Scene 2 Today’s prompt: Write a scene of someone talking to a gravestone [suggested by Tara Conklin]. LA JOLLA CEMETERY - DAY MARCI (24) sits with a small gathering. The Preacher raises as her mother is gently lowered into the ground. He hands a rose to Marci and her Grandparents. The mourners stand. One by one, pass the grave. Pause. Offer condolences to her Grandparents. Then Marci. File away. Solemnly, her grandparents stand, releasing the rose onto their daughter’s casket. Marci sits, head down, texting on her phone. Grandma rests her hand on Marci’s shoulder, sets an envelop on her lap, kissing her head. Her Grandpa turns to Marci, hesitates, shakes his head, takes his wife arm, walk away. Marci is alone amongst the empty chairs… MARCI You ruined my life... No. You stole my life you drunken bitch. Marci rips end off the envelop. Blows it open. Taps out a folded note. A CHECK falls to her lap, upside down. MARCI Let’s see what this says… shall we? She unfolds the note. Scans it. Her eyes enlarge as she reads each word. MARCI Listen to this… Dearest Marci… That’s me your daughter. Fuck… This is the important part... She loves her antiques… We want you to have the furniture. We want you to know that since the house has remained in our name... we have included a check to help you get by in your time of grief. Like the fuck if they really cared about us… Marci turns the check so she can read it. Looks into the grave. MARCI Twenty Five Thousand fucking dollars… Did you hear that you bitch. That’s what I get for all my time and energy watching you kill yourself. Marci wads up the note. Tosses it into the grave. MARCI I put an end to your dreadful life so I could be free of you. I hate your guts… You’re free of your miserable life. Hopefully you’re in drunken bitches hell. Marci places her rose in her teeth. Dances a slow waltz around the grave. She stops at a next grave gently sets the rose on the grave plate. MARCI Lilian Gates. Died Sept 23 1956. You look like you need a rose much more than Bernice Carlisle. Marci struts away. MARCI Daddy… I’m coming home.

SCENE 2 EXT. CEMETERY – DAY ANDREW ROLAND (12) sits in front of a headstone that reads: ELIZABETH ROLAND Beloved Wife and Mother 1975-2014 The usual flowers and candles decorate the grave. A few leaves from autumn have fallen around as well. A TONKA TRUCK is perched high on the headstone. On the grass below is a TOY FIRE TRUCK. And in Andrew’s hand, a GI JOE. ANDREW (with GI JOE): I’m here to save the day! Attached to the Tonka Truck atop the headstone is string that hangs down with a Barbie tied to the end. ANDREW (Barbie): Help! Oh, help! ANDREW (GI JOE): Don’t worry, I’ll save you! He runs the GI JOE up the side of the headstone to the truck. The GI JOE pulls the truck but can’t move it far. Barbie swings helplessly in the wind. ANDREW (Barbie): Help! Oh, help, Joe! ANDREW (GI JOE): It’s… too… heavy… GI JOE tries to pull the truck again but can’t and Barbie’s left to dangle in her fate. ANDREW (Barbie): You can do it, Joe. Use the rope. ANDREW: I… I can’t… ANDREW (Barbie): You can. You’ll be fine. Andrew pauses for a moment. His eyes staring at the headstone. His imagination suddenly cut by an invisible pair of scissors. SUDDENLY – A hand comes down on Andrew’s shoulder – he turns to see: TODD ROLAND (40). His father. A weary smile about his worn face. TODD: Don’t forget the fire truck. ANDREW: That’s just there for safety. In case she falls. TODD: But what if… Todd takes the fire truck out of its position… ANDREW: Dad! … and puts it behind the Tonka Truck. TODD: … we get a little bit of help. Todd connects the back of the Tonka to the front of the fire truck with a small hitch. It doesn’t fit perfectly but he makes the most out of it. Andrew (with GI JOE in hand) takes the fire truck and pulls, the two vehicles making their way down the side of the headstone as Barbie is lifted up to safety. ANDREW (Barbie): Joe! You saved me. ANDREW (GI JOE): We did. All in a day’s work, Barbie. He looks to his father and smiles. All in a day’s work.

