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  • Writer's picturemarikenney

Make me Write

Updated: Apr 14

I've fallen into the trap of complacency and comfort.


I want to return to writing more. I think I've lost interest. Lost hope in it.


But I also know that's just a cycle. A cycle with which I am all to familiar. My creative endeavors aren't consistent. I wish they were. I wish I was a consistent creative. I wish I had the energy. The focus. The drive.


So, I'm doing what I've done before on this blog, and update it with drafts of things I am working on - to get my ass in gear.


So - please find below a draft of a found-footage horror movie I've been working on for a bit. This is the first draft of the first scene.




Read it, if you'd like.



Warning: Cursing and references to violence.

********************************************************************************************

SCENE 1 KPV ACTION NEWS.


BLACK:


VOICE:

(O.S.)

Always somethin’ wrong with that boy.


The familiar static hiss of an old television screen comes to life. An image flickers into focus.   


 CUT TO: TELEVISION SCREEN  


SYLVESTER (60s) sits in front of a gray backdrop. He wears grime-covered work coveralls.


SYLVESTER: 

I can’t help thinkin’, if we was just a little louder or his parents not so thick-headed, maybe those kids wouldn’t have died like they did. A shame what happened. 



CUT TO: 


BETHEA WHITLEY (40s) sits in front of the same gray backdrop. Her light pastel dress beautifully clashes with the drab, gray background. Her hands, neatly folded in her lap, warm smile on her face.


BETHEA

Our Town committee put together a lovely Founder’s Day Festival. A Friday evenin’ parade with fireworks, a crawfish boil. The whole town was just alive. It was supposed to be nice.  


Bethea stops. Her brows furrow, lips tighten, as she chokes back a sob. 


CUT TO: 


SYLVESTER:

Mr. Nola let us leave the plant early cause his daughter was Miss Founder’s Day Princess and all that. But ‘spected us to be there, on the sidelines watchin’ and cheerin’. Said it would help with the “morale of the team” or whatever bullshit. 


CUT TO:


BETHEA:

The parade hadn’t even begun, but me and my husband were already standin’ up front near the high school’s dance team. They all looked so pretty. 


Bethea looks away from the camera and wipes a tear from her eye. 


BETHEA:

Those poor girls. 


CUT TO: 


CHARLENE MOTLEY (20s) sits, left side of her face heavily scarred, dark hair and makeup, eyes have a faraway stare.


CHARLENE

We was all dressed up in our glitterin’ tops and shoes and pants - thinkin’ we was something. Katie and I was in the front of the parade.  When the poppin’ first started, we all thought it on account of the…the fireworks, but I knew I was wrong when Katie… um… 


Charlene starts to cry. 


CHARLENE

I’d never seen so much blood before.


CUT TO: 


BETHEA:

Once I knew what was happenin’, I tried to run to those girls… to… you know, help them. They just needed… but my husband grabbed my hand and we ran and hid.


CUT TO: 



CHARLENE:

I pretended like I was dead. I remember the ground being so hot and it burning, but I knew I couldn’t move. I couldn’t let him see me. 


Charlene wipes a tear from her eye. She takes a moment to compose herself.


CHARLENE:  

I remember prayin’ in my head asking God to keep him away from me, but I don't think God could hear over all the screamin'.


CUT TO: 


SYLVESTER: 

Me and my buddy saw that kid walkin’ down the street stocked up like the freakin’ Terminator blasting through the crowd. I’ve never said I was a hero, cause I ain’t, but I can say I’m alive.



CUT TO: 


BETHEA:

This never would have happened if the Nolas hadn't of protected that boy. They could have stopped him. They knew what he was. The whole town knew what he was. But the Nolas, with all their power and their money, killed us all.

 

VOICE:

(O.S.)

We can’t use that.


SCREEN FREEZES


We pull back from the screen to a much shakier, camera P.O.V. We see the back of NICOLE ARMISH’s (30s) messy bun, cigarette smoke drifting above her head. She sits at an editing bay. 


NICOLE:

Why the hell not?


Nicole flips around to face the shakier P.O.V.


NICOLE:

Put the camera down.


P.O.V. quickly moves down and over and perches on the editing desk, revealing LAURA DOWNEY (20s), wearing a t-shirt reading KPV ACTION NEWS INTERN, standing behind Nicole who sits wearing a disheveled dress suit, hair in a messy bun and a cigarette hanging from her mouth.   


NICOLE: 

Did you turn it off? 


Laura leans over the camera - confusion on her face.


LAURA: Uhhmmm… 


Laura reaches behind the camera and flips a button, zooming out further revealing the rest of the editing room for KPV ACTION NEWS. On the wall hangs a large picture of a smiling, more put together, Nicole Armish that reads “NICOLE ARMISH - ACTION NEWS ALL STAR”.


LAURA:

Got it.


