Showing posts with label amateur. Show all posts
Showing posts with label amateur. Show all posts

Saturday, 19 March 2016

GLITTER GIRL

FADE IN:
1.   INT. SMALL HOUSE, BEDROOM - DAY

The bedroom is small and in disarray. Strewn over a double bed are piles of woman’s clothes of all colours and designs. Clearly the cupboards have been emptied and dumped on the bed.

To one side there is an old crumbling chest of drawers with a huge cracked mirror above it. Before the mirror sits a thin androgynous young man, DANIEL (17), staring hopelessly at his reflection. On his face are fading bruises and a fresh splatter of blood. He wears a dress that falls lifelessly down his chest making him appear waifish and masculine. He tugs half-heartedly at the straps.

Daniel turns away from the mirror and glares at the clothes on the bed. He jumps up, seizing armfuls of the clothing and sweeping them to the floor. He continues this until the bed is entirely clear… revealing a human shape hidden under the covers.

He pulls back the doona to reveal the recently deceased pale CORPSE OF HIS MOTHER. She is wearing a black dress that has been stabbed and mutilated around the torso area.
Daniel smiles at her. He kisses her forehead before proceeding to undress her.


2.   INT. SMALL HOUSE, KITCHEN - EVENING

Amongst mould and mountains of dishes, Daniel does his best to prepare a meal and set the table, not forgetting the most important thing: his father's bottle of Jack Daniels.

Daniel grins as he pulls the bottle down from the alcohol cabinet and rinses a glass. He places them both side by side on the table. He’s wearing the black dress he’d removed from his mother but it’s been tucked into a pair of jeans so it now resembled a shirt.

The microwave dings and he removes a ready meal. By the time he places the on the table, grabs and cleans a fork, his FATHER ambles into the kitchen.

Silently Father collapses into his prepared seat and cracks open the bottle of Jack Daniels, not even bothering with the glass.

FATHER
(irritated)
Where's your mother?

DANIEL
She had to go out.

Father pokes at the meal, making no attempt to eat it. Daniel watches him silently.

FATHER
Get out of here!

Before Daniel can leave, Father pushes the uneaten meal away and stands up. He wanders out of the room with the bottle in his hand.
Daniel clears the table and retreats back to the safety of his mother's room.

3.   INT. SMALL HOUSE, BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

His Mother is staring up at him when he walks past her and returns to the vanity. She’s half uncovered, her limbs splayed.

Distracted, Daniel finds his mother’s makeup, making the effort to line his eyes in kohl, surround them with green and cover his lips in the brightest red he can find.

All the while he’s mumbling to himself (or to her) incoherently.

As if he’s spotted her disarray in the mirror, Daniel returns to his mother. He folds her arms gently across her chest, closes her mouth and caresses her eyes closed.

He pulls the doona up to her neck to cover all the unsightly stab wounds over her chest and stomach and rests her head on a pillow.

He kisses her forehead.

DANIEL
Be still Mother.


4.   INT. SMALL HOUSE, LOUNGE - NIGHT

Daniel slinks in the doorway watching his Father who is mumbling incoherently at the TV, clearly drunk.

He fetches another bottle of alcohol from the kitchen and carries it over to his father. His father takes the bottle, pushing the mostly empty one to the floor.

As he cracks it open he looks his son up and down, trying to focus on him.
FATHER
What the fuck are you doing home? You should be out making money!

Daniel's eyes narrow as he realises his father's mistake. His father grabs his arm, dragging him closer.

FATHER (CONT'D)
Daniel? What the fuck are you doing wearing your mother's stuff?

His father wrenches his son down so far he almost stumbles to the ground, but as the bottle smashes him hard across the head he goes down anyway.
FATHER (CONT'D)
I have fucking told you again and again not to do this shit!

Daniel scrambles up crawling in the broken glass and spilt alcohol. A trickle of blood runs down the side of his face.

His Father is climbing to his feet.
Daniel is thrown against the wall as his Father hisses abuse in his ear.
FATHER (CONT'D)
You want to be a bitch then I will treat you like a fucking whore!

His father's hands come up Daniel's skirt, and Daniel attempts to escape but is restrained quickly.

