Short Story: The Call

The first short story I ever wrote (or at least finished). Maybe the only one for that matter. This is an early draft. Subsequent drafts had their points, but I am prone to over-writing when I re-draft, and this one still has the immediacy and intimacy the others partly lost. For what its worth.

The Call

Hello. Hello?

Silence greeted him from the other end of the line. His impulse was to hang up, of course, his finger already falling into position above the receiver for a quick retreat. Solicitations or wrong numbers typically were the only calls he ever received. Both were awkward, but wrong numbers at least were brief. His trained ear scanned for the telltale click of an automated call distributor switching his line to an operator, that one narrow margin of escape before the onslaught began. Normally he was not callous enough to hang up on telemarketers, especially not once they began; they were just doing their job. Instead he would listen to their monotone voices, asking the occasional question as a show of interest, commenting affably on the usefulness or affordability of whatever they were selling. Some times their voices picked up and he would divert the conversation, asking about their jobs, how long they’d worked for their present employer, where they were calling from. In his mind he put faces to their voices, imagining where they lived, what they were like. He was always pleasant, adding a personal touch to their impersonal work, giving them the rare opportunity to take their pitch all the way to the finish. But by the end they always pressed for a credit card number and in the awkward silence that invariably followed he never bought a thing. By the end they were usually more upset he hadn’t just hung up, as though being given the opportunity to do their job was a waste of time. So now, more often than not, he just did just that.

Yet still there was no click, no sound. His finger held its ground.

Perhaps it was an operator’s first day on the job. They couldn’t work the handset or were foiled by some technical difficulty. Maybe it was a false connection, some random electrical impulse connecting his number to nothing at all. He’d had such calls before, or so he had concluded, hanging up on them with disappointment when the line finally went dead or switched to an automated response. So he waited for the system to correct itself or a voice to break the silence.

The volume from the television spilled brashly into the room, growing louder the harder he listened into the phone. His finger wavered over the receiver in the whitewash light of the TV before drifting slowly over to the remote, dropping the sit-com laughter into the stifling stillness around him. He pressed his ear harder into the firm plastic as though the proximity would make a difference, the silence on the other end of the line growing bolder, almost tangible. After a minute, the curved contour of the phone filling his ear, there was still nothing but a lingering silence.

Outside his window the sky was bruising, the busy skyline smoldering like embers, bronzing his small cluttered room in its dying orange glow. In the mounting quiet his eyes disengaged from the light of the TV, drifted absently across the ceiling, down a wall and into the dark canopy of his carpet, lingering for a moment—his mind of void of thought—until he was drawn back by the harsh flicker of the syndicated program he had been watching for no other reason than it was on. Reaching for the remote he heard it: a muffled movement from the other end, the brief fluctuation in volume of something passing over the mouthpiece.

He was curious now, sitting at one end of a long and invisible wire connected to another person. He shifted the phone to his other hand so he could stretch his arm and shimmied further into the creaking leather chair that knew him more intimately than any lover, and lie in wait: entrenched, waiting for another clue, wishing he had been more careful not to make so much noise himself. The listener had no doubt by now heard enough to know he was still listening curiously on his end. He would not make the mistake again.

The sun bowed below his window, drawing a long slow curtain of shadow up the wall. The phone warmed, softened, and melted into the deep contours of his ear until he could no longer feel it. The muted pulse of the city throbbed low in the naked silence of his room, so constant and subtle a presence that, like the caller, it almost wasn’t there. Without its noisy chatter the television quickly soured on his eyes and he flicked it off, a spot of light collapsing into blackness, the TV crackling as silence and darkness fell upon them. In the dying light, his ears turned keenly toward the vague presence at the end of the line, he finally found what he was searching for—breathing. It was not his own breaths he heard—he already had accounted for that common blunder, keeping the mouthpiece away from his face when he first picked up—this was the unmistakable evidence he was looking for: someone on the other end listening in silence as even he was now.

His heart pounded in his ear, threatening to alert the caller like a panicked war drum, struck in the dead silence of night. His mind raced, fumbling to find a face, a person, a reason for calling—but then all went inexplicably silent—the breathing stopped dead in its tracks as though suddenly aware of itself, and the caller withdrew into the protective cover of silence.

The act disturbed him more than he thought—angered him. It was a violation, a declaration of war. Better it be a prank—to hear ridicule, laughter, then the sting of a severed line than to be taunted like this in the sanctuary of his home. Still he could not hang up—would not—until he knew more. If it were just another prank like all the rest, he would not give them the satisfaction of admitting defeat and hanging up himself. He would force them to finish what they began, drawing them out until they grew so bored or so threatened by the price of their call that they eventually withdrew to the sea of anonymity from which they came. He would rob them of their satisfaction, starve them, let them rot in his silence.

The absence between them grew tense, neither betraying a sound, not the slightest movement or exhalation. Time passed in bouts of careful breaths and he barely afforded himself glances at the clock lest even the movement of his eyes betray his position. As his senses adjusted to the gloom the walls of his room did not press in around him in the mounting darkness as they did every night, falling on him like the sides of a coffin. Instead they seemed to slip away into the distant night as though their absence would not be noticed, and he found himself lost in a space he could not define.

Unmoving, he was fortified into position—his body hardening, the tingling of needles turning into nails, cementing him into place so that he could no longer move or even feel. The chair absorbed him, becoming an extension of his own skin and body that spread outwards, merging into the walls, floor and ceiling until he no longer knew where his body stopped and the room began. As the vision expanded, time collapsed and he could feel himself spreading through space, the distance between caller and himself diminishing as though the world between them were merging into a single body. He could imagine, feel, the caller’s breaths rising and falling in tandem with his own and wondered if they were going through the same metamorphosis.

 Night stretched on, minutes becoming indistinguishable from hours, hours from days, until time no longer passed at all, until without knowing why, consciousness came back into him and the remembrance of the body he could no longer feel. Not a sound had passed since war was declared, and the phone hung dead in his ear. How long had it been? The silence around him was now absolute—even the city had nodded off, some time ago tiring of their private war. By now the caller surely had abandoned the phone or fallen asleep as he, himself, almost had. He noticed faint shadows leaning timidly from the window and the sudden chirp of a bird piercing the night like a stone. Not a sound on the other end: the victory was his.

He had to signal every muscle in his body to separate himself from the walls, chair, and phone, like a conductor leading an orchestra. With great effort he angled his body so that it peeled from the moist cocoon at his back, giving himself and the chair space to breath into a new shape. A groan escaped from his lips before he could catch it, and he froze, his body stalled in agony, his heart racing for fear of what was to come, and he waited for it: the rise of enemy troops over the hill, the waiting ambush deep in the jungle, the final battle he would now lose.

When he heard it, he was doomed—the laughter rising like a wave, surrounding him, overtaking him, drowning him—knowing there was no escape from it because even if he took it now, even if he slammed the receiver down and threw the phone out the window and shouted out his anger in the tightening room, it would still be with him, revealing him for what he was—someone so alone they would stay on the phone all night listening to the silence of a stranger.

But as he surrendered to the rattling and heaving breath, letting it strip away his brief and fleeting illusion of self-satisfaction, he slowly came to realize he was mistaken. It was not laughter that he heard, and the discovery made his animosity evaporate like a cooling sweat. The sound, unfurling like a white flag, was the sound of crying.

He could not tell how old she was; in suffering all sounded the same, but he could guess that she knew pain as he did, and the comfort that came in silence. Her grief rose and fell onto him like waves. The cold air on his body crept into his eyes, putting everything into a new focus. This war had been his own all along. Who she was or why she called was not important now; they were beyond that. Maybe she was someone like him, tired of being alone and revealing himself to her showed he was still listening to her—had not given up.

