thread

VOlUMe FoUR - SpRInG 2009

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THREAD VOLUME Four -- Spring 2009

STAFF:Executive Editor & Designer: Kristen Humbert

Treasurer: Chris RobinsonSecretary: Hannah Kelley

Art Director: Bridget FordCopy-Editor: Carly Lavoie

Assistant Editors: Nick Murphy and Valerie MaloofEditorial Assistance: Audra Congress and James Gormly-Rack

THREAD is a journal of original short theater, fi lm, television, radio, sketch comedy, and comic book scripts written by members of the Emerson College community. It is published by undergraduates at

Emerson College in Boston, MA.

Funding for this issue was generously provided by the Emerson College Student Government Association, The Girlie Project, Bad Dawgs, Artfaktori,

and Maria’s Taqueria.

All scripts and art contained in this publication are © 2009 by their respective creators and have been licensed for one-time use by THREAD. No material from this publication shall be reprinted without written consent from its original creator(s).

THREAD accepts submissions of original scripts year-round from any undergraduate or graduate student enrolled at Emerson College, as well as any faculty member employed by Emerson College. THREAD also accepts submissions from artists year-round.

Submit your work at THREADsubmission@gmail.com.

Printed in Boston by BFS Business Printing. Text set in Garamond, Neutra Text, Neutra Display, Rockwell, and Big.

Cover design and front title page illustration by Jessica Kucinskas. Puppet logo by Adam S. Doyle.

THREAD Volume Four is ©2009 THREAD MAGAZINE. All Rights Reserved

table of contentsINtRoDUCTIoN 5By Stephen Christy, Co-creator of THREADArt by James Gormly-Rack

THe LIoN, THe WItCH,

AND COmINg oUT Of tHE WARDrObE 9 Film

By Caitlin ReillyArt by Charles Pieper

BoXED IN 21Animation By Sam PerzanowskiArt by Quinn Therrialt

LeNIn II: BACK IN THe USsR 29Film

By Sean McDonoughArt by James Gormly-Rack

CRItICAL lOVe 47Film

By Nick MurphyArt by Dan Masso

BItTeRsWEeT MICHIgAN 59Film

By Charlie PieperArt by Charlie Pieper

PrOmoTIoN 69Film

By Greg Goodness Art by Jessica Kucinskas

COnTrIBUtOr & StAFf BIoS 88

SpECIAl THAnKS

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Now I know what it feels like to be a parent.

When I originally got in touch with Kristen, THREAD’s current Executive Editor, I’d offered to round up a sooooper big-time success-ful Hollywood screenwriter to potentially write the introduction for THREAD Volume Four. Kristen, to her credit, was unimpressed by my wrangling of the writer of Beverly Hills Cop 3, and (to my surprise) came back and asked if I could write the intro instead. After I told her that she was making a terrible mistake she, like a good editor, said I better fucking get on it because the printing deadline was a few days away and she didn’t want to have to drag back Kevin Bright to do another intro.

So now I’m stuck trying to fi gure out how to properly introduce you to the fourth issue of “the little magazine that could,” and the best thing I can think of is to tell you about the “secret origin” of THREAD. Leaving out, of course, the radioactive spiders, cosmic rays, and sheer amount of alcohol and narcotic substances that THREAD co-creator Amanda Shank and I imbibed to keep from killing each other due to the sheer stress involved with creating the magazine.

You see, back in the days when Friendster ruled the social networking scene, Emerson was (as it is today) a college fi lled with some of the most quirky, intelligent, and talented playwrights and screenwriters that you could ever hope to meet. Yet these writers were vastly under-repre-sented on the campus publishing scene… with most of the lit mags on campus devoting a whole lot more ink to publishing angsty poetry than fi lm or play scripts.

At the time Amanda and I were both very interested in writing and publishing—she was a published playwright and I was a TV/Video major who’d been working in editorial at Marvel Comics—and for months we’d been batting around the idea of starting a publication on campus. A hook for the publication was sorely needed—something that would make it stand out from Gangsters in Concrete, Stork, or any of the other magazines. And while I wish I could claim that Amanda and I had an encounter with a burning bush during which an omni-scient voice in our heads yelled “SCRIPTS!!” over and over, the truth of the matter is that we just came to a quiet realization one day that an all-script magazine might be the one thing that we could get passion-ate about, that we could convince other people to get passionate about,

Illustration by David Ortega

Introduction

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too, and that might actually have some staying power on campus.

That’s why I call THREAD “the little magazine that could,” because despite how hard it is to convince people to donate their time, their work, and (in the case of SGA) their money to a new project, there was never a shortage of supporters for what our vision of the magazine was—not just a one-off project but an ongoing home for Emerson’s best script writers.

In the four years since the fi rst issue was published, THREAD has gone on to become an offi cially recognized SGA organization, and (as if putting an issue together wasn’t enough) the staff of THREAD hosts a reading night every year where you can actually see live per-formances of the scripts from the latest issue. Hell, they even have THREAD t-shirts now!

So HUGE congrats are due to the staff—Kristen, Chris, Bridget, Hannah, Carly, Nick, Valerie, Audra, James—and all the writers and illustrators featured in this issue. The amount of time and effort that went into creating this issue can be seen on every page. I consider myself lucky, as should you, dear reader, that this volume gives you the chance to read scripts by Caitlin, Sam, Sean, Nick, Charlie, and Greg before they got famous and went on to write your favorite TV show or fi lm.

And now I feel like a parent, looking at my kid with pride and a sense of amazement that despite the challenges and setbacks along the way (and lack of funding!), THREAD is all grown up, with new editors, new writers, new artists, new readers, and (most importantly) the best new scripts that Emerson has to offer.

What more could a parent ask for?

-Stephen ChristyLos Angeles - April, 2009

Stephen Christy (‘07) co-created THREAD in 2005 with Amanda Shank. He currently lives in Los Angeles and is the Director of Development for Archaia Entertainment, one of the largest comic book publishers in North America, and is a producer on the feature-fi lm version of Archaia’s Eisner Award-winning comic book MOUSE GUARD.

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THe LIoN, THe WItCH,

AND COmINg oUT Of tHE

WARDrObE

BY CAITLIN REILLY

Illustration By: Charles Pieper

--fi lm--

INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT

MRS. SHAW, a red-faced woman in her early forties, turns around quickly from the oven to face a kitchen table. At the table is her family. MR. SHAW, a big and even redder-faced man in his mid-forties, sits at the head with his elbows on the table. MARLA (15), JIMMY(17), and SHELLY (7) are their children.

MRS. SHAW I got hot taters. Watch it!

Mrs. Shaw sticks a big fork into the potatoes and throws them on everyone’s plates.

JIMMY Ma, you watch it!

MRS. SHAW They’re hot and they won’t stay on the fork!

JIMMY So slide ‘em on!

MRS. SHAWJust eat it, will ya?

MARLA Ow! I burned my mouth!

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MRS. SHAW Didn’t I tell ya they were hot?

MARLA Ya told us ta eat ‘em!

MRS. SHAW Wait a while then.

SHELLY But I’m hungry!

MRS. SHAW So, eat your pork chop.

SHELLY I don’t like pork chops.

JIMMY Yeah, these taste like sandpaper.

MARLA And I told ya a million times I stopped eatin’ meat!

Mr. Shaw pounds his fi st on the table.

MR. SHAW Hey! Your motha told yas ta eat, so eat somethin’! Ya should be grateful we got food on the table, so stop complainin’!

He turns to Mrs. Shaw.

MR. SHAW (CONT’D) And get me a colder beer, honey? This one’s warmer than piss.

MRS. SHAW You lousy son of a...

She goes to the kitchen.

MR. SHAW Thanks, honey.

(to kids) Hey, where’s your brother?

MARLAKyle?

MR. SHAW Do you have another brother?

SHELLY Yeah. Jimmy.

MR. SHAW I see Jimmy and his terrible haircut. Where’s Kyle?

MARLA I don’t know.

MR. SHAW Didn’t he take the bus home?

MARLA Yeah.

JIMMY We haven’t seen him since.

Mrs. Shaw comes back from the kitchen with another beer. She slams it down in front of Mr. Shaw.

MRS. SHAW That boy had better show up soon. And he’s better have a good excuse for worryin’ me sick.

KYLE (14) bursts into the room. He is dressed like a prince and speaks in a British accent.

KYLE I’m back! Family?

MR. SHAW Where the hell have you been?

KYLE You’re still so young, Father! All of you are! But I’ve been away so long...or so it seemed. Has no time gone by here?

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MRS. SHAW ‘Fraid it has. You’re an hour late, Kyle!

MR. SHAW And you didn’t answer my question. Where the hell were you?

JIMMY And what’s with the clothes?

MARLA And British accent?

KYLE I can explain it all in a magical tale!

MR. SHAW Oh my God.

KYLE Don’t be distressed, Father! Some things were quite queer, but–

MR. SHAW My son is gay!

MARLA No, he’s not.

KYLE Oh, it was quite gay when I fi nally defeated the Ice Queen and we celebrated with a great parade!

MARLA Okay, maybe he is.

MRS. SHAW My son likes men! What did I do to deserve this?

KYLE Oh, Mother, no! You’ve quite the wrong idea!

MRS. SHAW Then where were you? In those clothes and with that...hair?

KYLEI was in Narnia!

MR. SHAW What, is that some kind of gay club?

KYLE Narnia is a mystical land with queens and fairies and even a goat-legged man named Mr. Tumnas!

MRS. SHAW Mista’ who?

KYLE But Mother, I didn’t just play with my new friends. I worked and did many good deeds. I even helped to gather faggots for their homes.

MR. SHAW Faggots?

KYLE They’re quite strong when stacked together. But that doesn’t mean a dark force can’t topple them over, like this.

To demonstrate a dam collapsing, he sticks his hand straight up and bends it at the wrist.

JIMMY Yeah, he’s gay.

MRS. SHAW And he’s on drugs!

KYLE Mother, the only thing I was addicted to was Turkish Delight.

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of a...closet. (normal voice) Okay, I can see where you guys are coming from.

JIMMY Uh huh.

KYLE But if I was gay, would it be so horrible?