Daniel grins weakly as his father unbuttons his own jeans and slides Daniel’s dress up.
FADE TO BLACK.
FADE IN:
5.   INT. SMALL HOUSE, KITCHEN – NIGHT

Lit by only moonlight, Daniel sits in the dark at the kitchen table. His breathing is heavy and strained. His make up is smeared and there is dried blood caking the side of his face. His lip and cheekbone have swelled significantly and his dress is torn around the neck and left in haphazard ruins.

He is staring blankly at a bloodied knife.

6.   INT. SMALL HOUSE, LOUNGE – DAY

The house is immaculately clean and Daniel sits on the sofa in front of the television pouring himself a cup of tea from a pot.

He is wearing a beautiful summer dress, his make-up applied carefully over bruising and scabs, his hair is pulled back into a scrunchie.

He is beaming.

Beside him on the couch are two Decaying Corpses, both dressed like porcelain dolls in fancy clothes and wigs with glitter and coloured make-up upon their rotted faces.

Daniel leans back into the sofa and drapes his arm around his Father. He looks at the man lovingly and reaches over to kiss him on the cheek.

FADE TO BLACK.
END.

Saturday, 20 February 2016

BÊTE NOIRE

EXT. CITY BACK STREET – LATE EVENING

The weather is bleak – a lightning storm highlights the dark grey sky in angry flashes.

A Man (42, harried, wearing a cheap suit) hurries on his way home from work. He brings his briefcase over his head as fat drops of rain start plopping to the Earth. His mobile phone rings - obnoxious technology in this powerful show of nature - and the Man fumbles to locate it whilst attempting to remain dry.

Once answered, the caller has barely had enough time to say a word before the Man is shaking his head.

MAN: No. No. No Jeffrey. As I already told you this morning, I want the Wilson’s account to be settled first. Yes, then deal with Carrigan and his incessant demands. Why is this so hard for you to understand—?

Lightning bleaches the world in an instant of blinding force, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder.

The Man looks at his phone, shakes it as if reviving it and returns it to his ear.

MAN: Hello? Jeffrey? Jeffrey! Damn it!

He stabs at his phone with his thumb. No signal.

Another lighting white out, this time, as it dissipates, A body is briefly illuminated in the street ahead.

The Man pauses, squinting ahead as if the body is a trick of the storm. The hand holding his phone, temporarily forgotten, falls to his side.

FUUUU-WOKKK!

He startles in fright as another crack of thunder rips the world. His briefcase no longer a suitable shield to the rain, he submits to a dampening.

The body - barefoot, dressed entirely in black, androgynous, and apparently unconscious - is almost impossible to see in the backdrop of the gloom. Only the paleness of its skin gives away its position.

Regaining his sensibility, the Man walks over to the body, approaching cautiously – drunks could be dangerous – even, psychotic drunks, to be out in this weather?

He rolls it over with the least amount of contact – did he really want to soil himself on this possible hobo? The body flops almost lifelessly, a tinge of blood at the corner of its mouth; its eyes blink open slowly… staring past the Man, to the sky above, longing.

MAN: Hey, are you alright?

Neither male nor female, the creature closes its eyes. Impossible to tell tears disguised in rain, its eyes say it all: it mourns.

CREATURE: Father’s angry.

The Man, less scared now and more concerned, wipes the blood from its mouth. He brushes the long dark hair from its face.

MAN: What happened to you?

The worst hurt anyone could possibly imagine has come to pass; inflicted on this poor precious beauty, and evident on its face.

It looks from the Man, to the sky above…

CREATURE (sobbing): I fell…

The Man follows its gaze to the Heavens above: dark grumbling clouds alive with ferocious activity and static power…

FADE TO BLACK.

Thursday, 23 October 2014

Post Palm Oil Depression

I wrote this poem for a competition. It was written before I cared about the world, thus I can no longer endorse Cadbury (except for their exceptional shade of purple).


Chocolate is Cadbury:

A glass and a half, a decadent nibble

Mouth-watering selection; seductive aroma

Divine, delicious: cacao perfection

Legendary pantone purple – I want more!