He settled back into the strange configuration of the chair now alien to him, listening to her cry, never saying a thing but letting her know this time that he was listening, as he had been all along. And when her tears stopped his began, and she listened to him, letting his tears fall into her ears. They were no longer two people separated by a thin wire, they were two people sitting in the same empty room, holding each other in the retreating dark.

As dawn cracked open the last of the night sky, it severed them in two once more, putting each at their respective end of the line. By the full rush of morning, the distance between them had become indeterminable, each on the phone with a stranger again, their intimacy lost with the night He thought of something to say, some way to thank her, but no words came. Words he realized didn’t belong. He just smiled with a truer sense of satisfaction than any he had felt before, letting his check brush against the phone. He was pleased to hear what he imagined was her doing the same. It was a difficult effort to end the call—he did not want to hang up. But he also knew that staying on would run the risk of severing more than the call. He shuffled the phone to cue he was hanging up, then waited, ear pressed hard against the hot wet plastic, dreading the sound of it. She shuffled too, then paused for a moment, no doubt waiting to see if he really was hanging up or still listening. Silence, then the abrasive click, severing their connection forever. He sat for a moment, waiting for the full awareness of his senses to return, then stood, walked to the window and opened it, noticing for the first time the jumble of rooftops, television antennas and phone lines spilling as far as his eyes could see.

End.                                                                                                

Script Sample: The Snake

Sample from an early draft of my attempt at a slow-boil horror script. I like the concept, but not sure about the main character yet. Needs a lot more exploration and work.

INT. suburban home - MORNING

Smiling benignly into a bathroom mirror, a 35-year old BUSINESS MAN dabs the cut on his cheek with a towel spotted red. Puts a band-aid over the small cut, adjusts his tie, puts on his coat, and pulls the cuff over a bandage on his wrist. The ding of a microwave sounds in the distance. He checks himself in the mirror and walks into the kitchen.

Humming; broken dishes and utensils strewn across the kitchen; shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. He pulls from the microwave an "I Love You" cup steaming with coffee, sips it, rinses it out, and puts it away. Car keys from a wall hook, slipping once, but the squeaking stops as he treads into the hall, leaving blood-soaked footprints in the white carpet. A skewed family portrait hangs on the wall.

EXT. suburban HOME - MORNING

The garage door opens, the car pulls out into the morning air. It rolls down the driveway, stops, then pulls on to the street of an idyllic suburban neighborhood, steam swirling in the garage's gaping mouth. 

The road joins a busy street; commuter cars fill the lanes as traffic pours onto the pulsing freeway.

EXT. CITY - AFTERNOON

The afternoon passes in the city; people toil in their jobs, children play in schoolyards. The sky, a churning ocean of light and shadow, autumnal leaves cascading to the ground in mounds of yellow and gold. As the day comes to an end, nine-to-fivers litter the highways.

DISSOLVE TO:

ext. bar parking lot - evening

Cars fill the parking lot of a bar just off the freeway. A large red neon sign flickers to life against the dusk sky. The MAN'S car is parked in full view beneath it. 

int. bar - evening

The bar is full of businessmen. Blending in with the other patrons yet oblivious to them, the MAN sits at the bar,  scratching the bandage on his wrist, his tie hanging loose, his sleeves rolled up, empty beer glasses in front of him. 

At the bar next to him, a middle-aged business man, DONALD McKenzie, orders a drink. Paying the bartender, he exposes a photo in his wallet.

man 

(To DONALD)

Your family.

Donald

Excuse me.

man

That picture in your wallet...

DONALD looks at the picture before putting it away.

Donald

Yup, that's my family.

The MAN fishes out his own wallet and displays pictures of his wife and children.

man

This is my wife, Judith, my two little girls, Kristen and Sarah. They're six and eight. And this is my son Kenny--he just turned five. 

Donald

Oh yeah? My oldest is five. 

DONALD swigs his beer, while The MAN runs his fingers over the faces of his family. He sits the picture on the bar.

man

Do you live around here?

donald

No, I'm out from Rockridge, I'm just in town for the show. Yourself?

man

Just passing through.

Donald

Thought so. I can always tell the travellers from the locals. My name's Donald. 

DONALD reaches across to shake the MAN's hand.

Donald (cont'd)

You travelling on business too?

man

No. I don't like to travel. It takes me away from my family. 

ext. bar parking lot - night

The parking lot has thinned of cars. More semis and motorcycles fill the lot. Traffic has died to a trickle.

int. BAR - night

Fewer suit-and-ties remain. The bar clientele is becoming more colorful. Loud music pounds from a jukebox. Empty beer bottles and coffee cups are stacked in front of them.

Donald

Sounds like you got a good thing going. You thinking about having more kids?

Man

Yes. I love kids. 

Donald

Man, I have a hard enough time handling just two. I don't know how you do it. 

(Looking at his watch)

It's late. I need to head back to my hotel--I have to be up early for this damned show tomorrow. If I wasn't up for this raise, I would blow the whole thing off. 

man

I'll walk out with you. 

Donald

Where are you headed.

man

Home.

The two men leave the bar. As the bartender stacks their glasses, he notices the MAN's family photo lying forgotten under a glass. A ring of moisture from the glass encircles the family. He glances at it then tosses it in the waste.

ext. BAR - NIGHT

DONALD climbs into his car and closes the door. He starts the engine; outside, the MAN taps on the glass. As DONALD unrolls the window, the MAN leans inside to whisper something to him. Steam unfurls from the exhaust into the night air. The red neon sign crackles loudly, illuminating a glittering cloud of mosquitoes. The sign flickers with a brief violent spasm, then resumes its intense, unrelenting glow. 

dissolve to:

ext. suburban HOUSE - night

The house is bathed in a flickering red luminance. Swathes of light from police sirens wash across the neighborhood like search lights. Investigating police officers swarm around the house. Curious neighbors crane to see around the bustle of activity while others host the platoon of news reporters clogging the street. Flashes of white light flicker inside the cordoned off house, as coroners record the grisly scene. Huddled on the doorstep, wrapped in a blanket, a frightened young girl gives information to two interviewing officers.

fade to:

ext. BAR parking lot - dawn

The neon sign is off. The parking lot is empty, except for a single car in the same spot from the previous night, now covered with a coat of frost.

ext. freeway - morning

A white 4-door Sedan races along the freeway, unimpeded by the traffic that clogs the opposite lanes. 

int. donald's car - morning

Humming to himself with a benign smile, DONALD regards his family photo perched on the dash.

Donald

I do love my family. Very much. 

The car takes an off-ramp.

ext. suburban house driveway - morning

A minivan occupies a driveway of a nice suburban home. JULES, a middle-aged woman dressed for work, with short black hair, struggles to buckle her two children in the car. JACK, 5, in shorts and T-shirt, plays with a toy airplane, getting it tangled in his mother's attempts to buckle him in. His younger sister, STEPH, 3, with long beaded hair, sits in the seat next to him in a colorful sun dress, unbuckling her own seat belt to win her mother's attention. DONALD'S car pulls into the driveway. The kids scramble out of their seats through their mother's legs to greet him. Throwing her arms up in resignation, JULES greets him too.

Children

Daddy!!!

Jules

Don! What are you doing home so soon?!?

DONALD leaps from his car to meet their embrace, then smothers his wife's astonishment in a crushing hug.

Donald

I missed you all so much. I can't tell you how much I love you.

Jules

We love you too dear. But shouldn't you be at the show?

Donald

I don't care about the convention. I care about only you. I don't want travelling to come between us anymore. C'mon kids, get back in the car. You too, Jules. I want to take my family out and have some fun.

children

Yaaahh!! 

Jules

Hon, it's a school day--and a work day. I have to go in...