MRS. SHAW Kyle, you’re my son and if ya are a queer, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop lovin’ ya. I just need ya ta stop the drugs!

KYLE Ma, I am not on drugs! I told you, I just went to a mystical land called Narnia. God! Can’t you people take my word for this?

MARLA Change your clothes and then we’ll talk.

KYLE Shut up, Marla! If Aslan weren’t such a pacifi st, I would have him totally maul you.

MR. SHAW Who the hell is Aslan?

JIMMY Dude, is that your boyfriend’s name?

MRS. SHAWDid he get you on the drugs?

KYLE Is it really easier to believe that I’m a drug addict than it is to believe that I maybe had a remarkable experience in an alternate world based on the literature and Christian ethics of C.S. Lewis?

MARLAYeah. It is.

SHELLY What’s Turkish Delight?

MR. SHAW Is that some street name for crack?

KYLE It’s a delightful treat. The Queen tried to tempt me with it, and I admit it worked for a while, but then I gathered my senses.

MRS. SHAW My son is smoking crack with drag queens!

MR. SHAW Where did this boy come from?

KYLE I came out of the wardrobe.

JIMMY You mean you came out of the closet?

MARLA That’s pretty obvious.

KYLE No, the wardrobe! That’s how I got to Narnia and how I came back!

JIMMY Out of the closet.

KYLENo, out of the wardrobe!

MRS. SHAW Dammit, Kyle, we don’t have a wardrobe!

SHELLY What’s a wardrobe?

KYLE It’s what you keep your clothes in, sort of, in the way

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MRS. SHAW What?

JIMMY Nothing.

Kyle exits. Shelly runs out after him.

MR. SHAW You excuse yourself, Shelly!

Mr. Shaw belches.

MR. SHAW (CONT’D) ‘Scuse me. See? We’re classy people. I teach my kids to have class and give the example.

INT. HALLWAY

Shelly comes running up to Kyle. She stops him.

SHELLY Kyle!

KYLE Yeah, Shelly?

SHELLY I’m on your side.

KYLE You believe me?

SHELLY You don’t have to pretend with me. It’s okay if you like boys. I don’t care. You’re my brother.

KYLE (exasperated)

Oh, Shelly... (pause, calmer)

Thanks.

MR. SHAW What the hell is C.S. Lewis?

MRS. SHAW Is that another gay bar?

KYLE I’m gonna go upstairs, change, eat baked potatoes with you, and pretend this never happened.

MR. SHAW Finally, you’re makin’ sense.

JIMMY While you’re at it, try to make up a girlfriend.

KYLE I did know a beautiful princess. She shot arrows and– forget it.

MRS. SHAW No, Kyle, that’s perfect, that’s what we’ll tell everyone.

MR. SHAW Just change that princess to a cheerleader and no one will ever know.

KYLE Gotchya.

MARLA Cheerleader? How ‘bout a blow-up doll? That’s more believable.

MRS. SHAW You shut your mouth and eat that damn potato. And don’t tell me it’s too hot.

JIMMY It’s cold now.

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Shelly hugs him.

KYLE (CONT’D) Get back in there. I’ll be right down.

Shelly runs back to the kitchen. Kyle starts to climb the stairs.

KYLE (CONT’D)I’m going back to Narnia. Back to the lion, back to the witch, back in the wardrobe.

FADE TO BLACK.

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BoXED IN

BY SAM PERZANOWSKI

Illustration By: Quinn Therrialt

--animation--

FADE IN:

EXT. STEVE PARKER’S HOUSE - MORNING

A large square mail truck idles alongside a curb. FOOTSTEPS grow closer and the truck door SLAMS shut. The wheels SPIN abruptly, spraying mud toward a perfectly white picket fence.

The truck drones off down the winding road, revealing a small one-story house. The white siding glistens in the morning sun as birds CHIRP and fl y about. A mailbox in front of the white picket fence reads: Mr. Parker.

INT. STEVE PARKER’S OFFICE - MORNING

The room is white and immaculate. STEVE PARKER, a tall and lanky man with curly hair and large framed glasses, scratches his chin at a deep mahogany desk piled high with papers.

He stares intently forward. On the other side of the barren room, il-luminated by the bright sunlight creeping through the window blinds, is a large cardboard box the size of two human beings.

Steve removes his glasses and blows on the lenses before shining them with the cuff of his suit.

INT. STEVE PARKER’S OFFICE - LATER

Steve curiously meanders around the large box. It has no writing on it, save for very small type on one side.

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backward in order to stand up. The wooden fl oorboards CREAK as his feet reach the edge of the large box. He presses his ear against one side and knocks with his opposite hand.

STEVEHello?

There is no answer. He steps back and curiously stares forward. He reaches his hand outward and slightly nudges the box backward. It seems weightless.

INT. STEVE PARKER’S OFFICE - LATER

Steve steadies the box with one hand as he STABS a knife into the middle with his other. He cuts one side open with a RIPPING down-ward motion as a mountain of Styrofoam peanuts fl ood onto the fl oor.

He takes a few steps backward and stares into the dark contents of the box. A beat. Silence. The clock TICKS methodically.

From the darkness emerges a small organ grinder monkey. He gently fl ops out of the box and stares at Steve. He slowly turns the handle of the organ grinder.

A small SQUEAKING sound reaches Steve’s ears. It escalates until it slowly forms into a CIRCUS SONG.

Stumbling awkwardly out of the box and landing face fi rst a few feet in front of Steve is a disproportionate, vibrantly colored CLOWN. Rushing out after him in a blast of Styrofoam peanuts is a tall and lanky MIME.

The Mime, glancing at Steve, turns his head around, cups his hands around his mouth, and screams into the box.

MIME Come on out, fellas!

Steve stares in amazement, at a loss for words, as person after person fl oods out of the box in an explosion of Styrofoam peanuts.

Steve backs up against the wall behind his desk as clowns, midgets,

Steve leans in a few inches away from the box, squints his eyes, and reads out loud.

STEVE Open with care.

INT. STEVE PARKER’S OFFICE - LATER

At his mahogany desk, Steve rapidly scribbles down notes on a pad of paper. He stops his pencil in mid-sentence and slowly gazes at the cardboard box.

A beat. He continues his scribbling. A RUFFLING, MOVING sound emerges from inside the mysterious box. Steve freezes and slowly tilts his head upward. His eyes focus on the box in front of him. A beat. He shakes his head in disbelief.

INT. STEVE PARKER’S OFFICE - LATER

Steve scribbles notes with his pencil, occasionally looking up nervously. A large clock methodically TICKS adjacent to Steve.

The box suddenly JOLTS forward a few inches, accompanied by another RUFFLING, MOVING sound. Steve SNAPS the tip of his pencil in a frightened shock as he nervously gazes at the box.

He slowly puts his pencil down. His eyes remain fi xed on the large box. A phone on his messy desk RINGS loudly. After about 4 RINGS, he slowly reaches his hand out to grab the receiver, never moving his eyes.

STEVE (quietly, almost in a whisper)Hello? (a beat)Hey Gary. (a beat)Yes...yes, I’m sorry. I’ll try to get those done before you get here. (a beat) OK.

Steve HANGS up the phone and cautiously PUSHES his chair

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SWORD SWALLOWER (O.S.)Hey, baby. Wanna see me swallow asword?

Steve angrily looks to his right. Sitting comfortably on the side of his desk is a masculine-looking female SWORD SWALLOWER with a burly mustache, dressed in a gypsy costume.

Steve angrily THROWS back his chair and stands straight up. He looks about the chaotic room, staring down everybody. He clenches his fi sts and throws his tie down on the ground.

STEVESHUT UP! Everyone! Just shut up!

Everyone stops. Silence. A balloon that one of the clowns is holding POPS. The music drones off into nothing.

Steve stands, breathing hard, sweating slightly, irately gazing down upon everyone. The Mime glares and points a threatening fi nger at Steve.

Hatred fi lls the room. The jugglers sharpen their knives with large mechanical sharpeners. Everyone steadily moves toward the desk.

Steve nervously backs up against the wall. He puts his hand up diplo-matically.

STEVENo. No. Please.

The circus swarms in, devouring Steve and his desk, pulling both into the large box at the other end of the room. Steve SCREAMS and fl ails his limbs in every direction.

He is pulled into the depths of the box. His hands grasp the outsides as he SCREAMS, trying to pull himself back out.

In one last pull, Steve disappears into the darkness. The two cardboard fl aps violently shut as the box bounces back a few feet.

The box sits there, quiet, motionless, and lets out a large BELCH as

acrobats, and animal tamers fi ll the room. The Mime stands near the box as a microphone drops from the ceiling into his hands.

The lights dim and a spotlight shines down, illuminating the Mime’s white and black, skin tight costume.

MIMENow! Presenting...the one and only, fl abbergasting,extraordinary...Invisible Man!

Styrofoam sprays out in a confetti-like manner as a top hat fl oating in mid air comes bumbling out. Hands CLAP together and CHEERING fi lls the room. In the corner a small band starts playing odd-looking and exaggerated instruments.

Steve looks on, too frightened and amazed to say anything.

INT. STEVE PARKER’S HOUSE - LATER

The circus fi lls the room, people and creatures fl owing in and out of the box.

Steve, isolated at his desk, scribbles down notes on a pad of paper while punching in numbers on a calculator. His suit is wrinkled, his tie undone, and his hair messy. Papers fi ll his desk to the ceiling as he repeatedly looks up agitated by all the COMMOTION.

STEVE (quietly)Umm...excuse me. Could you...I would appreciate it if...

Steve’s words are overwhelmed by an EXPLODING sound as a can-non fi res off a midget through one of the windows. CLAPPING and CHEERING follows.

A lion ROARS out of the box as an animal tamer equipped with a chair and whip fends him off. The clowns nervously jump and jitter. Jug-glers throw knives into the air, most of them getting stuck into the ceiling.

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Steve’s glasses pop out and land on the wooden fl oor, smashed and broken.

The room remains clean and immaculate with the large cardboard box in the center. The clock on the wall TICKS methodically.

The doorbell RINGS. A beat. STEVE’S CO-WORKERHello? (a beat)Steve, you there? You got those papers?

FADE TO BLACK.

