Before & After

B E F O R E
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FADE IN:

INT. LAURA’S HOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT
The room is a total mess.
An ashtray filled with cigarette butts sits on the bedside table, next to a a bottle of prescription medication.
The cigarette butts have lipstick strains on them.
A photo of LAURA (29,) elegant, with sadness hiding behind a smile and JOSH (4) full of life, with shiny eyes and a wide, pure smile.

Dressed in a black suit, pale and well groomed, FRANK (30) sits in a chair, holding a toy car.
The phone suddenly RINGS and He scans the room from one side to the other.
He stares at the picture on the bedside table, gets up, sets down the car and retrieves it.
The phone keeps RINGING.
A BEEP as the answering machine picks up.

LAURA
(filtered)
Hi, you’re calling Laura McKenzie.
I’m not home right now, please--

Frank turns the machine off. He looks at the LCD screen on the phone.

“3 MESSAGES; 0 NEW”

Frank takes his finger to the PLAY button. He hesitates.

He opens a drawer of the bedside table and takes out a wedding ring. He then looks at the wedding ring on his finger.
Frank goes back to the answering machine and pushes PLAY.

MACHINE
(filtered)
Message one. November 20th, 1 PM.

FRANK (V.O.)
(filtered)
Hey. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me so soon.
(beat)
Maybe it’s a good thing the machine answered... right?

He puts the new photo on the bedside table, then puts old one in the drawer.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
How’s Josh doing? I miss you both.
I’m trying, Laura.

Frank arranges the messed up bed.
He throws out the ashtray, complete with the cigarette butts, then the pills.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
Lots of resumes, no callbacks...
I feel I’m in a limbo here.

He goes to a big mirror at the dresser and looks at himself.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
I’ll go now. Please call me back...
I miss you.

BEEP.
A noose hangs from the ceiling.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Laura lies on the bed, perfectly still and looking into the camera.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Josh’s toy car sliding slowly on the floor. A faint child’s voice making ENGINE SOUNDS.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Frank stares at the wall. Photos.

MACHINE
(filtered)
Message 2. November 24th, 2:15 PM.

Frank’s hands subtly shake. He leaves the room.

FRANK (V.O.)
(filtered)
Hey.
(beat)
I’m on my way to an interview...
A big company.

Frank returns with a chair.
He looks around.

FRANK (CONT’D)
They said they value a young,
committed man like me.

He sets the chair down on the floor under the noose.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
I will make things right.

Frank sits on the bed and arranges his tie.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
Anyway, I just wanted you to wish me luck.
Call me when you get this.

BEEP.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Laura on the bed, staring straight ahead.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Josh’s toy car. It’s steady on the floor.
The light dims.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Frank Shakes the image from his mind.
He stands and leaves the room again.

MACHINE
(filtered)
Message 3. November 28th, 4 PM.

The room is still and spotless.

FRANK (V.O.)
(filtered)
I need you.

Frank enters the room.
He’s carrying a body completely wrapped in linens.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
You and Josh...

Frank puts it on the bed.
He leaves again.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
I think I can...
I’m ready to look after you.
(beat)
We’re supposed to be together.

A faint CHILD’S LAUGH...

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
I want you to know...

Frank returns, carrying a much smaller body, wrapped in linens.
He carries it to the bed.
The toy car sits alone on the bedside table.

CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Laura on the bed... Dead and bloody.

CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Frank sets the small body down next to the large one.

FRANK (V.O.)
(filtered)
I love You.

Frank grabs the picture from the bedside table and sets it on top of the bodies.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(filtered)
See you soon.

He stares straight ahead into the camera. Eyes cold and empty, void of life. He blinks.
BEEP--

MACHINE
(filtered)
End of messages.

FADE TO BLACK.

THE END.

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A F T E R
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NOTA:
Se agradecería feedback positivo, negativo, etc. Utilicen los comments de blogger, o los de youtube. Cualquier comentario me ayudaría mucho a crecer como guionista y realizador.

Detour-ish (A Teaser)

INT. HOTEL ROOM - BATHROOM - NIGHT

The ash tray is filled with ashes and two cigarette butts. Laura puts her lit cigarette on the ash tray. She’s looking at herself on the mirror. She grabs her tit and releases it and watches how it hangs down. She looks at her ass, her big ass. She then touches her thigh and blows the smoke on the cellulite. She’s sad.

Eddie is BANGING at the door, telling her that it’s ok, they should go back to the bar and have some more drinks.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Eddie is sitting on the edge of the bed, in his briefs, having wine. Laura steps out of the bathroom, looking far sexier and “younger.” She grabs her purse, and steps out of the room.

EXT. DOCK - NIGHT

Tomás and Tambor are setting up the little boat to leave the island. They are carefully putting the instruments in the boat. Tomás asks Tambor about Piojo. He answers that he hasn’t seen him in a while, that maybe he had to go jerk it off. Tomás laughs.

Tambor asks him if he saw the beautiful gringa that was sitting near the stage. Tomás nods, and mocks him about his lack of skill to handle a woman like that. Speaking of the devil, Tambor points to the beach. It’s Laura, lighting a cigarette.