Donald

Other people can go in, but today we're going to have the time of our lives. You name it: the amusement park, a movie, arcades, the ball game...

Swayed by his enthusiasm, they all pile into the van, the kids cheering as they drive off. The Sedan sits alone in the driveway.

ext. amusement park - dusk

A still Ferris wheel is silhouetted against the setting sun. The amusement park is shutting down. DONALD and his wife amble along the empty thoroughfare. Satisfied and exhausted, they each carry a child passed out in their arms, along with various prizes and concessions. DONALD smiles at JULES. 

Jules

Don, did something happen? You're seem so much happier.

Donald

No. You just mean so much to me. I want you and the kids to be happy from now on--nothing else really matters anymore.

Jules

If this is about the fight we had last week, I thought we worked it out. I don't want you to miss the show just because...

Donald

It's not about that, I promise. Look, if I told you it's because my boss gave me the raise after all, would that make you happy?

He answers her questioning look with a confirming smile and an awkward shrug.

Jules

Honey!! You got the raise? Why didn't you tell me?! I know how hard you've been working towards it.

She hugs him with the children sandwiched between them.

Jules (cont'd)

C'mon let's go home and tuck the kids in.

DISSOLVE TO:

ext. SUBURBAN HOUSE - MORNING

The morning sun glints off of the car windshields. Sprinklers kick on, casting a fine spray across the lawn.

INt. bedroom - morning

JULIE's sleeping face crumpled in the bedding; DONALD sits awake watching her, his face frozen in a benign smile. She wakes and see's the time with sudden alarm.

Jules

Oh my God! I'm late. Donald, did you hear the alarm go off?

JULES bounds out of bed and scrambles into the bathroom.

Donald

I turned the alarm off last night.

Jules

What?!? I can't believe you did that. I have a meeting this morning. 

The water hisses loudly as she starts the shower.

Donald (O.s.)

Let's stay home with the kids today. 

Jules

Hon, you know I can't do that. 

Donald (O.s.)

Go in late then.

Jules

I am going in late, thanks to you. Come to think of it, so are the kids. 

Can you take them in for me? I can still make it to my meeting if I hurry.

She jumps into the steaming shower, emitting a brief scream. DONALD's form stirs in strange positions under the bed cover.

INt. living room - morning

DONALD waits for his wife at the door. He's dressed in a robe. The children are sitting at the table, dressed in PJ's, waiting heavy-lidded for their breakfast.

Jules

(To her husband) 

You better hurry. 

Donald

We'll hurry. I love you.

Jules

I love you too trouble-maker. I really do (hugs him). I'll see you tonight after I stop by the store. Bye kids. Have fun at school. 

JULIE hurries out, jumps in the van and speeds off in a breath of wet leaves. DONALD turns back to his children.

Donald

Get dressed kids. We're going out for breakfast!

stephanie

Yaaahh! I want waffles!

Jack

No, pigs in blankets!

dissolve to:

Int. Suburban house - day

The phone rings through an empty house. An answering machine picks up. 

Co-worker (v.o.)

Hi Julie, this is Frank. Have you heard from Donald? We missed him at the show yesterday. His hotel told us he checked out and went home. Could you have him give us a call when he gets back? Thanks.

INT. SUBURBAN HOUSE - DAY

The front door rattles before flinging open against the wall, the keys dangling from the lock. Worn out from a long day's work, Jules fumbles her way in the darkened room, groceries in both arms.

JUles

Hey, where is everybody? I need some help with the groceries here.

She gropes for a light switch and turns on the light.

Donald & the kids (together)

SURPRISE!!!

She jumps back against the wall in shock, groceries dropping to the floor. 

JUles

God, you guys gave me the start of my life. What is going on here?

Balloons and decorations adorn the dining room, behind which lay an unfathomable mess in the kitchen. She scoops up the fallen items.

Jack

We wanted to surprise you.

JUles

Well it worked. Can someone give me a hand? Whose idea was it to make me spill the groceries?

Donald

The kid's wanted to throw a surprise party for you. They thought you would like it.

Stephanie

We made cake.

She watches as their smiles fade to disappointment. On the table, a strangely improvised meal is set out, the crowning achievement, a candy-laced mound of brown frosting topped by a donut arc. Sighing with a half smile, she sets the bags on the table, lowers herself in the chair, wary of the dish before her. 

Jules

Alright, you monsters. Let's eat.

DONALD and THE KIDS scurry to their chairs. She picks up her fork and picks at the dish.

Jules (cont'd)

So what are we about to eat?

Donald

I have no idea--the kids made it.

The kids beam with pride.

INT. bedroom - NIGHT

Removing her ear rings, Jules stands by the bed in a night shirt. She straightens the out bed, still a mess from the night before. 

JUles

Honey, did you check the messages on the machine today? Your boss called.

In his underwear, DONALD splashes cologne on himself in the bathroom before dimming the lights and crawling into bed.

Donald

Yeah, I straightened it out with him. I cancelled the rest my appointments to take the week off.

JUles

The rest of the week? But what about the vacation we agreed to take. I thought you were going to save your vacation days...

Donald

Don't worry, we'll still take the trip. I just want to be with you and the kids.

JUles

Is that why you didn't take them in today? The school also called Don, for the second day in a row.

Donald

I'm sorry. It's just that I really need your love right now. The kids' too.

JUles

Why? What's wrong, hon?  

Donald

I wasn't promoted, Jules--I was fired.

JUles

Oh no. Why-Why didn't you just tell me?

Donald

I didn't want you to worry.

JUles

Oh, baby. If I worry, it's because I love you. You don't have to lie to me. C'mere. Everything will work itself out.

She pulls DONALD inter arms. He seems to melt.

EXT. BAR PARKING LOT - Morning

A tow truck is winching up the MAN's abandoned car. The driver tosses his cigarette, climbs into the cab and pulls out of the empty lot in a cloud of exhaust, the car in tow.

ext. downtown - day

ELLE,33, an attractive woman with pixie-cut brown hair, light skin, wrapped in a long coat and scarf, darts across a busy street, armed with a slice of pizza in one hand, a cup of splashing hot coffee in the other, the morning edition rolled under her arm. Ignoring honking, irritated drivers, she bolts up the stairs into a building.

int. downtown newspaper building - day

Dodging past people, with the pizza stuffed in her mouth, she dismisses complaints with the wave of her free hand and bolts into her office, slamming the door behind her.

Int. EllE's office - DAY

She drops the morning's edition on a pile of papers cluttering her desk; the sounds of the frenetic activity outside muffled behind the door. She plops in her chair, unwraps her scarf and clips an article written by ELLE STRAFORD from the morning edition, pinning it onto a bulletin board cluttered with more of her printed articles.

She downs her coffee and turns to a monitor freckled with post-it notes. She furiously types at the keyboard, completing the day's article, while behind her the door inches open.

Before she can read the writing back to herself, she is interrupted by a voice:

male voice (o.s.)

My, my. Without the benefit of the spell-checker, Elle, you would by wholly unemployable in any writing profession.

Elle

Don't you have something better to do, like work?

She spins around in her chair to face RANDY smiling down on her. 

Randy

Already done, honey. Unlike some people who never get to work on time, I actually meet my deadlines. 

Elle

Well then why don't you seek kudos for your attendance record from somebody else, while I try to meet mine. Go tell Marty, he appreciates promptness.

Randy

I have a better idea my nocturnal friend, you can tell Marty yourself. He wants to see you in his office pronto. 

Elle

I see you've climbed the ladder to corporate errand boy.

Randy moves towards the door, turns and gestures like a bad actor.

Randy

Though I do not take pleasure in that burden, it does on such occasions as this give me great joy to see you in trouble. Go now to your fate you wretched creature. Better to face its fury young before time fans its flames any higher.