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LeNIn II: BACK IN THe

USsR

BY SEAN MCDONOUGH

Illustration By: James Gormly-Rack

--fi lm--

EXT. LIBERTY ISLAND - DAY

A bright, cloudless spring day. Thirty people, their right hands raised, are arranged in fi ve lines of six with a large crowd behind them and a robed JUDGE before them.

The thirty people are PROSPECTIVE AMERICAN CITIZENS and they’re reciting the OATH OF ALLEGIANCE.

PROSPECTIVE CITIZENS...that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law–

LENIN is in the back row. His lips are moving but his voice is indistin-guishable from anyone else’s.

PROSPECTIVE CITIZENS (CONT’D)and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God.

They fall silent and the Judge approaches the microphone.

JUDGEWell, there you have it. And in closing, let me just say– welcome, my fellow Americans!

The crowd and the new U.S. Citizens burst into CHEERS and APPLAUSE. The two groups fl ow toward each other, the new citizens receiving congratulatory hugs and pats from jubilant friends and family members.

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His face remains wreathed in darkness, but his considerable belly and WWII-era military uniform can be seen.

There’s a cat sitting in his lap. A robotic hand with thick steel fi ngers pets the feline with slow, methodical strokes as a REPORTER talks on the TV.

REPORTER (ON TV)This was the scene here today at Liberty Island, where the American family grew to include another thirty members, the most prominent of those being re-animated former Russian dictator, Vladimir Lenin.

The scene on the TV switches to show Lenin taking the Oath of Allegiance.

The man keeps stroking the cat.

REPORTER (CONT’D)Questions about Lenin’s future plans were met with a ‘no comment’ by Lenin’s friend, citizenship sponsor, and American icon, Uncle Sam. But one thing’s for certain. Whatever Mr. Lenin gets up to, we’re glad that he’s doing it for America.

CRACK. The man in the chair tightens his steel hand around the cat’s throat, breaking its neck.

He lifts a phone receiver from its cradle on his chair and lifts it to the darkness where his head should be.

He begins to speak in RUSSIAN.

He waits a beat and then hangs up the phone. As soon as he does, twin beams of red light fl are up where his eyes should be.

He begins to laugh, harder and harder until the sound ECHOES throughout the chamber–

EXT. KREMlIN - NIGHTAnd BOOMS out over the Russian capital building and the entire city of Moscow.

All except Lenin who weaves between the happy throngs of people. Alone.

MAN (O.S.)Heads up!

A large white blur hurtles toward Lenin’s face. He effortlessly snatches the projectile out of the air and then turns it over in his hand. It’s a pint of milk.

Lenin looks in the direction that the container came from. A man dressed to the nines in a custom tailored suit is coming toward him. UNCLE SAM.

UNCLE SAMThat’s cow milk. I know it lacks the pungent aftertaste of goat’s milk. But you’re an American now. Get used to it.

A beat. Lenin grins. They embrace in a back-patting guy hug.

UNCLE SAM (CONT’D)Haha, welcome to America, you Goulash-eating son of a bitch. Come on, the next ferry leaves in fi ve minutes and I want to be back on the main land before the Yankee game starts. Let’s welcome you to Ameri-can life, proper!

Sam walks off, and Lenin starts to follow but stops after a few steps. He turns back, looks up at Lady Liberty, resplendent in the afternoon sunlight, and throws up a salute.

He follows after Sam.

FADE TO:

INT. LAIR

The room is bathed in shadows. The only light comes from a TV, illuminating a MAN sitting in an offi ce chair.

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The red lights seen before shine from the darkness in front of Sam and out steps the man from the chair.

He’s stocky and still clad in the Russian military uniform. His hair is slicked back and the right side of his face is dominated by thick eye-brows and a bushy mustache.

The left side of his face is a T-800 style robotic endoskeleton.CYBORG STALIN.

He grins and clenches and unclenches his robotic left hand as Uncle Sam’s eyes widen in recognition.

STALINWhat’s the matter, Sam? Don’t you recognize your old ally?

UNCLE SAMStalin, you and I were allies in the same way I’d ally myself with–

Stalin’s left hand transforms, steel plates and rods WHIRRING and reformatting into a very mean-looking sledgehammer head.

STALIN Forgive me, Sam. But I have no time for pleasantries...Where’s Lenin?

UNCLE SAMKuntsevo Cemetery. Digging up your commie mother, so he can put a few nails in her back door.

STALIN(sighs)

Now you see, Sam, that–

He strikes out like a snake, catching Uncle Sam in the face with the hammer and knocking him the length of the fi eld.

STALIN (CONT’D)That was uncalled for.

FADE TO:

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD - NIGHT

Lenin and Uncle Sam have the diamond to themselves. Lenin’s up to bat and Uncle Sam is on the mound with a baseball in his hand and another at his feet.

Uncle Sam winds and hurls a blistering fastball. Lenin swings and misses. Uncle Sam chuckles.

UNCLE SAMCome on, Lenin. Even the communist Cubans can play better than you.

Lenin just taps the plate.

UNCLE SAM (CONT’D)Alright, here it comes right down the old soup line.

Sam hurls another pitch. Lenin connects. He sends a screamer to right fi eld, soaring over the fence... and over the tree line... and then completely out of sight.

Uncle Sam watches the ball disappear.

UNCLE SAM (CONT’D)Great.

Lenin just grins.

UNCLE SAM (CONT’D)Well, don’t look at me. You hit it, you get it.

Lenin tramps off after the ball. Uncle Sam, alone, plops down on the grass and looks up at the stars.

A beat passes and then there’s the SNAP of a twig. Uncle Sam springs to his feet.

UNCLE SAM (CONT’D)Who’s there?

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Lenin’s lips.

STALIN(subtitled from Russian)

The Americans have made you weak.

He cackles and brings Lenin close so they’re eye to eye.

STALIN (CONT’D)(subtitled from Russian)

You’re no match for Soviet steel.

He fl ings Lenin with all his might. The sickle gouts a fresh wound in Lenin’s side as he’s torn off the blade and sent crashing down on home plate.

Stalin stands at the ready for a beat, waiting for Lenin to rise.He doesn’t. A pool of blood begins to spread beneath Lenin.

Uncle Sam rises up behind Stalin. He wraps his handless arms around Stalin’s neck and tries to wrestle him to the ground. Stalin doesn’t even bend.

He hooks Uncle Sam with the sickle and fl ings him onto the ground. He steps on Sam’s neck, laughing at Sam’s feeble attempts to knock his leg away.

STALIN (CONT’D)You should have stayed down, Sam. I might have let you live. But now Lenin is dead.

He raises the bloody sickle.

STALIN (CONT’D)And so are you.

FADE TO:

EXT. SAME - LATER

Lenin lies prone. He groans and rolls over. He slowly fi ghts his way to his hands and knees.

Uncle Sam hits the outfi eld wall and drops to all fours, blood streaming from his nose.

Stalin draws closer, his hammer hand REFORMATTING again into a curved sickle blade. Sam’s still struggling to get back on his feet.

STALIN (CONT’D)Make it easy on yourself, Sam. Just tell me where he is.

Sam lunges up and fl ings a punch at Stalin. Stalin swings back with the sickle and lops Sam’s hand off at the wrist.

UNCLE SAMAh!

The severed limb goes fl ying into the grass and Stalin backhands Sam across the face.

STALIN Feeling cooperative yet?

Uncle Sam gives him the fi nger with his remaining hand.

Stalin cuts that hand off, too. Sam SCREAMS.

EXT. FOREST - SAME

Lenin is walking back, holding the baseball. Then he hears Uncle Sam’s SCREAM and takes off at a run.

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD - NIGHT

Stalin raises the sickle high, ready to fi nish off Sam.

And then a baseball explodes against the side of Stalin’s head. Stalin stumbles as Lenin charges toward him. He leaps over the fence with his fi st cocked back, bearing down on Stalin like a comet.

And Stalin turns and brings up the sickle, skewering Lenin through the chest.

Lenin gasps in pain and Stalin chuckles as blood leaks from between

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BEGIN MONTAGE:

A. Lenin buttoning the waist of a pair of black slacks.

B. Putting on a crisp, white dress shirt.

C. Knotting his tie.

D. Slipping on a black suit jacket.

E. Pinning an American fl ag pin to his jacket lapel.

END MONTAGE.

Dressed to the nines, Lenin reaches for the phone.

INT. OVAL OFFICE

The PRESIDENT is working at his desk when the red phone RINGS. He answers it.

PRESIDENTYes?

His face grows grave as he listens.

PRESIDENT (CONT’D)I don’t know if that’s–

CLICK followed by a DIAL TONE. The President puts the phone down and presses the intercom.

PRESIDENT (CONT’D)STEPHANIE?

A young woman comes through the door.

STEPHANIEYes, Mr. President?

The fi rst thing he sees is what’s left of Uncle Sam.

Lenin hangs his head in sorrow.

FADE TO:

EXT. ARLINGTON CEMETRY - DAY

A headstone reads, “Uncle Sam. 1812-2008, ‘Stars and Stripes forever.’”

A massive crowd of mourners are gathered around an American fl ag patterned coffi n. A PRIEST frequently chokes up as he tries to deliver a eulogy; grieving women cling to each other in their sorrow.

The only dry eye in the house is Lenin. He stands beside Uncle Sam’s casket in dark glasses, his face seemingly carved out of wood.

PRIEST...And it is with a heavy heart, Lord, that we commit our favorite son into your hands. (sniff) May he rest in peace.

The military band on hand begins to play TAPS as another regiment commences with a 21 GUN SALUTE.

A bald eagle alights atop of Sam’s headstone. The mighty bird watches as they lower the casket into the grave....and a single teardrop falls from its eye.

EXT. SAME - NIGHT

Lenin is the only one left at the grave site. He’s still for a beat... and then his hands curl into fi sts.

INT. LENIN’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Lenin opens his closet. He sorts past hanger after hanger of blue jeans, t-shirts, and denim jackets until he fi nally stops at what he’s been look-ing for.

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An old WOMAN in a dilapidated kitchen rolls dough to make bread.

BOY (O.S.)Baboushka!

The woman looks up as a small boy runs in excitedly.

BOY (CONT’D)Lenin, own hodit c ylitsi.

