. Predictable. Safe. Soul-crushing.

The school hallways buzzed with the usual morning chaos, but even that felt rehearsed. Same faces, same conversations, same dreams slowly fading under fluorescent lights. I found my friends at our usual spot by the broken vending machine—a monument to everything that didn’t work in this place.

Mia sat cross-legged on the floor, his dark hair falling like a curtain over his sketch pad. He drew constantly, creating worlds that existed nowhere but in his imagination. His parents named him Mia because they hoped he would bring beauty and creativity into the world, much like a skilled artist.

Sam leaned against the wall, his guitar case propped beside him. He played for anyone who’d listen, pouring his heart into melodies that seemed to echo off the walls and vanish into nothing. His music was beautiful and tragic, like everything else about him.

Lily paced in tight circles, his energy barely contained. He was the dreamer among us, always talking about college applications and escape plans that felt more like fairy tales with each passing day. His parents named him Lily, hoping he would embody the resilience and beauty of the flower, thriving even in challenging conditions.

“There has to be more than this,” Lily said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of desperation. “We can’t just… exist.”

I understood that feeling. It lived in my chest like a constant ache, growing stronger every day. We were drowning in mediocrity, suffocating on routine, dying a slow death of unfulfilled potential.

“Maybe we’re not looking hard enough,” Mia said quietly, not lifting his eyes from his drawing. “Maybe there are people out there who understand.”

Sam strummed a chord that seemed to hang in the air like a question. “What if we’re meant for something bigger? What if we just haven’t found our tribe yet?”

The word tribe resonated through me. That’s what we were missing—a sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves. We had each other, but even our friendship felt incomplete, like we were pieces of a puzzle missing crucial parts.

The answer came three weeks later in the form of a flyer tucked under my windshield wiper.

“DISCOVER YOUR TRUE PURPOSE”

“FIND YOUR AUTHENTIC COMMUNITY”

“TRANSFORM YOUR LIFE”

The paper was thick, expensive-feeling, with elegant typography that made it stand out from the usual pizza delivery ads and garage sale announcements. At the bottom, in flowing script: “The Ascension Circle - Where souls unite in purpose.”

I showed it to the others during lunch. Lily’s eyes lit up immediately.

“This is it,” he whispered, clutching the flyer like a lifeline. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

Sam was more cautious. “Sounds like one of those weird religious things.”

“It’s not religious,” Mia said, studying the elegant design. “Look at the language. It’s about personal growth, community building. Self-actualization.”

The meeting was that Friday night at the old community center on Maple Street. We debated going for days, but curiosity won. We needed something—anything—to break the monotony of our existence.

The community center had been transformed. Gone were the folding chairs and fluorescent lights. Instead, the space glowed with warm candlelight, filled with cushions arranged in perfect circles. Soft music played—something ethereal and haunting that seemed to reach into your chest and massage your heart.

About thirty people sat in the circles, ranging from teenagers like us to adults in their forties. They all had the same expression—peaceful, expectant, like they’d found something the rest of the world was missing.

Then she entered.

Zaria moved like poetry in motion, her presence filling the room before she spoke a single word. She was maybe thirty-five, with striking silver hair that caught the candlelight and eyes that seemed to see straight through to your soul. When she smiled, it felt like being chosen.

“Welcome, beautiful souls,” she said, her voice carrying an almost musical quality. “Welcome to the beginning of your real lives.”

She spoke about purpose, about the lies society tells us about success and happiness. About how most people sleepwalk through existence, never discovering their true potential. Her words wrapped around us like silk, each sentence more compelling than the last.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” she said, her gaze finding each of us in turn. “That emptiness. That sense that you’re meant for something more. That’s not dissatisfaction—that’s your soul calling out for its true home.”

I felt tears on my cheeks before I realized I was crying. Beside me, Mia gripped my hand so tightly his nails left marks. Sam had stopped breathing. Lily was nodding like Zaria was speaking directly to him.

“The world wants to keep you small,” Zaria continued. “Your families, your schools, your communities—they’re all invested in maintaining the status quo. They fear your potential because it threatens their comfortable mediocrity.”

Every word hit like a revelation. This was why we felt so disconnected, so lost. We weren’t broken—we were awakening.

“But here,” Zaria spread her arms wide, encompassing all of us, “here you can become who you were truly meant to be. Here, you can find your tribe.”

After the meeting, Zaria provided us with supernatural instructions, urging us to embrace our true selves and explore the depths of our consciousness. We left the community center that night, feeling invigorated and hopeful, but we decided to part ways with the Circle, believing we could find our path independently.

However, strange occurrences began to unfold in our homes. At first, it was subtle—a flickering light here, a cold breeze there. But soon, the paranormal activity escalated. Doors creaked open on their own, shadows danced in the corners of our rooms, and whispers echoed through the hallways. We attributed these happenings to our connection with the Ascension Circle, convinced that our brief encounter with Zaria had awakened something within us.

Yet, as the days passed, our families grew concerned. They dismissed our experiences as signs of mental health issues, attributing our fears and anxieties to stress and teenage angst. They couldn’t understand the profound changes we were undergoing, nor could they see the connection between our experiences and the Circle.

The tension in our homes grew unbearable. My parents insisted I see a therapist, convinced that my newfound beliefs were a phase I would soon outgrow. But I felt more alive than ever, even as the supernatural occurrences intensified.

As the days turned into weeks, the paranormal activity reached a peak one fateful night. We gathered at my house, seeking solace in each other’s company as the supernatural events swirled around us. The air was thick with anticipation, and every creak of the floorboards sent shivers down our spines.

“Maybe we should reach out to Zaria,” Lily suggested, his voice trembling. “She might know how to help us.”

But we had only met her once, and the thought of returning to the Circle felt daunting. Instead, we decided to confront the energy that had invaded our lives. We formed a circle in my living room, holding hands and closing our eyes, focusing on the connection we had felt that night at the community center.

As we chanted the words Zaria had shared with us, the atmosphere shifted. The lights flickered violently, and a cold wind swept through the room, extinguishing the candles we had lit. In that moment, we felt the weight of our fears and doubts, but we also felt the power of our collective energy.

The room erupted in chaos as the paranormal activity reached its zenith. Objects flew off shelves, and the walls trembled with an unseen force. We were terrified, yet exhilarated, as we realized we were not alone in this experience. The energy we had summoned was alive, and it was responding to our call.

In the midst of the turmoil, I felt a surge of clarity. We were not broken; we were awakening to a new reality. The fear that had gripped us began to dissipate, replaced by a profound sense of purpose. We were meant to explore the unknown, to embrace the mysteries that lay beyond our understanding.

But as the chaos subsided, we faced a tragic turn of events. The intensity of the supernatural forces became too much to bear. One by one, we succumbed to the overwhelming energy, our bodies unable to withstand the strain.

In the aftermath, the town mourned our loss. Visuals of ropes we had laid out in our final moments became a haunting reminder of the bond we had shared. The townspeople attributed our deaths to supernatural causes, unable to comprehend the truth of our journey. They whispered about mental health struggles, dismissing the extraordinary experiences we had encountered.

As the community grieved, the echoes of our laughter faded, replaced by a powerful mourning that resonated through Millbrook. Our families, unaware of Zaria’s true intentions, were left to grapple with the loss of their children, forever changed by the mysterious circumstances surrounding our untimely demise.

In the end, we had sought to find our purpose and our tribe, but we had become a cautionary tale—a reminder of the dangers that lie in the pursuit of the unknown. The legacy we left behind was one of love, loss, and the haunting question of what might have been.