Elle nudges her co-worker out the door on her way out.

Elle

Don't be such a drama queen. We still on for lunch?

Randy

Of course we are. You want to hear about my fiasco date with that guerilla don't you?

INT. editor's office - day

Elle pushes past the large door into a spacious office. Sitting in a wide vinyl chair, behind a large cherry desk is MARTY, the editor, a bald and stocky man, glasses perched low on his nose, his stubby fingers hammering away on a keyboard. Filing cabinets line the walls behind him like a barricade, stacked with boxes and lose reams of paper. Two monitors bookend the desk. An empty ashtray filled with mints sits within arm's reach of the chair. 

Elle walks straight in and rests her knuckles on the desk, peering down on him. Marty glances up at her over his glasses, an stern expression carved in his face.

ElLE

Hiya Marty. I was just going to see you about my hours. I really need...

Marty

Have a seat Elle.

He motions to a small wooden chair next to her. She looks at it for a moment.

ElLE

Ah, c'mon Marty, you know I hate this chair. It makes me feel small.

He waits unblinking for her to sit.

She perches down on its edge, leaning forward with her hands gripping the desk. She cranes her up neck to see Marty behind the large monitors.

MARTY

Remember that little series you wrote on the importance of community a while ago? I want you to do a follow up story on it. We're going to take... 

ElLE

You mean the 4-shooter we ran back in March? Are you serious? I had to beg you to take me off of that piece. Marty, is this really about my hours? If it is I...

MARTY

Elle, I want you to pick it up the story as...

ElLE

Okay, if you really want to dig it up, give it back to Jam, not me. You know I hate the sentimental stories. Can't I do something else. What about last night's news. I know Jake is on it, but I could run an editorial...

MARTY

You know Elle, if you would ever take the time to shut up, you might actually get what you want. Here's Jake's file...

He hands her a folder that she has to stand and reach all the way across the desk to get. She looks at it in astonishment. 

MaRTY (cont'd)

I want you to pick the series up as a look at the collapse of community. I want a new story. Pull the archives for the last few years and dig up other stories like this. God knows we have enough.

Smiling, Elle peeks through the files like a kid. 

ElLE

Sure. Yeah. Okay. What about Jake? I'm not taking this from him am I?

MaRTY

We're going to run parallel stories. He'll continue to cover last night's news, but I want you to go with this as an investigation into the wider effects this has on the survivors and the community. Is that alright with you, or should I give it to Jam? 

He stares at her a moment from above his glasses.

Marty (cont'd)

That's what I thought. Now get to work. 

Marty goes back to his task. Elle turns and heads to the door, but before she walks out, Marty stops her. 

Marty (cont'd)

Elle, I like my writers to feel small. It puts them in their place. If you come in late again this week, I'll fire you.

ElLE

You got it, boss.

As he glances up at her from his work, she smiles at him then closes the door behind her.

Script Sample: B-Movie

This was something I started writing for fun. I wanted to do a nod to bad 50's sci-fi movies along the lines of Teenagers from Space and Mars Needs Women. Its a fine line however between parody and homage. I like some of the ideas behind the script, but I'm worried it's too tongue-in-cheek. Plus the accent has to go.

FADE IN:

Ext outer space

Classical music. Push-in to star-studded blackness of space.

NaRRATOR (O.S.)

Space. A vast universe filled with countless galaxies, of which our own Milky way is but one. Making up these galaxies, stars more numerous than the grains of sand on a beach. And orbiting these stars, worlds! 

Ext outer space

Push in to small red planet orbiting a star. Sizzling SFX.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

Some may be barren and hot like our own Mercury.

Small ice covered planet. Generic wind blowing SFX.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

Others cold, frozen, like our distant cousin Pluto. 

Sunlight glints off of colorful blue planet.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

How many among them are unique like our own planet Earth, blessed with the miraculous spark we call, life?

Music swells. Zoom into atmosphere.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

How many worlds have given rise to primitive organisms like our own earliest ancestors, bacteria and algae? 

Pan down to seaweed covered ocean. Splash into water.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

How many have witnessed the transformation of single celled organisms into thriving ecosystems of multicellular life? 

Montage of stock images: ferns, dragonflies, crocodile sliding into the water, hissing frilled Gila monster.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

Of all these potential life-bearing worlds, how many yet have given way to that last, final stage of evolution, intelligence? 

Caveman, bearded, dirty furs, hunched painting on a cave wall by torchlight, cavewoman cooking over a fire in BG.

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

Is our own fertile world unique among the millions scattered throughout the emptiness of space, the sole intelligent tenants of this cold cosmic estate? 

Ext cave - moRNING

Caveman and Cavewoman holding hands stroll off-camera. Pan down, zoom-in on bare foot print in the sand. 

NARRATOR (CONT'D)

Or are we not alone?

A futuristic silvery boot stomps on top of the caveman's print. Music climaxes. Superimpose title. Boot steps away, treaded print replacing the caveman's, humanoid shadow sweeps past. Pan up to the sky. Music simmers and fades. 

DiSSOLVE TO:

EXT OUTER SPACE

Opening titles over montage of space images, Theremin music.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT outer space

Rocket Ship, Mars-1, rocketing across the backdrop of space. Slow push into the cabin port hole.

INT flight deck mars-1 - cONTINUOUS

A crew of five man their controls: Expedition leader Captain Brace Cannon, 35, physics P.h.D., Square-jawed former college quarterback; the lovely and attractive Dr. Berverly May, 28, brunette bespectacled lab assistant; Prof. Hermann Landau, 76, Brace's mentor, shock white-haired architect of the Mars Mission; Astro-Navigator, Buddy Kent, 27, freckled Iowa farmboy; and Co-Pilot, Milo, chimpanzee, and lab experiment. 

A red light flashes, beeps, breaking the silence. 

Buddy

It's official now. We've left Earth's orbit. It's all outer space from here on out.

Landau

Ze last great frontier ist conquered. Ve are ze first Men, und Voman, to venture zis far into space. Vat dangers ve vill face now, no von can say.

Beverly

Or what wonders, Professor. Surely Earth's early pioneers discovered as much beauty as danger on their journeys.

LANDAU

Ach, you are correct my dear. Vat wonders ve vill face, no von can say.

Brace

Leave it to a woman to put things in perspective for you, Professor. One thing we can all agree on is no telling what we'll find out there.

BuDDY

One thing I know for sure, we won't find anything out there more beautiful than our own Dr. May.

BeVERLY

Now Buddy, that's not what I...

LANDAU

How astute you are Kent. I zink it no small coinzidence Dr. May vaz choozen for zis mission. I zuspect Marz is not ze only heavenly object ze Captain vishes to conquer.

BrACE

All right, that's enough locker room talk you two. I needn't remind you Dr. May was chosen for her achievements in xeno-biology, and not simply her looks.  

BEVERLY

Thank you, Dr. Brace.

She blushes, turning away.

BRACE

Now then, being that we are the first to visit Mars, I want the rest of this mission to go by the book. That means no more chatter on deck. From here on out all I want to hear is operational procedure. Buddy, I want a full Navigational run-down by oh eight hundred.

BuDDY

Aye-aye, Captain!

Buddy turns to his controls, imitated by Milo.

BRACE 

Professor, I know we won't reach Mars for another three weeks, but in the meantime I want data on every square inch of space between here and there. 

LANDAU

Ja, mein Captain.

BRACE (CONT'D)

And, Beverly?

BEVERLY

Yes, Brace?

BRACE

What do you say to brewing up a pot of your world-famous coffee?

BEVERLY

Of course, Dr. Brace.

BUDDY

Only from now on seems we should start calling it 'space-famous'.

Crew laughs heartily. Pull out of port hole as Mars-1 hurtles into the uncharted recesses of space.