SERIES OF SHOTS:

-PEOPLE in VARIOUS LOCATIONS talking excitedly to each other in Russian. One word is always a constant... LENIN.

INT. STALIN’S LAIR

Stalin sits stroking another cat. From the doors behind him, Russian President DMITRY MEDVEDEV comes bursting in.

Stalin doesn’t turn around.

He rips the cat in half.

His eyes narrow and glow bright red.

STALINLenin.

EXT. MOSCOW - STREET - DAY

Lenin walks down the middle of the street. As he passes by, people hurry into the nearest building and the signs on shop doors are hastily changed from “Otkroy” (“Open”) to “Zakroy” (“Closed”).

All the same, riveted eyes peak out at Lenin from the corner of every window.

Suddenly, Lenin stops walking.

Stalin stands a mere ten feet away.

PRESIDENTCharter a plane to leave from JFK airport... for the Soviet Union.

STEPHANIEYou mean Russia?

The President shakes his head.

PRESIDENTThat’s not what he said.

EXT. DOMODEDOVO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY

A grey overcast sky. Snow is gently falling.

Two airport EMPLOYEES in jumpsuits smoke cigarettes as a private jet taxis down a runway and slows to a stop.

The men snuff out their cigarettes and wheel a stairwell toward the jet.

They’re almost there when the jet’s hatch rockets off its hinges and goes fl ying across the tarmac.

A beat later, Lenin leaps from the hole and THUDS to the ground. He inhales deeply and scans the horizon until his eyes lock onto the Kremlin in the distance.

He stomps toward it, leaving the two slack-jawed airline employees star-ing after him in wonder.

INT. BREAK ROOM - LATER

Gloomy men and women sit around tables or on couches, silently smoking or drinking vodka. Then the two men from the runway burst inside.

EMPLOYEE #1(Frantic Russian)

Letil v samaileoti, Lenin.

INT. HOME - SAME

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Lenin moves toward him again when he hears the RUMBLE of an ap-proaching train.

Lenin looks away from Stalin to the incoming train to the gap in the tracks created by the battle and when he looks back to Stalin, the cy-borg is running at him with his hammer fi st cocked back.

Lenin ducks a haymaker and fl ips the charging Stalin over his shoul-der. Stalin lands neatly in the hole just as the train approaches, HORN BLARING.

The train throws on the EMERGENCY BRAKE. It’s too late to stop before the crater, but Stalin’s body creates a perfect makeshift track as the train grinds to a halt.

Stalin is obscured from view by the train. Lenin cautiously approaches one of the cars.

The fl oor of the train tears up in a cloud of debris and the doors go fl ying outward. One of the door panels strikes Lenin in the head, disorienting him, and then Stalin is there, ugly track marks torn into his chest plate.

He hits Lenin with his hammer hand, knocking him across the station and toward the stairs leading to the street.

EXT. ALL-RUSSIA EXHIBITION CENTRE - SAME

Lenin goes fl ying out of the exit to the subway station. The people milling about SCREAM and back away as he rolls across the square and comes to a stop at the base of a giant statue of himself.

Lenin wearily fi ghts his way back to his feet. He wipes blood from his mouth and he pants as Stalin, dripping blood and motor oil from sev-eral wounds, climbs up the stairs after him.

Lenin stomps toward him and the two collide again.

They hit each other with brutal blows but as the fi ght wears on, Lenin slowly gains the advantage. He has Stalin on the ropes, tossing him

Both men are stock still for a beat. And then Stalin smiles, slowly claps his hands together, the sound ECHOING in the empty streets, and walks closer.

Lenin remains stoic even as Stalin comes within punching range.

STALINWell, still alive. I’m impressed. Perhaps there’s more Russian left in you than I thought, what do you think?

Lenin says nothing.

STALIN (CONT’D)Come now, Lenin. Surely you have something to say to me?

A beat. Lenin swivels, grabs a parked car behind him, and hoists it over his head.

LENINLENIN SMASH!

He brings the car crashing down on top of Stalin.

INT. SUBWAY STOP

Russian men and women wait for a train in silence. Some read the paper.

And then Stalin comes CRASHING through the roof of the tunnel.

Stalin lands square on the tracks and Lenin comes dropping down on him before he’s even off his knees, connecting with the back of Stalin’s head and cratering him into the ground.

He hauls Stalin back up and drills him in the face over and over again, ripping away chunks of fl esh to reveal still more steel underneath be-fore tossing him onto the platform.Lenin continues his offensive, leaping up after Stalin and putting a boot in his ribs that launches him against the wall and shatters the expensive tile.

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STALIN (CONT’D)(subtitled Russian)

Stop, you ungrateful dogs! I am your father! Your mother!

LENIN (O.S.)(subtitled Russian)

Then you must look really strange under that uniform.

Stalin looks to where a group of Russian children are helping Lenin back to his feet. He’s badly battered and bleeding but he beckons Stalin forward, the way Uncle Sam would.

For a beat, Stalin just trembles with fury. Then he yanks his sickle hand back and bellows with rage as he charges.

Lenin just stands his ground, letting Stalin bear down on him.

Lenin’s hand pistons out at the last second, impaling Stalin and bursting out his back in a spray of gore and metal works.

The crowd gapes in stunned silence; Stalin gawks at the fi st through his torso; Lenin remains stone-faced.

And then Lenin yanks his fi st upward, bisecting Stalin from the waist up and the crowd breaks into stunned applause as Stalin topples over dead.

The crowd continues to CHEER and Lenin turns toward them and raises his hands and gives them the double v’s à la Richard Nixon.

FADE TO:

EXT. ARLINGTON CEMETERY- DAY

The sun shines over the lush green grass. Birds SING and butterfl ies twitter about as Lenin walks down a row of polished headstones with a duffl e bag slung over his arm.

He comes to a stop in front of Uncle Sam’s grave and reverently reaches into the duffl e bag.

...And takes out Stalin’s decapitated head and spikes it on the head

around the square and imprinting his fi sts and wing tip shoes into Stalin’s chassis in a dozen places.

A well-placed kick catches Stalin on the chin and launches him through a bench that a young boy and his mother are hiding behind.

The pair freeze, too scared to move as Lenin hurtles toward the downed Stalin. He looses a fi nal crushing blow and Stalin grabs the little boy from his screaming mother and holds him up as a human shield.

Startled, Lenin pulls back. His fi st stops a centimeter from the boy’s nose.

And then Stalin tosses the boy aside and swings the hammer hand. He connects with the top of Lenin’s skull and pile drives him into the concrete ground with enough force to completely shatter it.

Grinning, Stalin yanks Lenin up by the collar and lays into him with the hammer. Blood and teeth fl y as Stalin hammers him across the face again and again before launching him across the square.

Lenin hits the ground, tries to get up, and drops.

He’s beaten.

Stalin’s hammer hand transforms into a scythe as he stalks toward the prone Lenin.

STALIN(subtitled Russian)

No second chances this time, I think.

And then a coin DINGS off the side of his head. Stalin turns.

It’s the boy he was using as a shield and he’s already getting another coin from his pocket.

More people begin to join in, shouting angrily as they fl ing coins, rocks, and anything else they can lay their hands on at the cyborg dictator.Stalin shields himself with his hands.

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stone. The phrase “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED” has been stamped on Stalin’s head in thick block letters.

Lenin remains for a beat, head bowed reverently; then he touches Sam’s headstone and walks away.

All at the grave site is still for a beat.

And then the bald eagle, no longer crying, fl utters down and lands on Stalin’s head. It preens itself for a moment.

...And then takes a shit on Stalin’s head.

FADE TO BLACK

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CRItICAL lOVe

BY NICK MURPHY

Illustration By: Dan Masso

--fi lm--

FADE IN:

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

TWO COOKS are grilling, while the sous chef, CHRIS, 32, slices vegetables.

The soup chef, KATHERINE, 28, stirs the soup. She stops to sample it.

The pastry chef, GREG, 38, decorates dessert plates. Greg wipes a plate clean.

The head chef, PAUL, 36, comes out of his offi ce reading a newspaper article.

PAULWhat a shark!

CHRISWhat’s wrong, Paul?

PAULIt’s the new food critic that’s coming tonight; every restau-rant she’s reviewed has lost a star. Chris, we need a good fi rst review to get some more business.

CHRISFive stars would be nice.

Chris dumps herbs in the sauce. Paul stirs it together and tries it.

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PAULWell...

CHRISWell what? It’s just like we always make it. He’ll love it.

PAULShe, actually. Everyone... now pay attention, everything has to be to perfection.

KATHERINEEven more than usual?

PAULYes. I want this restaurant to get fi ve stars.

KATHERINEIt will be fi ne.

CHRISI wouldn’t be so sure.

Chris stirs the sauces again.

Paul walks over to Katherine and samples the soup.

WAITRESS, 23, rushes into the kitchen.

WAITRESSShe’s here!

Chris, Katherine, and Greg rush to the window on the door. They look out into the restaurant.

Paul clears his throat. Everyone steps aside and Paul looks out the window.

Through the window, he sees REBECCA, 32, taking off her coat and handing it to the Hostess. Rebecca is elegantly dressed.

Rebecca follows the Hostess to the table and sits down gracefully.

Paul turns around; the kitchen staff is staring at him.

PAULGet back to work!

Paul turns back to the window. He stares at Rebecca while she orders.

Waitress enters the kitchen, slamming the door into Paul’s forehead.

WAITRESSOh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?

PAULNo, I’m fi ne...what did she order?

WAITRESSThe petit crab-cakes with orange sauce for an appetizer. And then the special for the evening, braised duck with black truffl es.

PAULWell that’s just fi ne. I’ll do the main course. Chris, can you do the appetizer?

SERIES OF SCENES:

A - Paul cooks the duck.

B - Paul slices the black truffl es.

C - Paul prepares the sauce.

D - Paul drizzles the sauce on the duck.

E - Paul wipes the edges of the plate.

END SERIES OF SCENES.

INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Rebecca sits patiently waiting for her meal.

Paul comes out of the kitchen with the braised duck. He delivers it to Rebecca.

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REBECCAWell this is unusual, isn’t it, the chef delivering the food?