EXT. BEACH - NIGHT

Laura shakily lights her cigarette. She SOBS. She represses a deep anger, an old sorrow. She just SOBS. She can’t cry. Tomás gently asks if she’s OK, if he can help her in anyway.

Laura is shocked. She thought she was alone. She’s embarrassed. She flees. Tomás asks her again if everything’s all right.

No answer.

...

No Rejection (A Teaser)

Thomas threw the joint away, got up, took the dead rat besides Terry and walked away. Terry got up, his ten years of age on his back, and followed his old master.

Thomas put the rat in rectangular piece of wood near an old oak. He took his old knife from his old jeans and started skinning the animal. It was a medium-sized rat, enough for him and Terry to have a good lunch. He got the peeled skin and placed it carefully in a thin branch of the big tree. Terry, with his ever glowing eyes, looked patiently while his master did his part of the job.

Terry was not the only one who hunted. But in the mornings, he had this valuable habit of proactively rushing to the bush and bring out something to eat. Sometimes he would bring a snake, a skunk, an opossum, and if they were really lucky, even a boar. This time of the year, though, a rat or a wild rabbit were the most common dishes.

Just as the days were beautiful, the nights could not get any better. Dark nights with a clear moon and a splendid, spectacular, roof of constellations were common in the summer. Coyotes howling at the emptiness, at the inexorable wilderness, would be, when they were spiritually tuned, the intros to a 60’s song that Thomas would start singing. The song for the night: Lou Reed’s Perfect Day.

Thomas would sit there, in a rusted rocking chair, near the old cabin. There he was, caressing Terry, enjoying the day’s blessings and living life and not regretting anything, and loving and protecting each other. Night is still night anywhere you go.

Terry was gone. Was it that late? He got up, and started whistling Terry’s tune. No dog could be seen. He went inside the cabin and took a pair of old, weary binoculars. No Terry at sight. Thomas then went to the well.

He started the ascension process. He was almost done when he heard a high-pitched bark and felt a strong push from behind. The bucket went down, and he turned around. Terry was home. And he brought no animal. An extremely emaciated, blue-grayish, severed head was just at Terry’s paws. The face lacked any reminiscence of humanity. Lips all gone, yellow, rotting teeth, a dried up tongue, two holes where a nose should be, and empty eye sockets.


...

Weekends (O El Plagio Barato de Gang Bang)

Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays,
At night, always at night,
That precious, neon light,
I try and try, fail always.

In I go, out I’m not, rush,
It’s not a drug, it’s another kind,
It may be fate, may be my mind,
Out no more, I now just hush.

I’d love to say I’m sober,
It might not be the right word,
Or it might be, well it might not,
I’m here now, please don’t bother.

In trying, oh! In trying,
Great moments I’ve wasted,
If I could just not regret it,
Peace I might be finding.

So bring out the show,
Flesh and sweat and lights and magic,
No remorse nor guilt nor logic,
There’s no point in feeling low.

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Poema de 20 líneas (¿?) para clase Style en VFS

That Stench

I wasn’t sure of what had to be done. There she was, lying hopeless, vulnerable, like a gutted pig. Blood all over, and that stench. It was a mix of the smell of humidity, butcher shop, and that of the inside of a forgotten, old fridge. I’ve always appreciated the most exotic aromas. The most unpopular of them all. The most underestimated. I love to smell the old, leather-covered books; the fresh paint over cement; the smell of a skunk at the distance in the road, where it mixes with the unpolluted air, and the scent of herbs, and trees, and loneliness; the smell of my bed: virginal, dusty, old. It smells like my evolution. The dead layers of my skin now inhabit its surface. The other I’s.

Who was I? I know my bed stores my many lives. But I can’t recall any complete episode of my life. I just recall specific actions, frozen situations. I recall things just as photographs. Who was I at ten? What were my goals? What smells did I like back then? What did I like back then? I remember the exact moment in which, impulsively, I grabbed that girl Karla’s ass in the middle of the class. I was 17. What a beautiful ass. I remember every single detail about it. The wrinkles in her skirt, the way it adhered to her body so I could see that perfect shape. It was a squared skirt. Red, black, and white. It looks just like this one. Only that this one is a little larger. Karla used to wear short skirts. She knew anybody would kill to have her. Karla didn’t use a pink backpack either. And Karla had breasts. And Karla didn’t have braces. And Karla was beautiful. She looked like she would smell deliciously.

I can only imagine she would smell like this room. Sweet, strange, misunderstood. She could smell differently now. But I don’t think so. She was beautiful. The most beautiful of all humans must smell like this. A smell that has the power to inspire, to fulfill, to complete. Could it also have the power to redeem? To surprise? A smell like the one I’m inhaling, tasting, and feeling in this precise moment. A smell that could be described as a mix of skunk at the distance with unpolluted air, old books, fresh paint, loneliness, humidity, butcher shop, and the smell of the inside of a forgotten, old fridge.
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Short-Short Story para clase "Style" en la VFS.