DISSOLVE TO:

Int FLIGHT DECK MARS-1

The crew look at a red disk framed in the front view port.

laNDAU

Beautiful iz she not? How soon zis vessel shall penetrate her virgin atmosvere und deposit ze first seed of humanity upon her breast.

BeVERLY

Why Professor, I didn't know you were such a romantic.

LANDAU

Ah, my dear. I have been in love with ze red planet since I was just a boy. It is hard to believe that after planning zis mission for over twenty-five years, ze eve of our consumation has finally come. I just hope I am not too old for her. No longer am I as virile as our young Captain.

BRACE

You needn't worry about me old man. My sights are set on other things.

He leers at Beverly from his command chair.

BEVERLY

Oh, you men are all the same. How about you buddy, what do you want from the mission?

BuDDY

Well, I'm just a simple farm boy, Miss May. Guess all I really want is a plot of dirt to call my own. I know Mars isn't the most fertile place in the world, but my mother wasn't much to look at either, but she did all right bringing me up.

BEVERLY

You know, I think you're a romantic too, Buddy. In your own kind of way. And please, call me Doctor.

The deck goes quiet as all contemplate the view.

BUDDY

Hard to believe not a thing has happened these last three weeks. I'm beginning to get comfortable up here.

BRACE

Nobody get comfortable yet. The hardest part of the job is just ahead. Buddy, have the landing preparations been made?

LANDAU

No need. Milo haz already made zem.

Brace is impressed, Landau beams proudly. The chimp nods in acknowledgment and goes back to imitating Buddy.

BUDDY

Golly, professor. I know you're making Milo smarter and all, but gosh if having a monkey at the controls doesn't make me a little nervous.

BEVERLY

Now Buddy, are you worried about being replaced by a monkey?

LANDAU

My boy, you must not vorry. Already Milo haz ze intelligence of an adult human, yes. But, zoon his zimian mind shall equal even my own, und ze door to world peace shall finally be opened.

BRACE

So, what is this experiment about, Doc?

BEVERLY

Dr. Brace, I'm surprised at you. I thought you were an active part of it.

BRACE

Well, let's just say that having a 162 IQ, the last thing I need is a bigger brain. I need something more enticing, more exotic to fire up my intellectual curiosity. 

LANDAU

Dr. Brace is more interested in ze functions of ze body zan ze mind, no? Zis experiment iz to prove zat ze effects of gravity retard ze mind. Because of ze Earth's gravitational pull, human intelligence can never attain ze level necessary to save itself from self-destruction. Ve are trapped by ze limitations of a terrestrial mind. We can invent zis phenomenal atomic space ship to probe ze mysteries of ze universe, but zo also do we create ze atomic bomb vich threatens our very existence. I call zis terrestrially limited impulse the monkey mind. Az I have shown with Milo, ze mind freed by gravity suddenly expands like a sponge in water, und a higher threshold is attained.

He pats Milo on the shoulder, gives him a treat.

BUDDY

But, Professor, I've been in space as long as he has, and I'm not any smarter.

LANDAU

Of course not. I have been giving Milo a special serum zat accelerates the expansion of ze mind. Vith ze serun, I have compressed a lifetime into a matter of weeks for Milo. Without ze serum it might take thirty years for your mind to adapt. Maybe forty. 

BEVERLY

Is this how it ties into your theories on Mars? Why you believe we will find intelligent life there?

LANDAU

Yes, my dear. Mar's gravity is a fraction of our own. As it iz ze only other world capable of giving rise to life. Thus what life does exist must be more intelligent than our own, and it is zis I shall prove!!

He winces with discomfort, rubs his head.

BEVERLY

All you all right, Professor?

LANDAU

Is nothing. Just a headache. Age has not been kind. Vere vas I?

BRACE

The Mars rant.

LANDAU

Ah, yes. Mars. Alas, I must continue another time. I have exhausted myself. Please excuse me.

He pats himself. Looks around the ship.

LANDAU

Vere have my glasses vandered to again?

BuDDY

They're right there on your head Doc.

LANDAU

Ah, yes, yes. Thank you. 

He shuffles off, hunched over, muttering to himself. Milo covers his ears.

BEVERLY

Poor old professor. He's must be exhausting himself.

BRACE

It'll be a sad day for science when his noodle dries up.

Int FLIGHT DECK MARS-1

A red light flashes to klaxon blare. Outside the front viewport asteroids like balls of foil stream past the ship.

BUDDY

Captain, we've flown right into an asteroid field!

EXT OUTER SPACE - cONTINUOUS

A large rumpled asteroid ricochets off the ship, knocking a hole in the side of the ship, spraying out a geyser of gas.

BUDDY

We've been hit! We're leaking gas!

Script Sample: A Golden Harvest

This is the first act of an early draft of a satirical scif fi script I had been developing. This version runs long and is rife with stereotypes and cliches. I've since trimmed it down, but now I'm letting it ferment with the idea turning it into something of a satirical musical farce.

On black:

OVERTURE: Theme music begins, simple at first, building in scale and complexity, culminating on:

Ext earth from orbit

Mother Earth lying full and luminous against the backdrop of space. The crescendo of music falls to silence. A meteor flickers across the globe, disappearing into the atmosphere. 

EXT Farm land - sunset

A red sun hangs low over a wide horizon of dead farmland and thorny weeds, steady chorus of insects filling the air. 

Ext squash patch - CONTINUOUS

Perched on a decrepit wood fence, two crows caw at a tattered scarecrow standing in the center of a small squash patch. Dropping onto the motley vegetables, a streak flashes in the sky above them. Seconds later the ground explodes, birds clamoring into the air as the meteor skips across the soil.

Insects now silent, smoke and dirt settle to reveal a short scar cutting through the crop. As the circadian sounds resume the two crows re-alight on the fence, keeping their distance from the scarecrow now tilted ominously towards them. 

As the sun creeps below the horizon a long shadow stretches over the patch, falling into a knee-deep smoking crater.

Fade out

O.s. Sfx of insects continues

FADE IN:

EXT squash patch - sunrise

Early morning light spills across dried crops. The crows are gone but the chorus of insects continues. The trace of the meteor's impact is now covered by a new growth of weeds.

EXT farm house - MORNING

An old farm house stands alone in the golden field, sun-bleached vintage pickup decaying on a dirt driveway. A screen door opens and a man buttoning his overalls steps onto a creaking, partially constructed porch. Mumbling, he descends the stairs and disappears behind the house. The sound of a motor coughs to life as a rusted red tractor rolls into view.

Ext fARM land - MORNING

ELIAH Jakobs, late 40's, a heavyset, softly built man with red sun-wrinkled face and unevenly cut grey-streaked hair bounces behind the large wheel.

Eliah

Just a few chores around the farm today, Red. Maybe even a trip into town if you're up for it. You hang in there. Soon enough all these troubles gonna pack up and go the way they came. Just you wait.

Eliah's tractor rattles on across dead farmland. 

FADE TO:

EXT farm land - AFTERNOON

Tractor in the distance, Eliah hefts up a collapsed part of a decrepit wood fence, stabilizing it with loose planks.

ELIAH

That's good fence. A few sticks is all you need and you're good as new. Don't need no money to make you work. Just good honest work.

Gathering the remaining planks under his arm he continues down the length of the rickety property fence, testing it occasionally with a good shake. 

Just on the other side runs a parallel fence, seven feet high, made of steel and wire. Beyond it, acres and acres of lush green farmland as far as the eye can see, the sounds of insects replaced by the mechanical chatter of sprinklers. Mounted to the fence, a large billboard advertising 'Green Valley Growers, Homogenizing the World since 1984.'