PAULI wanted to see your reaction to the presentation.

REBECCA(laughing)

I think you wanted to see my notes.

PAULTruthfully, I wanted to see you up close.

REBECCAI see, the fl attery technique.

PAULNo.

REBECCAWell if you don’t mind, I would like to try your renowned food.

PAULOh, sorry. Enjoy your meal.

REBECCAI plan to.

Paul walks back to the kitchen. On his way, he looks back at Rebecca who waves at him.

Rebecca stops and begins writing down notes. She looks to the kitchen but quickly returns to her notes.

INT. RESTAURANT - DAY

Chris signs for a delivery.

Paul feverishly searches the newspaper. He stops and reads the review.

CHRISAnd?

PAULI can’t believe it.

CHRISOh, shit, she gave us two stars?

PAULNo. We got it! We got fi ve stars!

CHRISCongratulations!

Chris hurries back to the kitchen.

CHRIS (CONT’D)Hey guys...

Paul stares at the newspaper. He smiles.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

Paul drizzles sauce on two dishes. He wipes the edges of the plates.

INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Paul delivers the plates to an ELDERLY COUPLE. He walks away from the table before stopping dead in his tracks.

Rebecca stands at the front of the restaurant.

Paul walks up to the Hostess and Rebecca.

PAULYou’re not here to take a star away, are you?

REBECCANo. I was just dying for some good food.

HOSTESSIt’s a twenty-fi ve minute wait, Paul.

REBECCAThat’s probably my fault.

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PAULThanks for the great review.

REBECCAThank your food.

PAULCan you just squeeze her in for me?

Hostess nods. Paul walks Rebecca to a table. He takes off her coat.

PAUL (CONT’D)I’m going to make you something special.

Paul hurries off to the kitchen. Rebecca looks around the restaurant.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

Paul quickly prepares the special dish. He cuts up vegetables, cooks a piece of meat, and prepares a sauce.

INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Paul delivers the food.

Rebecca takes a bite.

REBECCAOh, wonderful!

Rebecca grabs Paul’s hand. They glance at each other.

Paul breaks the moment by pouring Rebecca more wine.

PAULWell, I’m glad you like it. Can I ask you a question? Why are you really here? Isn’t it unethical for you to frequent restaurants you are reviewing?

REBECCAI know where all the fi ve star restaurants are in the city, what would be unethical would be not taking

advantage of them. Plus out of the few restaurants I’ve reviewed, yours is my favorite.

Rebecca drinks some wine and smiles at Paul. Paul smiles back.

SERIES OF SCENES

Paul always standing. Each scene is a new week.

A - Rebecca tries the food and nods in approval.

B - Rebecca and Paul laugh.

C - Rebecca tries more food and smiles.

D - Rebecca and Paul toast each other.

END SERIES OF SCENES.

EXT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Rebecca and Paul come out of the restaurant. Rebecca looks up at the sky.

PAULI’ve really been enjoying your weekly visits.

REBECCAMe too.

Paul moves to kiss Rebecca. Rebecca breaks away.

REBECCA (CONT’D)Well, I think I better be going.

Rebecca leaves.

INT. KITCHEN

Katherine and Paul are working on the soup. Paul tries the soup.

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PAULThat’s very good for a fi rst time, Katherine.

KATHERINEThanks. I can’t wait to serve it to Rebecca.

PAULMe, neither. She should be here soon.

KATHERINEShe will be.

Katherine ladles out some soup.

Paul looks out the window into the restaurant, but there’s no sign of Rebecca.

Paul turns around. Chris is chopping vegetables.

CHRISDo you really think she loves you?

PAULYeah. Why wouldn’t she?

CHRISWell, when this restaurant gets a bad review because you break her heart, you can blame yourself.

PAULWhat’s that supposed to mean?

CHRISI don’t think having a relationship with our food critic is in the best interest of the restaurant.

Chris walks away.

INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

The restaurant is empty. Paul sits alone at the bar. Katherine walks out of the kitchen.

KATHERINEMaybe something came up. Maybe next week.

Katherine pats Paul on the back and leaves the restaurant. Paul swivels around in his chair and looks at his empty restaurant.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

Paul has just burnt the sauce for the special. He slams down the plate of food.

Chris comes over.

CHRISPaul, this has to stop. We’ve all had an off-day but not an off-week! Don’t let her get to you.

Paul pushes Chris out of the way. Paul takes off his apron and throws it on the fl oor. He storms out of the kitchen.

EXT. ANOTHER RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Paul walks down the street with his head hung down. A HAPPY COUPLE walks by him.

Paul stops in front of a restaurant. He looks inside.

INT. ANOTHER RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Rebecca is eating. She starts laughing. ANOTHER CHEF sits across from Rebecca.

The Chef gets up and takes her hand and kisses it. He goes back to the kitchen.

Paul leans his face against the front window of the restaurant.

Rebecca sees Paul through the window.

Rebecca drops her wine glass. Paul leaves the front of the restaurant.

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Rebecca walks over to Paul. She kisses him; Paul slowly begins to kiss back.

They continue to kiss. Everyone looks on. They begin to clap.

Rebecca and Paul stop kissing.

PAUL (CONT'D)Five stars!

Rebecca laughs and hugs Paul.

FADE OUT.

Paul cuts up vegetables.

Rebecca comes into the kitchen. Everyone stops what they are doing and looks at her.

CHRISWhat the hell are you doing here?

REBECCAPaul, can we talk?

PAULWhat's there to talk about? Did you play me just like you do every other chef?

REBECCANo, I don't. And I didn't play you. Do you realize how much trouble I could have gotten in if my editor suspected something between us?

PAULWhat were you doing at the other restaurant?

REBECCAIt's my job! We need to be professional.

PAULI thought we were dating and then I saw you fawning all over that other guy.

REBECCAI was just being nice. And what made you think we were dating?

PAULYou acted like it. Always showing up and laughing and fl irting.

REBECCAAfter I saw you at the other restaurant, I realized I care about you just as much as you care about me.

PAULWhat?

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INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Rebecca walks into the restaurant.

Paul is talking with a PATRON. He sees Rebecca and walks back to the kitchen.

Rebecca quickly follows behind him.

Int. Kitchen - night

Paul cuts up vegetables.

Rebecca comes into the kitchen. Everyone stops what they are doing and looks at her.

CHRISWhat the Hell are you doing here?

REBECCAPaul, can we talk?

PAULWhat’s there to talk about? Did you play me just like you do every other chef?

REBECCANo I don’t. And I didn’t play you. Do you realize how much trouble I could have gotten in if my editor sus-pected something between us.

PAULWhat were you doing at the other restaurant?

REBECCAIt’s my job! We need to be professional.

PAULI thought we were dating and then I saw you fawning all over that other guy.

REBECCAI was just being nice. And what made you think we

BItTeRsWEeT MICHIgAN

BY CHARLIE PIEPER

Illustration By: Charlie Pieper

--fi lm--

INT. YELLOW HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT

A small bed is surrounded by medical equipment. In it is a thin 89-year-old bald-headed man, JONATHAN MICHIGAN. The medical equip-ment BEEPS and BUZZES.

Jonathan stares out into the night through a window lined with dark yellow drapes. Outside it is snowing. Jonathan blinks. His eyes roll around in his head. He is pained and BREATHES with heavy GASPS. He MUTTERS and GURGLES.

JONATHAN(half-whisper)

It is...it’s cruel and... uncomfortable...

All the medical equipment starts BUZZING and BEEPING loudly.

ANGLE ON:

The display on a heart monitor showing very irregular lines.

END ANGLE.

Jonathan grimaces, gnashing his teeth. His hands clasp tightly onto the end of his bed sheets, causing long undulating patterns to unfurl down the length of his bed.

He shakes back and forth. He GASPS once more and goes still. The heart line goes fl at.

The machine emits a continual ‘EEEEEE’ noise.

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Suddenly an intense white light fi lls the room, turning everything to silhouettes.

Over the ‘EEEEEE’ is heard a LOUD CRACKLING DISEMBOD-IED VOICE which sounds like a confused old man.

VOICE-There seems to be a delay in the processing station. There seems to be a, uh, hello? Hello?-

The Voice cuts off and the white light recedes. The heart monitor continues going ‘EEEEEE.’

The sound of RUSHING FOOTSTEPS is heard. The door to the room fl ies open with a BANG.

A multitude of doctors and nurses wearing green hospital gowns fl ood into the room and rush around Jonathan’s bed. One TALL DOCTOR leans over Jonathan’s body, staring intently.

TALL DOCTORHe’s dead. Jonathan Michigan has died.

A SOB is heard. The tall doctor turns toward the door. In the doorway stands CATHERINE LANGERHANS, an old woman with long grey hair. She stares toward Jonathan with sad eyes.

CATHERINE (V.O.)Johnny Michigan was the strangest man I ever knew...and I loved him dearly.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. DEEP UNDERWATER - NIGHT

A much younger Catherine Langerhans fl ails about slowly, drowning.

She wears a tight black evening gown and her platinum blonde hair fl oats above her head like a squid’s tentacles.

Air bubbles escape her mouth and fl oat away. Her desperation grows.

JONATHAN (V.O.)Si quaeris peninsulam amoenam circumspice!

SUBTITLED:

“If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you!”

CATHERINE (V.O.)Johnny!?

A hand emerges from above, out of darkness, and pulls Catherine up and away.

EXT. FOREST EDGE - CONTINUOUS

Catherine, wet and shivering, COUGHS and SPLUTTERS on the ground.

CATHERINEJohnny...What’s going–

She looks up and is astonished to see an Ottawa Indian standing before her in typical nineteenth century attire.

The Ottawa Indian opens its mouth in an automatic fashion and an ELECTRIC VOICE echoes out of it, though the mouth doesn’t move. As the Voice speaks, the Indian grows more and more confused.

VOICEJonathan isn’t here right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, please do so after the beep.

There is a moment of silence. Then–

VOICE (CONT’D)BEEEEEEP

INT. DIRTY TRAIN - NIGHT

The old Catherine sits, staring out the train window as it rattles through the night.

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CATHERINE (V.O.)I once told Johnny that I was deathly afraid of grass-hoppers. In return, he told me he heard voices.