NICOLE:

Come. Sit.


Laura takes the chair next to Nicole. Nicole leans close to Laura. 



NICOLE:

Tell me. Why can’t we use this?


LAURA:

Umm, well. Uh, w...w...we don’t know if it’s true. Umm and uh, wouldn’t it be taking the blame off of the real murderer? 


NICOLE:

And you see that as a problem? 


LAURA:

Uh, sure. Y... yes. We're not here to do that, right? Not push, speculation, right? Only the truth.


Nicole lets out a long, drawn out laugh. 



NICOLE: 

Is that what they’re teaching you at the community college? I’m a television news reporter. Speculation pays my bills. 


LAURA:

Oh well, umm, I think that maybe.. um, that the news can be a powerful thing.


NICOLE:

Who cares? Mr. Joe Blow Fuck Off, doesn't care about a powerful message. He wants the spectacle. And honestly, I do too.


LAURA: 

It’s someone’s life. 


NICOLE:

And? 


A beat. Laura looks wounded. 


NICOLE:

Go on. Take the night off. I don’t want this sad shit in my editing room. 


Laura quickly grabs her things and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. 


NICOLE:

Jesus. 


Nicole turns back to the frozen face of Sylvester. She presses play. 


SYLVESTER:

(O.S.)

I think it was some type of devil shit with the Nolas and the Howards. Them poor Howards… did you know that when they found the bodies … they eyes, tongues and hearts was ripped out of ‘em? And now, I ain’t a liar - but I heard it looked like they’d been eaten out of ‘em… while they was alive.


Nicole laughs. The door to the editing room opens and BILL HOWLEY (40s), a balding, smiling, doughy looking man, enters. Nicole stops the tape.


NICOLE:

What is it, Bill?


BILL:

How’d you know it was me?


Nicole swings the chair around to face Bill. 


NICOLE:

Your cheap ass dollar store cologne and soft steps.


BILL:

(unfazed)

It’s not cheap. It’s affordable. And I can't help it if my loafers are quiet.


NICOLE:

Why are you here, Bill? 


BILL: 

How’s Laura doing?


NICOLE:

Sigh. Boring. 


Nicole flips around and turns back to the television screen. Bill leans to her.  


BILL:

No, really. I want to know. 


NICOLE: 

Why the interest?


BILL:

How’s she handling the stress of the story?


Nicole turns to Bill, eyes scrunched trying to understand the situation.


NICOLE:

As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never, ever, ever, ever, ever  fucking once showed concern about anyone’s level of stress. 


BILL:

Yes, I have. And this is different. She's -


Bill stops speaking.


NICOLE:

Oh. You have a secret. You fucking her?


BILL:

Jesus, Nicole. You know I would never step out on Barbara.


NICOLE:

Then, what is it? She comes from a rich family?


Bill crosses his arms and remains silent.


NICOLE: So who is her family? The Prescotts? The Glenns?


BILL:

You know, I'm not one of those sniffling ass kissers, wanting…to, you know, to like, suckle at the teat of the wealthy.


NICOLE:

Who is she?


BILL:

She's Weston Nolas' niece.


NICOLE:

You're shitting me. How could you be so stupid!


BILL Hey, I'm not stupid. I'm helping you.


NICOLE:

How do you think hiring Weston Nolas' niece would help me, Bill?


Bill takes the seat next to Nicole. 


BILL:

Good reasons. 


Nicole turns to face him.


NICOLE: 

Right. What are those reasons? 


BILL:

Many reasons -


NICOLE:

Bill.


BILL:

Okay. Fine. The Nolas graciously offered to cover the expenses of your story about the shooting.


NICOLE:

Bill, you asshole!


BILL:

I'm not an asshole, I'm trying to help you.


NICOLE:

Help, me?


BILL:

Yes. Help, you. You need it.


NICOLE:

I have to cater to the Nola Family on the story. You don't see how that hinders what I can and cannot say? It's going to destroy the integrity of the story.


Bill laughs.


BILL: When have you ever cared about the integrity of a story?

You're just mad you don't get to call all the shots.


NICOLE:

Oh, fuck off.


BILL: I will certainly, not fuck off. And you can't let her know. She doesn't know that's why I hired her.


NICOLE:

You're unbelievable Bill. Really fucking unbelievable.


BILL:

No, Nicole. You are! The Nolas are the only people who actually wanted to fund your little nostalgic love letter to when you were the best. Okay? I know what this is all about. You don't care about getting the story. You care about getting back on top. Making people remember who you were.


NICOLE:

You done?


BILL: For now.


Bill exits. Nicole lights another cigarette. She looks at the camera. Her face flashes annoyance as she slides her chair to the camera. She pulls up her hand to turn off the camera.


BLACK


Thanks for reading.


Anyways - here's an AI generated picture of King Kong playing Ping Pong with Dr. Zaius.











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