YAY! YEAH! WOOHOO!!
More later.
It's 85 pages long. My longest play I have ever written. Although, it is only my third.
A pain relief blog detailing my despair at writing.
EXT. ATLANTIC OCEAN.There's some rhyme to it. But not enough to satisfy me. I will, like I said, go back at the end once it's all finished and add the rhyme. If I finish it at all. I kinda like what I've written so far. I added another two pages around 5pm today. Brining the total to six. I hope to write again tonight and maybe add another 2-5 pages.
A gigantic, crimson, cargo ship bobs through the delinquent Atlantic Ocean. Its fog horn sounds out into the weary, pitch-black, foggy sky. The plundering rain isn't shy about pummeling the surrounding area with seething droplets of clear water.
An airliner swoops over head. A human-shaped package drops down. An union-Jack parachute opens. The human shaped figure sinks down to the ship.
LESNAR (OFF)
You've been called into action.
JODIE SUMMERS (OFF)
What's the purpose?
LESNAR (OFF)
I can't give details here. It's highly classified. We will drop you over the Atlantic Ocean. The purpose of the mission will be revealed there.
JODIE SUMMERS (OFF)
Understood.
PAGE ONE: (2 PANELS)
PANEL ONE
Wide angle shot. Looking down an alleyway, that's about wide enough to fit a car through. On the right hand side, a two-story building of some kind. Some of the windows are boarded up. Others have been smashed. Some sharp, shards of shattered glass lay hopeless around on the cracked, oil-spilled, asphalt tarmac.
There's two sheet-metal garages below. Rusted. Corroded. They look worse for wear. Scrawled in paint across them are -- Keep Out and -- No Parking --.
A damaged metal fire escape lines up around the dilapidated building. The ladder has been lowered down. But it tilts to one side. Broken off it's hinges. Probably vandalized by local hooligans. Tipped over garbage cans spewing their trash to the left. Split black sacks with trash gouging out the side.
Coke cans, torn newspapers and other lightweight junk are being pelted around by the choppy, hurricane-force wind. Thick, impenetrable steam hisses out the sewer grates in the center of the shot. A rotten odor of feces circulates the surrounding area. This place makes hell look like Beverly Hills. You'd want to keep the paying tourists away, that's for sure.
The sky above the scene is blacker than coal. Dense, thunderous clouds surge across the sky like charging bulls, lost and aimless but packing a horrendous punch.
But in the hazy, cream-colored steam. We can make out a shadowy figure of a young girl running towards us.
CAPTION
20th March 2039 - Newcity, England.
PANEL TWO
The young girl comes into full view. It's JODIE SUMMERS. Jodie's a beautiful english rose. About seventeen years old. She's very cuddly, girl-next-door-type look. Jodie has an aroma of sweetness and innocence. Her shoulder-length pitch-black hair is in a loose ponytail. There's the odd few strands running down her young, ethereal face.
Her crystal-blue eyes sharply focused to her wrist. Jodie's staring shockingly at the time. She's clad from neck-to-toe in a cola-black, and rose-red lycra suit. The rose-red are over the limb-joints and breasts. And cola-black everywhere else. It's skin-tight. And molds to Jodie's subtle, fragile body. Which means, it leaves very little to the imagination.
Slugged over her left should is a Heckler & Koch PSG-1 sniper rifle. It swings in motion to Jodie's rapid movements.
The dire wind belts around newspapers, and coke cans. They rattle, and roll around Jodie's tired feet. The newspapers explode into the air, shot down the alleyway like a speeding bullet.
JODIE SUMMERS
Must hurry myself up. I don't have time on my side.
PAGE TWO: (3 PANELS)
PANEL ONE
Jodie crash lands on the puddle-infected deck. The force of the impact sends her almost to her knees. The Union Jack parachute flops down beside her. Tremendous frothy waves of salt-water smash over the side of the ship. They snake around the wooden deck, eating away at all the corroded steel.
The boat leaps up and down in the delinquent Atlantic. The hurricane force wind belts into Jodie's face. Causing her hair to dance around drunkenly on her head.
JODIE SUMMERS
Oomph!
PANEL TWO
The tornado wind pelts underneath the parachute. It surges it into the gloomy sky, dragging Jodie backwards. She has to fight it with every inch of strength in her slim-body. Jodie eases herself forward. Her face screwed up in pain. The chute flaps around violently from side to side.
More astronomical waves lash over the side of the boat. Striking the stone-cold metal like charging bulls. Thunderous rain plunges to the wooden deck. They hit everything in sight. The storm over the Atlantic grows ever more violent.
JODIE SUMMERS
Ugh!
PANEL THREE
A small panel up close with Jodie's parachute belt. Jodie's frozen hands tap onto the release mechanism. And the belt snaps loose.
SFX
PING!