INT. WORKPLACE CAFETERIA - DAY

The young Catherine sits next to a young Jonathan. They are eating dreary-looking sandwiches and are dressed in business attire. Catherine leans in close toward Jonathan, laughing a little.

CATHERINEWellllll, I’m deathly afraid of grasshoppers.

There is a pause in which Jonathan considers this fact deeply. He takes a bite out of his sandwich.

JONATHANAlright.

CATHERINENow, you. Say something you’ve never told someone else before!

JONATHANWell. I hear voices.

CATHERINEVoices?

JONATHANYes. Sometimes.

CATHERINEWhat do they say? Anything interesting?

JONATHANNot really.

CATHERINEOh, come on now! If you’re hearing voooooices, I am sure they’re saying interesting stuff!

JONATHANNo. Honestly, it’s rather dull. It’s technical talk.

Mechanical jargon. I’ve no idea what it means. It’s like I am listening to three or four confused old men trying to talk their way through assembling a ham radio, but they can only communicate to each other through the ham radio that they are trying to assemble...Which is what, of course, is causing all their confusion. Because, well, they haven’t assembled it yet.

Catherine stares wide-eyed and smiling at Jonathan. She bats him slightly with her arm.

CATHERINEYou’re joking! Get outta town!

JONATHAN(mock serious)

Yes. Yes, I am joking.

Catherine laughs.

JONATHAN (CONT’D)Now, about those grasshoppers...

INT. DIRTY TRAIN - NIGHT

Catherine still stares out the window, lost in thought.

CATHERINE (V.O.)Later that week I went home to my apartment after work like always. I remember I got my keys out and fumbling, I opened the door. I remember I walked in, turned the lights on, and then I remember screaming a lot.

INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

The young Catherine stands in her apartment SCREAMING.

The whole place is covered in GRASSHOPPERS. They hop and jump about randomly, landing all over.

Young Catherine stands in the midst of all the grasshoppers shaking and quivering.

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EXT. PAYPHONE - MOMENTS LATER

Catherine YELLS into the phone. LAUGHING is heard from the receiver.

CATHERINEDammit Johnny, why did you do this? How did you do this? I, I...what? How did I know it was you? Who the hell else could it have been? God DAMMIT Johnny, I told you I was deathly afraid of grasshoppers! This isn’t funny! This isn’t just some prank! I nearly died! So STOP LAUGHING! Seriously! Stop laughing and come over here to get these things!

Catherine SLAMS the phone onto its cradle. She is furious but can’t help but smile.

INT. APARTMENT - LATER

Jonathan walks through the apartment with a large bag and metal tongs. With the tongs, he deftly picks up the grasshoppers and puts them into the bag.

Catherine stands in the corner, nervous but smiling.

CATHERINEHow did you do it?

JONATHANOh, I’ve my ways. Pet shop and locksmith connec-tions. Friends in high places who enjoy a good joke.

CATHERINEGood joke? Good joke? You nearly killed me! I could have died!

JONATHANBut you didn’t.

CATHERINESeriously though, why’d you do it?

JONATHANWell, I thought it would be funny fi rst of all, and

secondly, you said you were deathly afraid of grass-hoppers, so...

CATHERINESo you thought you’d fi ll my apartment up with them?

JONATHANWell, you’ve encountered them now and haven’t died, so now you can’t very well say you’re deathly afraid of them, now can you? I’ve done you a favor! You can scratch that deadly fear off your list!

CATHERINEWhat list? Who says I even have a list?

JONATHAN(matter-of-factly)

Everyone has a list.

CATHERINEWell there are a lot of things to be afraid of....

JONATHAN(coy)

What’s another thing you’re afraid of then?

CATHERINEOh no! I’m not giving you any more ideas from which you can fi ll up my apartment!

JONATHANVery well then. I’ll tell you something I’m afraid of instead.

CATHERINEOh yeah? What’s that?

JONATHAN(with dramatic emphasis)

Balding.

CATHERINEBalding. Oh, come on.

JONATHANNo, I’m serious. Do you know why?

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Catherine LAUGHS.

JONATHAN (CONT’D)(with perhaps mock seriousness)

Anything is possible.

INT. DIRTY TRAIN - NIGHT

Old Catherine SIGHS.

CATHERINE (V.O.)I can’t believe he’s dead. Who’ll fi ll up my apartment with grasshoppers now?

INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

The sound of KEYS fumbling in the lock is heard. The apartment door then opens, light fl ooding into the dark room. Old Catherine is a framed shadow standing in front of this light.

She GASPS and slowly walks into her apartment.

Sitting on the fl oor in the middle of the apartment is a brand new HAM RADIO.

Catherine walks toward it slowly. The ham radio suddenly BUZZES and Catherine jumps back. The Voice is heard from the radio.

VOICE-Um, hello? Hello? Yes, I do think we fi nally got it correct. Yes, correct. What? Oh. Yes. I suppose then, fi nally, uh, right, yes, it’s over and out-

The Voice FIZZLES away.

Incredulous, Catherine leans down to look at the radio for any signs of wires or possible trickery.

CATHERINE(whispering)

Johnny? Johnny?FADE TO BLACK.

CATHERINEBecause it’s embarrassing and emasculating?

Jonathan catches the last grasshopper and ties up the bag. He walks toward Catherine.

JONATHANHa ha. No. Well, yes, but no. I’m afraid of balding because of Aeschylus.

CATHERINEWho?

JONATHANAeschylus.

CATHERINEAnd that is?

JONATHANHe was a famous Greek playwright who died in 458 B.C... Do you know how he died?

CATHERINENo, I do not.

JONATHANHe died because a fl ying eagle dropped a live tortoise on him. Do you know why the eagle did this?

CATHERINENo.

JONATHANIt did this because it mistook Aeschylus’s bald head for a stone. It was trying to crack open the tortoise, you see. And, here’s some supreme irony: the tortoise survived. And so, I am afraid of balding.

CATHERINEBecause if you go bald an eagle may drop a tortoise on your head?

JONATHANYes. If it happened once it, could happen again.

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PrOmoTIoN

BY GREG GOODNESS

Illustration By: Jessica Kucinskas

--fi lm--

FADE IN:

INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT

Sweatpants and bare feet stumble down a long hallway as a loud THUMPING is heard every few seconds in the distance. The legs be-long to MARK, a clean-cut and lanky, but very tired, 17-year-old.

The THUMPING continues as Mark GRUMBLES to himself.

MOTHER (O.S.) (Slurred speech)

Mmaarrkkkkk, what’s all that noise?

MARK It’s nothing mom, go back to bed.

The THUMPING gets louder as Mark rounds a corner to reveal a half-fi nished room. Paint cans, tarps, and various pieces of equipment are strewn about: the place is a disaster. The THUMPING continues.

MOTHER (O.S.)Mark, it’s late, what’s thatNNOOIIISSEEEE?!

MARK (losing his patience)

Jesus, Mom, it’s nothing! I’m taking care of it, just go to bed!

Just as Mark reaches a door at the far end of the room, another set of KNOCKS begins. He opens the door, catching CHRIS in the motion of pounding his fi st against the side of the house.

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Chris, the same age as Mark, is dressed like an MTV rapper, but without any of the glamor. One look at his goofy grin says that he is completely drunk.

CHRIS Mark. Mark-E Mark-E Mark-E Mark.

MARK What the hell is wrong with you, Chris? Do you have any idea what time it is?

Mark is serious, but Chris immediately launches into a sloppy acting performance. It’s all a game to him.

CHRIS Can I speak with your supervisor, please? This is no way to treat a repeat customer.

MARK What, are you 13? Call it a night. Besides, I’ve got nothing. You should have shown up 8 hours earlier, like a normal person.

Chris slumps against the frame of the door and feigns heartbreak.

CHRISMark, he lies. Lies, lies!Mark-E Mark-E Mark lies.

Mark speaks slowly, placing an exaggerated emphasis on each word, as if he is teaching a child.

MARK Asshole... I. Do. Not. Have. Weed. Get out of here.

In an unexpectedly swift move, Chris grabs Mark by his undershirt and throws him against the open door. Chris takes a switch blade from his pocket and opens it with a well-rehearsed fl ick of the wrist. He rests the gleaming steel against Mark’s neck.

Chris is no longer smiling, and his playfulness has been replaced by a drunken madness.

CHRIS Come on, Mark. I thought we were pals. Best buds. Amigos. Two peas in a happy, happy, little pod. But now you’re holding out on me. Tsk, tsk. Not a very good friend, are you, Mark?

Mark swats away the blade as if such encounters are routine. He has hardly fl inched, and is more annoyed than scared.

MARK I’m not holding out. You’re the idiot that waited too long! Do you know how many people are looking to get high on Saturday night? Come back tomorrow.

The SQUEALING of tires rips through the night, and a mint condi-tion red convertible comes tearing down the street. It swerves before coming to a halt halfway onto Mark’s front lawn.

A young BLONDE wearing excessive makeup and a haltertop leans out the passenger side window.

BLONDE (slurred)

Chris, forget it! Jeff ’s at a party in Westbrook and he’s going to hook us up!

Chris smiles and relaxes his posture. He walks backwards toward the car.

CHRIS (shouting)

Forget it, man. That’s what I’m talking about. Reliability. Service with a smile. The customer is always right. You could learn a thing or two.

Mark scowls. He knows he has just lost a customer.

CHRIS (CONT’D) Oh, and by the way, tell your mom I like what she’s done with the place. Very classy.

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Mark is left standing in the doorway of his family’s McMansion. Chris stumbles to the car.

CHRIS (CONT’D) Move over, let me drive for once.

The engine ROARS and the vehicle becomes a red blur in the night. Mark fi nally lets his guard down, slumping against the door frame.

Shaking slightly, Mark brings his hand to his neck, then checks for blood. There is none. He sighs heavily before heading back inside.

EXT. OUTDOOR HIGH SCHOOL CAFETERIA - DAY

Students bask in the sunlight on modern benches outside a brand new high school. Most of the teens are in groups of three or four, but Mark sits alone, reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Two trendy girls, JESSICA and KARA, both 18, approach Mark. He immediately perks up and puts down his book a little too quickly.

