This page is devoted to my writing. Screenplays, novels, poetry etc... Don't be surprised by the randomness.
This is the opening "scenes" to a stylized late 80s short film I'm fiddling with called "BurnOut"
This is the opening "scenes" to a stylized late 80s short film I'm fiddling with called "BurnOut"
FADE IN:
INT. SCHOOL - HALLWAY - DAY
The hall is almost empty. Cold steel lockers line the walls.
Harsh light streams through the sterile square windows at the end.
CHASE ASHLING, 16, lanky, short shock of bed head brown hair, awkward high school boy. The kinda kid most people ignore or stare at when bored.
His loose Doc Martins FLAP around his ankles as he comes around the corner, military issue bag for a backpack - head down. Self-contained. Defensive.
He pauses in front his locker at the far end of the hall.
His eyes lock on the hand scribbled note stuck to the door.
Chase goes to take it off, the note comes away with a sticky strand of dark chewing gum keeping it attached to the metal.
His brows knit together.
INSERT - NOTE
Maxwell Studio. 4:27. Dont be late.
BACK TO SCREEN
Chase stares at the note long and hard then stuffs it into his back pocket.
EXT. CURB - SIDEWALK - CITY - DAY
Chase pauses on the curb and glances up at a worn little clapboard house, a pale sickly yellow, paint peeling.
Two people occupy the cement slab stairs leading up to the narrow weathered porch.
A boy and a girl. Late teens. Rather androgenous. Classic New Wave rocker kids, distressed skinnies, leather, studs, and multicolored hair that would put David Bowie to shame.
Both smoke like chimneys, several cigarettes already ground out on the sidewalk.
The girl, BEKAH VALISTOR, 17, steely blue eyes and a full set of lips catches Chase's attention. A small smile sneaks onto her face.
The boy, DOS BAXTER smirks.
DOS
Well if it ain't Slats, what brings you to our little slice of paradise?
Well if it ain't Slats, what brings you to our little slice of paradise?
Chase shrugs.
CHASE
Who cares?
Who cares?
DOS
Obviously I do dipstick.
Bekah rams the heel of her boot into Dos' side - hard. He buckles.
DOS (CONT'D)
What the he-
What the he-
She cuts him off and commands in spirt fire French. A lazy almost off handed air that doesn't escape Dos' notice.
BEKAH
Sortez d'ici trou du cul.
Sortez d'ici trou du cul.
Dos rolls his eyes.
DOS
Getting all fancy on me. You and your high and mighty -
BEKAH
Seriously Dos just beat it.
Getting all fancy on me. You and your high and mighty -
BEKAH
Seriously Dos just beat it.
