A Quick Read. Two and a half pages.

Started by OmegaSlacker, April 11, 2003, 07:45:14 PM

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OmegaSlacker

INT. LIVING ROM
We see the room through black and white grain. The camera is perched in a corner, almost like a security camera.

It's a small room with some old magazines on the floor. A couch that looks decidingly more dirty than the rest of the dank room.

The light swells in the middle of the room, given off by a single light source hanging from the ceiling.  

A mirrored coffee table sits close to the couch, the glass and mirrow full of scratch marks. A small yet ornate box sits on the table.

Right next to the coffee table is a smaller stand with a small black phone.  

Off to the side, looking smaller due to forced perspective of the camera, is a weight bench.

Entering from beyond the camera's angle, a man.  Approximately six foot four.  Looks to be in good physical condition, if you look past his demeanor and clothing.  His hair is long and ratty, knotted in some places.  It hangs like a regret over the man's face.  His jeans are ripped, his t-shirt too large and too stained.  The man sits on the couch, staring at the box.  He sits.  And sits.

CUT TO:
The same scene, the cut serving as a time passage. A badly done zoom is performed. We can barely see the face from this angle, but from what we can see, it looks as though we are guests, in a room occupied by VINCENT CROW.  

He reaches out and opens the box. An item is picked up in his hands. An uncapped hypodermic needle is set down neatly on the table. What seems to be a large rubber band is pulled out as well, laid to the left of the needle.    
Following this, being held and carried like a child, two small bottles are placed next to the needle. Our zoom shakely moves outward, watching this scene. Vincent staring at the table.

His eyes seem to travel from needle, to band, to bottle.  He starts to fidget. His hand reaches out, glances the needle. It quickly shoots back.
His legs start to shake up and down. A nervous habit. We zoom out more.
He stands up, starts to pace back and forth, on occasion looking back at the table. He leaves.

CUT TO:
Another time passage cut. Vincent is walking away from the table, to the weight bench. He lays down, and starts to press what seems to be a large amount of weight over his head.

His head occasionally lifts up and looks at the table. After only 13 reps, he puts the bar back. He sits up. Staring, always staring at that table.

CUT TO:
Vincent is on his knees, bowing before his Mecca. He is at the table, shaking uncontrollably.

With an almost explosive motion, he reaches out and grabs the elastic band. He ties it around his arm, tightening it with his teeth. He taps for a vein.

He picks up the needle, bringing it before him. He looks inside the empty needle, so willing to give him that which everyone else denies him. His needle brings him hope.

He reaches for one of the bottles. He picks it up, looks at it, then puts it back down. He raises it again. He pulls back his plunger. The bottle is set down on the table.  The needle as well.

We zoom in, unnaturally again.

Vincent lurches forward to the telephone, picking it up.  We are unsure if he dials, or if he is answering a call.  

His lips move. His head shakes. The tears flow as he collapses into a heap on the ground, cradling the telephone in his hands, the band still tied around his arm.  

His body now shakes entirely with his sobs, the phone and his shirt being stained with the snot and tears of his pain.

CUT TO:
Vincent has calmed down. He is now sitting on the couch, his arm no longer tied. He is still on the phone.  

He stands up, looking tall. He nods, and hangs up the phone. He takes his bands, his bottle, his needle. They are all packed away into the box.

He moves as if in slow motion, each movement deliberate, as if completely willing for this to be a long goodbye.  

Finally, he closes the box. His body moves up and down with a sigh. He picks up the box, walks off to the side.

He stands for a good minute or two, just staring at the box. He then lets it drop, right into a trash can.

Vincent puts his hand up against the wall for support, then lays his head up against it. His body again moves with sobs, as he then walks out of frame.

A slow zoom moves in. Vincent is gone.  We see only two things....

The needle and the small bottle still sitting on the table.
FADE TO BLACK.
When I was just a baby, my momma told me, "Son, always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns." But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.