JESSICAHey Mark.

MARK Hey Jess, Kara. How’s it going?

JESSICA Okay. I’d be a lot better if you could help me out. See things have been, like, really crazy lately. So I was wondering if maybe you could hook me up with the usual, and I’d pay you back later.

She doesn’t make a convincing argument.

MARK Uh, I would, but the thing is, I’m all out right now.

KARA (Impatiently)

Come on, you don’t trust us? We’ll get you the money next week or something.

MARK No, really, I’m completely out. I’ll let you know as soon as I have some more though.

JESSICAOh, okay. Yeah, let us know.

They begin to walk away. Mark calls out after them.

MARKHey, Jess!

The two stop. Mark catches himself and immediately tries to act non-chalant.

MARK (CONT’D) You know, it’s funny, we’ve never actually smoked together. We should chill sometime.

Both girls are less than enthused.

JESSICA Yeah, sure. Maybe when you get more weed or whatever. Remember, let us know when you do.

They walk away without looking back. Mark is left alone. The bell for class RINGS.

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD - LATER

Mark drives his 2006 Nissan Altima to a shaded part of a vast parking lot next to a baseball fi eld. He parks next to a beefy black jeep.

FRANK, an 18-year-old cut out of an Abercrombie and Fitch magazine and tossed into a baseball uniform, walks off the fi eld with some teammates.

Frank notices Mark and quickly says his goodbyes to his fellow jocks. He struts over to the car and begins to pack away his baseball equipment.

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FRANKMark, how you doing?

MARK Not too good, man. I need to stock up again.

FRANK Already? Jesus, it’s been what, three days?

MARKWhat can I say, business is booming.

FRANKThat’s good.

MARK Not really. Last night Chris Rowley showed up at my house ready to slit my throat ‘cause I didn’t have any-thing to sell.

FRANK(unimpressed)

Huh, what an asshole.

MARK Comes with the territory, I guess.

FRANK I wouldn’t worry about Chris. I think he just really likes to show off that knife. He’s harmless.

Frank slams the hatchback to the jeep with a THUD and turns his full attention to Mark.

FRANK (CONT’D) Well listen, I’d love to help you out, but I’m done.

MARKDone?

FRANKFinished. The End. Out.

Frank receives only a blank stare.

FRANK (CONT’D) I’m off to UConn. Bigger and better things. That whole deal.

Frank tries to hide his pride and eagerness, but this is just more bad news for Mark. His head drops in frustration.

MARK(not enthused)

Congratulations.

FRANK Oh, come on, this is good for me.

MARK Well, I have another year before I even think of leaving for college. There’s no way I can start growing. So now, basically, I’m screwed. What am I supposed to do when people ask me for weed, make referrals?

Frank smiles and shakes his head knowingly. He pulls a baseball from inside the car and scribbles on it in pen. He hands the ball to Mark.

FRANKConsider yourself promoted.

Frank gets in his Jeep and starts the engine. Mark stares at the ball and its barely legible writing. As Frank pulls away, Mark yells out after him.

MARK (Sarcastically)

What are you, Babe Ruth orsomething?!

Frank’s middle fi nger is barely visible as he pulls out of the parking lot, leaving Mark holding the ball. It reads, “SAM 43 Pineview Terrace. Apt. 34.”

INT. APARTMENT 34 DOORWAY - EVENING Mark paces nervously in a long and dimly lit hallway. A few plants line the walls, but they cannot cover the building’s clearly crumbling foundation.

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Mark fi ddles with the baseball bearing the address and shakily ap-proaches the door. Hesitating, he gathers himself, straightens his pos-ture, sticks out his chest, and fi nally KNOCKS on apartment number 34.

A MUFFLED SHUFFLE comes from inside, and a female voice calls out.

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)Who is it?

Mark is cautious, choosing his words carefully.

MARK I’m looking for Sam. Frank sent me.

After another brief SHUFFLE, the lock CLICKS. A petite, almost frail, Brunette, around 20, appears.

BRUNETTEMark?

MARKYeah.

BRUNETTECome on in.

INT. APARTMENT 34 LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Sparse furniture and decorations that are either ancient pieces of junk or secondhand clutter that would have been better off in the trash.

Mark sticks close to the door as the Brunette moves off to the kitchen. She returns moments later with a cup of tea and a backpack.

BRUNETTE We’ll start you off small. If you need more, you can page me, but I can tell you right now that you won’t for a long time.

Mark raises his eyebrows in skepticism, but he reaches for the bag in her hands. She pulls it away.

BRUNETTE I don’t know how Frank did his thing, but it’s standard practice to pay fi rst.

Mark retracts his hand in embarrassment. She smiles sympathetically.

BRUNETTE (CONT’D)Just like Walmart.

Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He stops and scans the room.

MARKSo... you’re Sam... I mean,Samantha? Right?

Samantha nods. Mark fumbles for words.

MARK (CONT’D) Sorry, I kind of thought... when I heard “Sam” I thought that... that name is usually... uh...

Basking in Mark’s stuttering, Samantha waits as long as she can before fi nally cutting him off.

SAM You know, the great thing about this job is that it’s an equal opportunity employer.

Smiling in spite of himself, Mark blushes with embarrassment.

SAM (CONT’D)So it’s 3000 for the bag.

Mark’s amusement is replaced by shock. Sam sips her tea.

MARK Wow. Well, that’s a lot. I mean, I know that for what I’m getting, it’s a great price, but...

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Mark trails off. Sam waits a few moments, then picks up where she left off.

SAM (CONT’D) Frank has been making a pretty big profi t off of you for years now. Don’t take it personally. Smaller bags mean more middlemen, more people who want a piece of the pie.

MARKActually, I didn’t think I’d be getting this much. Is there anyway I could, you know, get half a bag or something?

SAM Sorry. I don’t do anything smaller.

Mark’s eyebrows raise as he scans over the backpack, which is stuffed full.

SAM (CONT’D) I know it’s hard paying for your fi rst serious order. The good news is, I’ll give this one to you half price.

MARK(hesitant)

What’s the catch?

SAM The catch is, I need to know that you’re in 100 percent.

MARKOh yeah, I’m committed.

SAM Well to prove it, we’re going to need to run a little errand together.

Mark knows to nod confi dently, and tries to do so as naturally as he can. Sam smiles and takes another sip of her tea.

INT. SAM’S CAR - NIGHT Sam drives down a long and winding road with Mark in the passenger seat.

The car itself is impeccably clean, but the interior fabric is stained and discolored.

The two sit in uncomfortable silence. Mark can’t help but look at Sam, checking her out as she drives.

A THUMPING occassionally can be heard coming from the back. Mark clears his throat and does his best to sound knowledgeable.

MARK It sounds like you have bad shocks. They’re, like, popping up instead of handling smooth like they’re supposed to.

Sam giggles.

MARK (CONT’D)Come on. I know I’m no mechanic, but I’ve done a lot of work on my own car and I could probably check that out for–

SAMOh, would you? That’d be great.

Sam jerks the wheel and pulls off onto a secluded dirt road. She accel-erates, and Mark clutches the seat. His face gives away his concern and uncertainty.

EXT. DIRT ROAD - NIGHT

The car fi nally comes to rest under a single, ancient street light. The only witnesses are broken dishwashers and TVs. Sam gets out, and Mark follows her lead. He attempts to fool himself into thinking there is nothing wrong.

MARK I mean, I don’t have my tools or anything. Well, my

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dad’s tools, really, but I can’t look at it here without them.

Sam ignores him and pops the trunk. Frank is inside: bruised, bound, and gagged. Mark freezes in horror while Sam points to the squirming fi gure and laughs.

SAMBad shocks, huh?

She pulls on Frank, trying to get him out of the trunk, but she is much too small. She struggles with his weight for a while and then shoots Mark a smile.

SAM (CONT’D) Jesus, Mark, are you going to help me or what? This is kind of where that whole “favor” thing comes in.

Mark is now shaking, but he does his best to mask it. Eventually, he moves toward the trunk, practically tripping over himself along the way. The two try to lift Frank out of the trunk. Sam is in good spirits.

SAM (CONT’D) It’s so easy to knock someone out, but I always forget what a bitch it is moving them around!

Mark loses his grip, and Frank fl ops to the ground with a THUD. Sam doesn’t seem too concerned.

SAM (CONT’D) Close enough. So, remember how I told you our friend Frank here has been screwing you over for the past few years? Well, you’re in good company.

Sam moves back to the trunk. Frank locks eyes with Mark. Frank’s eyes beg his old buyer for help. Unable to move, Mark breathes heavily. Sam WHISTLES, and Mark startles backwards. Sam has retrieved a hammer from the car.

SAM (CONT’D) Seems Frank wanted to be the big man on campus over at UConn. But guess who he wanted to leave out of the equation?

Sam undoes Frank’s gag. He is panicked.

FRANK Samantha, come on. I was just talking with Jerry. Just talking.

SAM No Frank, you tried to stab me in the back. And here’s my favorite part, you actually thought that by sending your little friend my way, you’d be covering your tracks. Of course, that kind of backfi red on you, didn’t it?

Mark tries to swallow his guilt and hide his shame.

FRANK Come on, Sam. You’ve got it all wrong. I’d never try to get Jerry to cut you out. You know me... Mark, we’ve been dealing together for years! I wouldn’t do something like that! Right, Mark?

Frank looks to Mark in desperation. Mark opens his mouth, as if to speak, but no words come out. If he was going to say something, it’s not of any importance to Sam. She doesn’t even bother to break eye contact with Frank.

SAM Frank, you might be able to fl ash a smile and bullshit your way through everything else in life, but I know when I’m being lied to. Really, when you think about it, the least I can do is make it a little easier for the world to see you for what you are.

Without hesitation, Sam raises the hammer over her head. Mark reaches out to stop her.

MARKWhat are you–

He is too late. The hammer lands dead center on Frank’s mouth, and a grotesque CRACK ruins the otherwise still night. Mark has to turn away as he gags, doing his best to choke back his simultaneous urge to cry and throw up.

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Frank cries out in pain, but unlike Mark, he makes no effort to hide his tears. He coughs, and several white pieces of teeth fl y past his mangled lips. The blood is copious.

