I'd like to know if this short script works. I'm posting the first part, here, then will put up the rest of it tomorrow and the next day. It's only 14 pages. Is it suspenseful? Does it make you care? Is it too derivative? I'd like as much feedback as possible. I'm thinking of being stupid and entering it in a short script competition.
-------------------------------
FADE IN:
INT. A & E URGENT CARE ROOM - NIGHT
TIGHT JERKY FLASHES AS A HEART MONITOR frantically beeps.
BLOODY HANDS IN LATEX GLOVES grab instruments.
AN INTERN works feverishly -- MATT, 20s, surgery mask on his face touched with blood, intense focus.
A 10 YEAR-OLD GIRL UNDER OXYGEN, her skin bruised and bloody.
MONITORS GO STATIC & WHINE in alarm.
MORE INSTRUMENTS ARE GRABBED.
MATT WORKS, frantic.
THE GIRL STANDS IN A CORNER, in shadows, watching him from behind.
CRASH CART PADDLES ARE PREPPED -- BAM to the girl’s torso! Again! Again.
MATT pulls back, paddles in hand, devastated.
The girl fades into darkness.
INT. DOCTOR’S LOUNGE - NIGHT
THE DOOR TO A LOCKER CRASHES OPEN! Matt, still in bloody scrubs, stands there, war-torn. The Resident Doctor -- JACK, 40s -- comes up behind him.
JACK
(British)
Your first?
Matt forces himself to nod.
JACK (CONT’D)
Matt -- you’ll have to accept that can’t always save them. You’re not God.
Matt just checks his mobile phone as Jack pulls on a coat.
JACK (CONT’D)
Come have a pint. On me.
Matt holds up the mobile. A text message reads -- Need milk.
MATT
(Scottish Burr)
Me wife.
He checks his wallet. It’s empty.
MATT (CONT’D)
-------------------------------
FADE IN:
INT. A & E URGENT CARE ROOM - NIGHT
TIGHT JERKY FLASHES AS A HEART MONITOR frantically beeps.
BLOODY HANDS IN LATEX GLOVES grab instruments.
AN INTERN works feverishly -- MATT, 20s, surgery mask on his face touched with blood, intense focus.
A 10 YEAR-OLD GIRL UNDER OXYGEN, her skin bruised and bloody.
MONITORS GO STATIC & WHINE in alarm.
MORE INSTRUMENTS ARE GRABBED.
MATT WORKS, frantic.
THE GIRL STANDS IN A CORNER, in shadows, watching him from behind.
CRASH CART PADDLES ARE PREPPED -- BAM to the girl’s torso! Again! Again.
MATT pulls back, paddles in hand, devastated.
The girl fades into darkness.
INT. DOCTOR’S LOUNGE - NIGHT
THE DOOR TO A LOCKER CRASHES OPEN! Matt, still in bloody scrubs, stands there, war-torn. The Resident Doctor -- JACK, 40s -- comes up behind him.
JACK
(British)
Your first?
Matt forces himself to nod.
JACK (CONT’D)
Matt -- you’ll have to accept that can’t always save them. You’re not God.
Matt just checks his mobile phone as Jack pulls on a coat.
JACK (CONT’D)
Come have a pint. On me.
Matt holds up the mobile. A text message reads -- Need milk.
MATT
(Scottish Burr)
Me wife.
He checks his wallet. It’s empty.
MATT (CONT’D)
Och, Jack -- I hate to ask -- can I borrow a fiver? Me check -- .
Jack slips Matt a five pound note.
JACK
See you, Thursday.
He pats Matt on the back and leaves.
Matt touches a photo-magnet of a lovely woman and a newborn baby attached to the inside of the locker door. He hesitates then snarls, yanks out a beat-up rucsack, shoves his clothes in it, pulls the magnet off the door, grabs his ratty Anorak and storms away.
A digital wall clock reads 00:01 -- 29 Feb.
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Quiet. Deserted. Still in his scrubs and old coat, Matt exits a late night market with a litre of milk, his rucsack over one shoulder. He strides down the street. Crosses an alley.
CAERA (O.S.)
(Irish Brogue)
You -- I need a doctor!
He jolts around. A frantic young woman appears from the alley’s shadows -- CAERA. Blood covers her peasant blouse.
CAERA (CONT’D)
You’re a doctor -- .
MATT
Uh, aye, but casualty’s just -- .
SHE STICKS A PISTOL TO HIS NECK! He drops the milk.
MATT (CONT’D)
Wait, no -- !
CAERA
Come with me!
MATT
I got no money!
CAERA
COME ON!
She forces him down the alley, pistol still at his neck.
INT. CELLAR - NIGHT
Dark. The barest light filters through a high barred window. Old, beat-up lockers line the walls. Matt stumbles down a set of steps, Caera behind him, pistol ready.
MATT
Miss, listen, please -- you don’t want to do this. You don’t -- .
SEAN (O.S.)
Caera?
A torch beam hits them! Matt jumps and finally makes out a young man lying in a corner -- SEAN. His skin is pasty. Blood seeps from a wound in his thigh. A makeshift tourniquet is near his hip. He eyes them, weakly.
SEAN (CONT’D)
(Irish Brogue)
Caera -- musha, thought you -- left me.
CAERA
Never.
(to Matt)
You’re a doctor. Help him.
MATT
I’m just an intern!
CAERA
HELP HIM!