EXT FARM LAND - AFTERNOON

Eliah crawls on hands and knees dropping seeds one at a time into the ground, brushing them over with dirt, watering them with a hose dragged behind him. Crows caw in the distance.

Spying a figure silhouetted against the horizon, Eliah bounds to his feet, dropping the hose as the water floods his seeds. 

ELIAH

Go on! You get away from here!

Running to his truck, he fumbles out a double-barrel shotgun from the passenger seat, pops it open, fishes in the glove box separating red shells from road flares, chewing tobacco, flasks, inhalers, and a tangle of lures and weights. Fumbling a shell in one chamber, he slams the barrel closed, takes careful aims at the figure, and fires. CLICK.

ELIAH

Shoot! Shoot!

Finger on the other trigger. Aims again. Fires. BOOM! The blast echoes across the field.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - cONTINUOUS

The scarecrow explodes with the rain of pellets, spinning around its stake, scattering a dozen cawing crows into the air. Eliah bounds up out of breath.

ELIAH

Bet that woke you up old friend. No more sleeping on the job for you.  

Setting the gun down, he yanks the tattered scarecrow back to a vertical position, it's faded overalls nearly identical to his own. He scoops a moth-eaten hat from the ground, dusts it off and plops it down on the limp flour sack of a head. 

ELIAH

Just need a little help getting back on your feet is all. All these birds and bugs eatin' the place up, I'd be tired too. But we gotta' keep an eye on Lulu. Don't want nothin' eaten' her up, no sir. 

Wiping his head with a dirty handkerchief, he threads between large colorful squash to the center of the patch, stopping before an immense, bloated squash the size of a boulder. Grooming stray weeds around her he stumbles into the nearby crater now covered by a thick patch of weeds. Ripping out the cluster, he crushes them in his large calloused hands.

ELIAH

If it ain't birds, it's gophers and weeds. Ain't there nothin' in this world that's got a mind to help? 

The sound of insects grows.

FaDE OUT

O.s. Sfx of insects continues

FADE IN:

EXT farm LAND - DAY

Clouds drift across a wide blue sky, plowing shadows across the golden field. Sounds of chopping echo across the expanse.

EXT FARM HOUSE - DAY

Chopping the last of a pile of fencing timber, Eliah walks to the unfinished porch and pries away more wood. Noticing a cloud of dust as a car winds down his driveway, he waits for it axe in hand.

A large black 4x4 pickup truck skids to a stop in front of the house. The tinted passenger window rolls down. CIMARRON T. Gibbs juts his gaunt, buzz cut, 60-year old head out to peer through the dust at the side of the truck.

CIMARRON

Jeezus in Hell, Carlyle! Ain't even three weeks old and you're already driving it to the grave. 

CARLYLE Gibbs, late 30's, sticks his mullet-cut, ace-bandaged face out the driver-side window to confirm the damage.

Carlyle

Oh c'mon dad. It's a four by. It's built for off roadin'.

CIMARRON

Off-roadin' my ass! We're still on a road, you dummy. I didn't give you twenty thousand dollars for a new truck just to make it dirty.

Turning to face his son, Cimmaron notices Eliah, axe firmly clenched, standing next to Carlyle's jutting head.

CIMARRON

Eliah! Don't you do nothing stupid. A little rock salt buck shot is one thing, but don't you go doin' no good with that axe. Carlyle, get your damn head back in the car!

Yanking him back inside, Carlyle's cap is knocked to the ground. Cimarron scowls out the driver's window at Eliah.

CIMARRON

Consortium's withdrawing their offer Eli. I just talked to Macy down at the Tax Assessors office and he says they're foreclosing within the month. Soon as the bank takes over this is gonna be just one more Green Valley holding. 

eLIAH

Not gonna' lose the farm, Cimmaron. 

CIMARRON

How's that Eli? You growin' some miracle in here? Look at this mess. Can't even take care of yourself without everyone helpin' you out.

ELIAH

That ain't true. It's you and your boy makin all this trouble. Well, no more. I got Lulu now. She's gonna fix everything right as rain. 

CIMARRON

Lulu? Lulu? You go and get yourself a lawyer? You know damn well there ain't a thing you can prove...

CARLYLE

Shit pop, retard's just talkin' about his squash. Been namin' them since we were kids.

CIMARRON

Christ Eli, you talkin' about the fair!?! That ain't going to make a rat's ass difference all the back tax you owe. What's the prize this year, a thousand dollars? Ain't a drop in the bucket.

CARLYLE

Besides, been twenty years since anyone beat a Green Valley Grower. And it sure as hell ain't gonna be a dumb handicap. 

CIMARRON

Carlyle, why don't you shut your hole. Ain't you done enough damage already?  

You should've sold the farm when you had the chance, Eli. Hell, your daddy should've sold it when he had the chance. Biggest mistake he ever made letting it go to you. Mighta' been worth something then. Ain't worth a bug's fart now. 

ELIAH

Don't you say nothing bad 'bout my daddy, Cimmaron T. Gibbs!

CIMARRON

All right Eli. Didn't mean no harm.

CARLYLE

Shit Eli, the biggest mistake your poppa ever made was having you. 

CIMARRON

Now don't you rile him up again. 

CARLYLE

Aw, I'm just having some fun. What's he gonna do this time...?

The axe slams down on the roof above Carlyle's head, denting hard into the metal. 

CARLYLE

What the...You crazy son of a...!! 

The axe crashes down again as Carlyle hunches as low as he can get trying to wrench the truck into gear.

ELIAH

Don't you talk about my daddy...!!

CARLYLE

Crazy son of a...!

CIMARRON

Eli...Carlyle...Goddamnit!!

Kicking the truck into gear, they fishtail into a donut and bound down the road in a cloud of dust, horn blaring. Eliah looks down at the Green Valley Farms hat run over in the dirt, then back to the dismantled porch.

ELIAH

God rewards honest hard work, Lulu. That's what they always told me. 

DISSOLVE TO:

ExT county road - DAY

A two-lane black-top cuts through a sea of fenced-in farmland. Billboards advertising fast food chains, roadside attractions, farm equipment and a drive-in litter the stretch of road. Two semis hauling Green Valley Growers trailers blow by a puttering red tractor in a cloud of dust and diesel.

EXT downtown - DAY

An old corner market sits across the street from a brand new  24-7 service station/food-mart/franchise. Behind the food-mart, Green Valley Grower trailers are parked in a large green field with banners advertising the 45th Annual County Fair. Eliah pulls the tractor in front of the old market. 

INT market - DAY

CHUCK Henry, greying 50-year old store owner, and ALYSA Barnsworth, gum-chewing 20-year old clerk, stare from behind the counter at a crowd of activity across the street.

Alysa

I hear they're going to put in one of those fun parks for kids. You know, with a room of plastic balls for jumping on and all. Probably put in a slide too. Or maybe one of those mechanical clowns.

CHUCK

Mechanical clown, huh?

Eliah walks through the door, barely distracting them.

CHUCK

Howdy Eliah.

Eliah shuffles up to the counter, eyes lowered. Chuck disengages himself as Alysa snaps and blows her gum.

CHUCK

Your usual then?

Eliah nods sheepishly.

CHUCK

Well girl, don't just stand there making bubbles. We have a customer.

ALYSA

A customer, huh? You hear that Eli? You're a customer now. 

Popping one more bubble, she turns, grabs a basket and disappears down the isles. Eliah fidgets, fingering a lollypop display on the counter. Handwritten note reads: "Free lollys for kids. One per customer please". 

CHUCK

Oh, go on Eliah. You know you can always take one. Doesn't matter any how. A free lolly pop just doesn't carry the same attraction these days as a mechanical clown. 