SAM(In between spitting)

Shit. Gross.

Sam spits repeatedly and tries to wipe the splatters of blood away from her face. Once she is suffi ciently clean, she grabs a blade from her pocket. Frank is too busy rolling around in pain to notice. Mark looks ready to pass out with terror.

Sam jerks the blade downward, but only to break the rope that keeps Frank restrained. His hands immediately move to cover his mouth. He does not try to get up.

Mark relaxes only enough to change from being frozen where he stands to shaking uncontrollably.

Sam stands up and starts walking back to the car.

SAMMark, let’s go.

It’s not a request but a command. Mark follows.

INT. SAM’S CAR - CONTINUOUS

Sam remains calm and composed, checking her clothing for blood. Mark is capable only of looking at Frank’s wiggling fi gure in the car’s side mirror. His breaths are quick and shallow. Sam looks at Mark, and lets out a quick sigh.

SAM (CONT’D) You learned two valuable things here. You don’t make friends with the people you work with, and you don’t EVER try to steal a job that’s not yours to take.

Mark says nothing. He looks baffl ed and wide-eyed. Any trace of the cute and frail girl he fi rst met is now gone, replaced with an intimidat-ing monster in a small package.

Sam adjusts her hair in the rearview mirror before starting the car.

SAM (CONT’D) I’ll take you home. Where do you live?

The question seems particularly loaded.

EXT. MARK’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Sam’s car pulls up in front of Mark’s house. It has hardly stopped before Mark hops out, backpack in hand, and walks briskly toward the warm light of his doorway.

MARKOkay, thanks for the ride.

SAMStop.

Mark halts dead in his tracks. Sam gets out of the driver’s seat and steps around to the back of the car. After opening up the rear door, she produces the bloodied hammer and extends it to Mark.

SAM (CONT’D)Hold this.

Mark is left grasping the hammer as Sam retrieves a rag and spray bottle fi lled with cleaning solution. She soaks up the blood stains on the car’s upholstery, glancing back at Mark occasionally. He is nervous.

SAM (CONT’D) I don’t mean to insult you or anything, but not everyone is cut out for this. If you sell that bag and want more, you come to me. If not, just do me a favor and send me some-body who’s up to the job.

Sam fi nishes her cleaning. The blood is gone, but in its place, a discol-oration similar to the dozens around it has set in. Sam returns to the driver’s door.

SAM (CONT’D) It’s your call. But for what it’s worth, I think you’ve got it in you.

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Flashing a fl irtatious smile, she sinks into the car and slams the door. She calls out from the open window.

SAM (CONT’D)It does get easier!

Mark is just coming out of shock.

MARKWh... What?

SAM This kind of stuff. It’s pretty rough the fi rst few times, but it’s not so bad after awhile.

The car SPUTTERS to a start and glides off into the darkness. Mark is left holding the backpack in one hand and the hammer in the other.

FOOTSTEPS and POUNDING become audible. Mark spins around to see Chris stumbling around the outside of the house. He violently smacks the walls as he goes, peering inside whenever he comes to a window.

CHRIS (barely coherent)

Mark, MARK! Marrrrkkkk-eeeee! Come on, outside is where I need you to be.

Without warning, Chris turns toward Mark, practically falling over in the process. His eyes are glazed and a dribble of vomit clings to his shirt. He laughs.

CHRIS (CONT’D) Mark, trying to hide on me? Lying down on the job?

Chris’ eyes wander toward the backpack.

CHRIS (CONT’D) Little late to be getting home from school.

He laughs some more. Mark says nothing, and the laughter fades into an uncomfortable silence.

CHRIS (CONT’D) What’s in the bag, Mark-E-Mark? Finally have a little something for me?

Mark tries to puff out his chest and stand tall, but his voice cracks when he speaks.

MARK Get out of here, Chris. You’re too late again. Just... leave.

Chris knows he’s being lied to, and he doesn’t like it. He moves for-ward, but almost crashes to the ground as he does.

Chris pulls the silver switch blade from his pocket. His well-rehearsed wristfl ick suffers because he is so plastered. The knife fl ies backward, and Chris has to double back to pick it up off the ground. His fum-bling resembles that of a wounded animal.

CHRIS Not a very good salesman, Mark... I wouldn’t keep secrets from customers if I were in your shoes. Let’s just take a quick look in that bag, and we can all go home happy, huh?

Mark reluctantly stretches out the arm holding the bag. After watch-ing Chris stumble toward him, however, he pulls the stash close to his body.

Mark’s fi ngers clench down fi rmly on the hammer. For the fi rst time in his life, he speaks with genuine determination.

MARK This bag belongs to me. And if you think I’m going to put up with your shit anymore, you’re dead wrong.

Chuckling, Chris continues inching forward, the knife barely staying in his hands.

CHRISOh, come on, Mark-E-Mark.Mark-E-Mark-E-Mark.

In a fl ash, Mark charges Chris, knocking him to the ground. Mark raises

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Chris alone on the front lawn.

Despite his pain, curiosity gets the best of Chris, and he peers into the bag.

He’s shocked by the treasure it holds. Digging further, he pulls out the baseball that reads, “SAM 43 Pineview Terrace. Apt. 34.”

His eyes darting back and forth, Chris checks to see if he is alone. With diffi culty, he stands up. Using his one good arm to clutch both the baseball and backpack, he lumbers off into the night.

FADE TO BLACK.

the hammer and is about to unleash its full, devastating potential when he is interrupted by a WHIMPER.

Tears form in Chris’ eyes as he chokes back muffl ed cries of pain. The silver sheen of the switchblade handle is protruding out of his arm. Its glow is dulled by a stream of ruby red blood. He has fallen onto his own knife.

Mark looks down, puzzled, as though he is surprised to fi nd Chris underneath him. He still wields the hammer in mid air.

CHRIS (CONT’D)(stammering between tears)

Mark... Mark, I’m sorry man. I didn’t mean nothing. Mark, come on. I think, I think I’m really hurt, Mark.

Slowly, Mark rises to his feet. Chris immediately scrambles away from him. Once he is certain Mark isn’t going to attack again, he clutches his wounded arm.

Mark examines his surroundings then the hammer in his hands. The backpack rests on the ground, and he picks it up, studying it like every-thing else. Chris rocks back and forth, a pitiful sight.

The backpack is now a grotesque thing to Mark, and he chucks it at Chris. It hits the injured area, and Chris lets out another sharp CRY of pain. Mark, now a confl icting mess of anger, disgust, and pity, struggles to speak.

MARK Just, just fucking take it. Take the whole fucking thing. Just don’t ever, EVER, come back here this late ever again.

He turns to walk away, but stops to correct himself.

MARK (CONT’D)Don’t come back at all. Ever. Just don’t show up here anymore. Ever.

Mark retreats inside to the warmth and comfort of his home, leaving

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staff & contribut0r bios

AUDRA COnGrEsS didn’t submit a bio ):

BrIDGeT FoRD is still a work in progress. She hopes to write one really good script in her lifetime. And a couple of funny sketches.

GrEg gOoDNeSs is a junior fi lm production major. He is a member of both SPEC and the comedy troupe Chocolate Cake City. He also writes for the webcomic www.6or7popes.com.

JAMIe GoRmLY-RACK has hippie tendencies. Aside from bartending, serving BBQ and having a great time with his fam-ily, he enjoys local art shows. The college years have come to an end for him recently but he will kindly remember Emerson and those with which he was smiling. Thank you Thread!

KRIsTeN HUMbErT is a senior WLP major with a passion for all things scripted and chocolate milk. She would like to dedicate this one to the Chlo.

HANnAH KElLY, largely known for her role as mystery writer Jessica Fletcher on the American television series Murder, She Wrote, is a Junior theatre education major.

JEsSICA KUCINsKAS graduated from Emerson College in December of 2008. She currently resides in Los Angeles and works as a Junior Graphic Designer for Lucky Strike Lanes & Lounge. More of her art and designs can be found at fl ickr.com/jkucinskas.

CARlY LAVoIE really likes words and words like Carly Lavoie.

VALeRIe MAlOoF is a junior WLP student. She is dying to: see a celebrity on the streets of Boston, learn to spell, start a blog and get over her trepidation of chocolate pudding. xoxo

DAN MAsSo is a senior illustration major at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York. He’s currently an editorial intern at Marvel En-tertainment and hopes to break into mainstream comics as a freelancer. See more of his art at www.danmasso.com.

SeAN MCDonOUgH (TV/Video Production Dec. ’08) comes from Merrick, NY. He is many times less interesting than his creations and, as such, has a very uneventful biography.

NICHoLAs MUrPHY is a Senior BFA VMA - Writing for Film and Television and BA Theatre Studies - Directing major. He is also in the Honors and Overseers Mentoring Programs. In addi-tion to being on the Thread staff and a Thread director he is heavily involved with Rareworks on the Executive Board and as Treasurer. For Rareworks he has produced I Hate Hamlet, I Do! I Do! and he directed Five Women Wearing the Same Dress in Fall 2008. When not at Emerson you can fi nd him in Entertainment at Walt Disney World. He competed many years in Florida Thespian competitions, advancing from district to state competitions in monologues, ensemble acting, and playwriting. He is a member of the National Thespian Society.

SAm PeRzANoWSKI was born in the rugged wilderness of Vermont. He is currently a junior at Emerson, studying animation and motion media. He also really enjoys ice cream.

CHARlEs PIepEr (Film ’09) is currently in LA where he is building a life size goblin for animation purposes.

CAITlIN ReILlY is a junior screenwriting major at Emerson College. She wants to thank the good people who read her stuff. And thank you, C.S. Lewis, for giving her an idea to jump off of.

CHRIs rObINson is a writer going into his senior year at Emerson College. He spends most of his time laughing at everything. Except THREAD. He’s all business when it comes to this thing.

QUINn THeRrIAULt is a junior Anthropology major, Art History minor at SUNY Purchase College in New York. She plans to get her graduate degree in Archaeology.

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THREAD would like to thank the

following people for their support and

contributions throughout the year, however big

or small:

Jenn BarryStephen Christy

Sharon Duff yEva GrossBen Lee

Chris SerwackiAmanda Shank& Mike Clark!