She looks ready to use the pistol.
Jack slips Matt a five pound note.
JACK
See you, Thursday.
He pats Matt on the back and leaves.
Matt touches a photo-magnet of a lovely woman and a newborn baby attached to the inside of the locker door. He hesitates then snarls, yanks out a beat-up rucsack, shoves his clothes in it, pulls the magnet off the door, grabs his ratty Anorak and storms away.
A digital wall clock reads 00:01 -- 29 Feb.
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Quiet. Deserted. Still in his scrubs and old coat, Matt exits a late night market with a litre of milk, his rucsack over one shoulder. He strides down the street. Crosses an alley.
CAERA (O.S.)
(Irish Brogue)
You -- I need a doctor!
He jolts around. A frantic young woman appears from the alley’s shadows -- CAERA. Blood covers her peasant blouse.
CAERA (CONT’D)
You’re a doctor -- .
MATT
Uh, aye, but casualty’s just -- .
SHE STICKS A PISTOL TO HIS NECK! He drops the milk.
MATT (CONT’D)
Wait, no -- !
CAERA
Come with me!
MATT
I got no money!
CAERA
COME ON!
She forces him down the alley, pistol still at his neck.
INT. CELLAR - NIGHT
Dark. The barest light filters through a high barred window. Old, beat-up lockers line the walls. Matt stumbles down a set of steps, Caera behind him, pistol ready.
MATT
Miss, listen, please -- you don’t want to do this. You don’t -- .
SEAN (O.S.)
Caera?
A torch beam hits them! Matt jumps and finally makes out a young man lying in a corner -- SEAN. His skin is pasty. Blood seeps from a wound in his thigh. A makeshift tourniquet is near his hip. He eyes them, weakly.
SEAN (CONT’D)
(Irish Brogue)
Caera -- musha, thought you -- left me.
CAERA
Never.
(to Matt)
You’re a doctor. Help him.
MATT
I’m just an intern!
CAERA
HELP HIM!
She looks ready to use the pistol.
Matt drops his rucsack. Kneels. Undoes the tourniquet and finds a pressure point to stem the bleeding. He uses the torch to inspect Sean’s wound.
MATT
Och, this is bad. We need to get you to casualty and -- .
CAERA
No. That won’t work.
MATT
It’s the best place to -- .
CAERA
Help him here! Now!
MATT
Here?! This place is filthy and I’ve no instruments or -- !
She shoves the pistol to the back of Matt’s head and digs her nails into the nape of his neck. They draw blood.
CAERA
Help him or I swear -- !
She forces him to look at dark corner. He sees A MAN’S BODY. Motionless. Blood pooled around it.
MATT
MATT
Och, this is bad. We need to get you to casualty and -- .
CAERA
No. That won’t work.
MATT
It’s the best place to -- .
CAERA
Help him here! Now!
MATT
Here?! This place is filthy and I’ve no instruments or -- !
She shoves the pistol to the back of Matt’s head and digs her nails into the nape of his neck. They draw blood.
CAERA
Help him or I swear -- !
She forces him to look at dark corner. He sees A MAN’S BODY. Motionless. Blood pooled around it.
MATT
OKAY! Okay! Okay.
Shaken, he turns back to Sean’s leg. Caera paces.
MATT (CONT’D)
Bullet’s still in him. Has to come out -- at the least.
Sean nods. He is growing weaker.
MATT (CONT’D)
Okay, I -- I need -- uh, something to clean with -- uh, do you have any alcohol? Ale? Wine? Anything?
CAERA
He was drinking -- .
She nods to the body. Matt makes himself go to it. The man’s glassy eyes stare up at him. His throat was cut.
MATT
You did this?
She does not respond.
Matt checks the man’s pockets. Finds a half-empty pint of whiskey in one, sticky with blood.
MATT (CONT’D)
Then ye -- you have a knife. Right?
(off her nod)
I need it. As a probe.
Caera hesitates then pulls a knife from a sheath attached to her belt and gives it to Matt, keeping the pistol square on him.
CAERA
You make one move wrong and -- .
Matt nods then dribbles whiskey over the knife and swipes it clean with his fingers. Rubs them together. Dribbles more. He fights to keep his hands from shaking.
Shaken, he turns back to Sean’s leg. Caera paces.
MATT (CONT’D)
Bullet’s still in him. Has to come out -- at the least.
Sean nods. He is growing weaker.
MATT (CONT’D)
Okay, I -- I need -- uh, something to clean with -- uh, do you have any alcohol? Ale? Wine? Anything?
CAERA
He was drinking -- .
She nods to the body. Matt makes himself go to it. The man’s glassy eyes stare up at him. His throat was cut.
MATT
You did this?
She does not respond.
Matt checks the man’s pockets. Finds a half-empty pint of whiskey in one, sticky with blood.
MATT (CONT’D)
Then ye -- you have a knife. Right?
(off her nod)
I need it. As a probe.
Caera hesitates then pulls a knife from a sheath attached to her belt and gives it to Matt, keeping the pistol square on him.
CAERA
You make one move wrong and -- .
Matt nods then dribbles whiskey over the knife and swipes it clean with his fingers. Rubs them together. Dribbles more. He fights to keep his hands from shaking.
2 comments:
Well I'm certainly intrigued so far.
More to come, tonight. My biggest concern is that it not be derivative or predictable.
Post a Comment