Chuck discards the sign and watches a station wagon pull in across the street, unloading a pile of kids. Alysa returns, dropping the full basket on the counter, and goes back to her post. As Chuck bags the groceries, Alysa watches Eliah from the corner of her eye, smacking her gum as Eli sucks on a lolly pop. Chuck hands the bags to Eliah.

CHUCK

Haven't seen you around in a while Eli. Everything all right? You know, we'd sure hate to ever see the farm leave the family and all, knowin' how hard your momma and dad worked that land, but maybe a change would do you some good. God knows time's ripe for it, all the new things croppin' up around here.

Eliah turns towards the door. Chuck changes the topic.

CHUCK

Well, Fair's next week. I hear you got a real catch this year. Seems like just yesterday your daddy won with that big old pumpkin of his. Probably the last time anyone beat a Green Valley Grower. Heck, you just keep on trying, Eli. Remember what your daddy always said... 

Eliah disappears out the door.

ALYSA

Hey Eli! You be careful with that lolly now. There's gum in it.

Chuck looks at her.

ALYSA

I don't want him to swallow it.

EXT FARM HOUSE - lATER

The tractor is parked half behind the house.

INT FARM HOUSE kitchen - CONTINUOUS

Wood-paneled kitchen cluttered with stacks of folded bags, collapsed boxes, empty cans. Eliah adds the bags to the pile, three boxes of oatmeal to a dozen in the pantry, a handful of oranges in an old refrigerator. Keeping one, he peels it over the sink throwing the rinds out the open window.

ELIAH

Me and Lulu doin' fine on our own. Don't need nobodies help. No sir.

Popping the first orange slice in his mouth he notices something waving in the wind just outside the window. Gathering his slices he goes out the kitchen door.   

EXT back of the house - CONTINUOUS

Beneath the window sprouting from a thick cover of old orange rinds is an unusual, tall green stalk of a weed. 

ELIAH

Look at you, funny little sprout. 

Eliah bends down giving it a short tug. It doesn't budge. Yanking again, the weed loosens from the soil revealing a longer root snaking further through the yard. Dropping shiny orange wedges in the dirt behind him, he stomps across the ground, unraveling an enormous root system all the way back to the squash patch.

ELIAH

No you don't. Not my baby! 

Attacking the weeds in a rage, he kicks up a cloud of dirt tracing the roots back to the crater. Yanking them out, he balls the whole mass of tubular webbing in his hands. 

ELIAH

Ain't no bank, no Gibb and no weed gonna take this farm away from me!

Leaning against the old wood fence to catch his breath, they both fall crashing to the ground.

FADE OUT

FADE IN:

EXT FARM LAND - MORNING

The sound of insects pervades the morning. Golden light illuminates a rash of green intruding on the yellow field. 

EXT FARM HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

More green has encroached in patches around the house. 

ExT SQUASH PATCH - cONTINUOUS

Boots stand in front of the squash patch run rampant with 3-foot high stalks, the dented axe hanging from Eliah's hand.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - lATER

Eliah hauls a bundle of weeds from the patch having cut a clearing 10 feet all around, tall weeds extending into the surrounding field. Wiping sweat from the back of his sun-burned neck he tosses two blackened squash into the crater. 

ELIAH

Go rest with mamma and pappa now.

Down at his feet he sees a new sprout already peeking from the exposed crater. Amidst the noise of insects a crow caws.

EXT FARM HOUSE - dAY

Noises from the house. Eliah knocks open the kitchen door, carrying two stacked apple crates of sloshing containers. 

EXT SQUASH PATCH - conTINUOUS

Trudging across dirt and weeds, he drops the crates by the fence, pulls out a container, uncaps it, sniffs it, and dumps it on the outlying weeds. Then pulls out another.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - LATER

Pesticide and herbicide bottles lie strewn amongst the weeds, insects droning on in the wavering heat. Eliah drains the last bottle into the saturated ground. Wiping his running eyes and nose, wet hands on stained overalls, he steps over the muddy moat to the dry center of the patch, plops down under the scarecrow, leans against Lulu and closes his eyes.

fade out

FADE IN:

EXT SQUASH PATCH - NIGHT

A full moon drapes blue light across the patch, night silent but for the sound of snoring. Not a single insect is heard.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - MORNING

Weeds as high and as far as the eye can see surround the squash patch. The silence is broken by sudden rustling.

ELIAH

Wha...!? No! NO!! 

Eliah thrusts his head through a 6-foot wall of green. Forcing his way to the tractor, he stands on a wheel to see weeds reaching out all the way to the farmhouse.

ELIAH

Like a plague from the good book! 

EXT FARM LAND - DAY

The tractor cleaves a brown line through the sea of green.  

EXT FARM HOUSE - DAY

The tractor is parked in front of the house, as sounds emanate from within. Kicking open the front door, Eliah strides across the wobbling porch, more crates in hand. 

As an approaching car crunches through the weeds, Eliah stands on the tractor to see Carlyle's green-stained 4x4 swerve to a stop. Cimmaron sticks his head out the window. 

CIMARRON

Eliah, that you? What in hell is going on here? You got weeds the size of sequoias sproutin' outta' your bean-hole!

Carlyle shoves the driver side door open into the wall of growth and stands on the foot runner to survey the damage.

CARLYLE

God-damn! The whole farm's taken up with it. Consortium's sure ain't gonna like this. Shit pop, you figure we're gonna' have to fix all this? If so, I ain't gonna...

CIMARRON

Carlyle, sit down and cork it! We ain't gotta' do shit.

CIMARRON

Look Eli, I don't know what you got growin here', but you sure as hell better put a stop to it before any this stuff come sproutin' up our way. You think this is some cockamamie idea to save the farm, you can think again. We got all the paperwork right here, just waitin' for a J. Hancock to sign it over. Seein' you got your hands full, we'll just settle this at the fair. 

CARLYLE

Yeah, right after you lose!

CIMARRON

Carlyle, just get in the car dammit! Let's get on back!

Carlyle drops inside, slams the door, and guns the truck, knocking over stalks as it cuts a new path through the weeds. 

ELIAH

Daddy used to say when troubles get to be too much for one person sometimes it's best to share it with others. Don't think I'd mind sharing it with them. 

Eliah fires up the tractor and disappears into the weeds.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - EVENING

The setting sun pitches red shadows across dying weed-choked squash. At the center of the patch sit a pop-up tent, two Coleman lanterns, a shovel, the axe, water bottles and a bag of oranges. Eliah wraps a large black plastic tarp over Lulu.

ELIAH

Gotta hold out just a little longer Lulu. Tuck you in nice and safe, just like momma used to and come mornin' everything'll be right as rain. Never mind those Gibbs and bankers. Once those judges get a good look at you, we'll be sure winners. I may not know much 'bout taxes and paperwork, but I know a thousand's more than a lot.

Picking up an orange he walks the perimeter of the patch, peeling rind and pulling shoots as he goes.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - night

Colemans ablaze in the dark, Eliah paces back and forth in the silent night.

EXT SQUASH PATCH - MORNING

Eliah sits against the scarecrow sound asleep, both tilting slowly over to until they crash to the ground. He wakes with a start, dead weeds and squash heaped around him, Lulu bulging under the black tarp. He stands and stretches, around the small patch the golden fields are now lush and green.

ELIAH

Don't think I can hold out another night Lulu. Best get you to the fairgrounds today. Never hurt anyone bein' too early...

Lifting the tarp he reveals Lulu is now shriveled and brown.

ELIAH

Lulu, oh no, oh no...

Scanning frantically for the cause of death he rolls her over to expose a network of weeds spearing her from underground. He collapses, wrapping his arms around her, sobbing as his crushing weight slowly deflates the brown hollow husk.

FaDE OUT.

EXT fARM HOUSE - AFTERNOON

The farm house pokes above the horizontal line of billowing green. Heavy grey clouds bluster overhead.

InT farm house kitchen - CONTINUOUS

Eliah sits slumps in a chair, a Quaker smiling at him from a box of oatmeal on the table next to an uneaten bowl of cereal and a peeled orange. Rinds in hand, he rises and shuffles to the sink as weeds sway below the open window. 

ELIAH

Oh Lulu, bet no one's ever seen a beauty like you. Not even a Green Valley Grower. Now you're with momma and dad in God's own garden, and I'm all alone. I just don't know what to do. I worked hard like they told me. Worked hard like them! Now it's all bein' taken away. All because I'm not smart like them!!

Throwing the peels into the weeds he goes into a rage, tearing open cupboards and pantries, knocking over piles, ripping, dumping, stomping everything in reach, finally collapsing atop the vast mess spread across the floor. 

ELIAH

Lord, I don't want to be alone no more. Can I just be just like everyone else?

Thunder sounds in the distance.

INT FARM HOUSE KITCHEN - eVENING

Rainfall patters from a leak in the roof, dripping on Eliah's soaked head. Lifting himself from the mess, he slides a pot under the leak, closes the window and squeaks out of the kitchen. Water strikes the pot like a drum as weeds pound in simpatico against the glass. 

INT FARM HOUSE KITCHEN - early MORNING

Wind and rain pound on the house, a cacophony of leaks echoing through the kitchen. Eliah hefts a wobbling pot, spilling a trail of water to the sink as he dumps it out. Outside the window is a wall of solid green.

INT FARM HOUSE KITCHEN - lATER

A tea kettle whistles and goes silent, water is poured. The smiling Quaker is picked up and turned upside down. Eliah, in his bath robe, weary and half-asleep, watches steam curling from the bowl of oatmeal. The shotgun lies in his lap, and next to his bowl and spoon are two red shells. He runs his hand absently along his unshaven chin, then stops, staring. Outside the kitchen window, the wall of green is punctuated with specks of red. Setting down the gun, he rises, opens the back door and finds hundreds of small, red berries. 

ELIAH

Looks just like Christmas.

He plucks one off, holds it up to his nose to smell it, then pops it in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue. Plucking a few more, he closes the door and ambles back to the table. Rolling the berries around in his hand, his eyes turn to the spoon, then the shotgun shells. He drops the berries in the cereal and reaches for the spoon.

INT FARM HOUSE KITCHEN - lATER

From the back door Eliah is filling the bucket with berries Reaches his arm deep into the wall of green, he wrestles with something and pulls out a berry the size of a tomato.

ELIAH

Would you look at that. 

He takes a bite, squirting red juice down his face and shirt.

ELIAH

Will wonders never cease. Sweet as can be. I think I'll be having you for dinner, I do.

He thrusts his arm back into the dense foliage.

INT FARM HOUSE living room - late AFTERNOON

The sound of sizzling. Sliced fruit simmering in a pan. Eli flips the fruit in the pan like a seasoned chef, and holds it under his nose. 

ELIAH

Never was much of a cook before. Don't see why now, bein' so easy. Whatever happens to the farm, guess I won't go hungry, and if that's one less thing for momma to worry about then that's a good thing.

ext FARM HOUSE - niGHT

Moonlight casts a pale glow over the gently rustling sea of weeds, glimpses of illumination coming from the windows buried behind the green.

EXT FARM HOUSE - MORNING

Golden sunlight illuminates a vast garden of green and red, broken only by a breath of smoke drifting from the chimney.

int FARM HOUSE living room - cONTINUOUS

Something large thumps on the floor. A red watermelon sized fruit rolls by. Followed by another, then a third.

INT FARM HOUSE KITCHEN - laTER

The table is set, plates dressed with assorted berries. Eliah pulls an oatmeal berry cobbler from the oven, and sets it on the table, next to a glass of berry juice. Outside, just audible is the rising and falling whine of an engine.

EXT SQUASH PATCH

The scarecrow's head peers above a sea of green and red that flows over the billboard and into the neighboring fields. A crop duster rises and dips over the encroaching green, spraying herbicides, while people hack at weeds below.

INT FARM HOUSE LIVING ROOM

A faded picture sits on a fireplace mantle, underneath the shot gun now mounted to the wall; in the photo, a farmer about Eli's age kneels next to a beaming boy and an enormous pumpkin, behind them hangs the 3rd Annual County Fair banner. Clinking sounds from the kitchen.

INT  FARM HOUSE KITCHEN

The table is made up again, but more extravagant. Plates set with silverware and table linen. Candles are lit, bowls with small berries, larger fruit sliced and laid out, fruit peels garnish the plate, half a fruit stuffed with steamed pulp and toasted seeds, and the main course, a turkey-sized melon, baked to a golden brown. Eliah wipes down a dusty wine glass and fills it with deep red juice. 

ELIAH

Maybe they were right. Maybe this is the Lord's reward. I still don't know what to do about the farm. All the eatin in the world is not going to fix my troubles. 

He stares at his distorted reflection caught in the glass.

ELIAH

Well, I may not as smart as some, but I know what's good when I taste it, and if what's good to me is good to others, than I guess we're not all that different afterall.

He sips from the wine glass and dines.

EXT fair lands - days later

The 33rd Annual County Fair banner is staked in the ground of a dirt clearing clogged with RVs, booths, concession stands, bandstands, latrines, and a Merry-Go-Round. Hundreds of people mill about, while a large crowd gathers around a long banquet table filled with food and activity. 

EXT judges table - CONTINUOUS

A panel of white-haired judges sit at the table eating with red-stained hands while giant, motley vegetables are measured and weighed.

CIMARRON (O.S.)

Hang on now! Just hang on dammit!

Cimmaron and Carlyle fight through the crowd, shoving other candidates out of their way, knocking other entries over as they dump a giant flaccid brown pumpkin before the judges.

jUDGE #1

Cimarron? Where've you been? Judgin's been over near an hour now. Too late to enter whatever you got there. You boys go on and grab a plate of food over there and pull up a chair. Gotta be the best tastin' food we've had in a while.

CIMARRON

I ain't got time to sit on my ass and eat, Gil! And I ain't here to enter the damn fair, because as you can see what I got here is shit! My boys been spending the last two days fighting weeds like you've never seen. They sprung up from Eliah's place and got into about everything we have. The Grower's Consortium's gonna need a word with that boy, all the damage been done.

JUDGE #1

Calm down Cimm. You're coming off half-cocked. We don't need any wild accusations spoiling the fair. That boy worked hard, and it's only fair he get his chance to shine, unless that is, you got a problem sharing the spot light for a change.

CARLYLE

What? You mean you Eli won?

JUDGE #2

If I had my way he would've. We just couldn't figure out what it was he'd grown, so he was dis-qualified from the contest. But damn if what he has ain't the best tasting thing I've ever had. You boys really outta' try a bite. Everyone's havin' it.

CIMARRON

I don't believe this! Weeds are chokin' us out, the town fool's growin who the hell knows what, and you guys are just eatin' and grinnin' like everything's perfect. Well I got news for you. Thing's ain't perfect and as soon as the Consortium's had their say, there's a lot's going to change round here.

Gil points to a crowd of officials gathered on the bandstand.

JUDGE #1

Fraid the Consortium's already had their word with Eli. They just signed him up for about the biggest deal I ever heard of. Seems they're sittin' and grinnin' about his find as much as we are.

JUDGE #2

Looks like you're right about that change Eli. Got more than weeds to worry about. Might be Eli will runnin' you out this time around.

Cimmaron and Carlyle watch as Eli, dressed in the old suit and tie from his father's photo, serves fruit and shakes red-stained hands with men in business suits. Behind them, the Green Valley banner rippling in the breeze. 

FADE TO BLACK.

End Act I.