Scene 1: EXT. GRAVEYARD – NIGHT Mack stands in front of a tombstone, hat in hand, looking around nervously. He steps closer to the grave and tests the ground – it’s solid. MACK: If it’s okay with you I’m going to stay right here and catch my breath for a minute. Ms. Tabitha Winfred born 1940 died 1998. Angel on earth and in heaven. Ma’am. An inhuman scratching near Mack causes him to take a step closer to Tabitha. MACK: An angel sounds quite appealing right now. Given the situation in all. It’s just that – I don’t think I started this, but then again, I can’t be sure. You know how you get an idea in your head about what something’s going to be like and then when it happens it’s not at all what you thought it was going to be? He gently wipes dirt off the ANGEL STATUE adorning the stone. MACK: That’s a pretty carving they gave you. Ms. Tabitha. My Betty, we couldn’t afford nothing like that. Just her name – Betty Rebecca Cox. I bet your loved ones really miss you, proper southern lady in all. Going to church every Sunday, reading your Bible, all that stuff you’re supposed to do. I bet when someone you love died you just prayed them right up to heaven. He smiles sadly. MACK: I’d never been to church you see, and I missed her. (then, choked up) You can understand that can’t you? Missing someone you love so much you’ll do anything to bring them back? A root-cracking, dirt-shifting groan emits from the ground. Mack sadly unsheathes a long hunting knife from the small of his back. Not to Mack’s surprise, a skeleton hand slithers out from underneath his feet and locks onto his leg. Pulling him to his knees – REVEALING that the entire cemetery is coming to life – skeleton torsos dig themselves out of the ground, rotting legs kicking away dirt from their graves, deep worm holed skulls lifting themselves into the fresh air. Mack lifts his knife and swings - slicing clean through Tabitha’s skeleton arm. MACK: I just wanted her back.

SCENE 2 EXT. CEMETERY – MIDNIGHT And old man in a long coat and hat on stares at a gravestone. The text reads: Andrew Stanton, 1940-2014, I AM THE KING "So you think you can beat me by dying earlier? My left toe is still bigger than yours, asshole. --- Who told you to drive in the middle in the night. Couldn’t it wait? Oh, I get it. You thought you were smart. You tought you could beat me this time. There’s only one Murray. No one can beat me, not even my shadow, I AM THE KING. I hold the title, not you. I guess you already knew that, that’s why you died earlier. You couldn’t beat me. Not then, also not now. You may be in heaven, or hell, I’m getting to you. We still have one thing to finish. Then, you’ll know, you can never beat me. You’ll always stand in my shadow. He takes a drink of his rum bottle. "I’ve got no one. No one who yells at me, points at me I’m being an asshole, arrogant and whatever is fashionable that day. Who’s going to keep me straight? You left me, earlier than I thought. I should smack this bottle on your stone, but I guess it wouldn’t matter, you’re already dead, laughing your old ass off. " He empties the bottle on the stone. "To you my buddy, you beat me this time." He walks away, unstable, head down. The night owl makes a sound or is it him crying?

Hey Dylan- I like this scene. There's emotion here and a feeling that as he's helping GI Joe try to save Barbie that there's a deeper story about him trying to save his mom.

Shari- I love this! This is the type of scene where I want to know the story that goes with it. Your character has a voice.

Interior, CARGO VAN. GEORGE, 41, muscular and dangerous in tight black clothes, sits on a sheet-steel plated wheel well, forearms on his knees, head down, lips moving. The van hits a bump. Something clatters offscreen and GEORGE looks up. GEORGE Dammit, Bobby. Don't blow us up *yet*. There is no reply. GEORGE reaches down. A battered AR-15 has fallen to the floor. The clip is in the rifle. He retrieves the rifle, checks the clip and the safety, secures the weapon on his lap. He leans forward again. We see a GRAVE MARKER in both hands. It reads AMY SHURTZ, 1981-2014. GEORGE (to the marker) I told you I wasn't no good guy. We see more of the van. Three more men in black sitting on duffel bags, talking amongst themselves. Each has a different shaped rifle. Some have handguns. This is no army. Beyond them, against the back wall of the driver's compartment, is a wall of waxy bricks. Wires jut from each brick. GEORGE (to the marker) I know I promised. But you can push a man but so far. You can take but so much away. [Puts a big left hand on the marker. The space where the wedding ring used to be is pale and indented.] GEORGE (to the marker) If I was going where you are, you'd kick my ass so hard. Shit, baby. [falls silent, struggling with rage and grief.] I wish I was who you thought I was. BREAKER, one of the three other men, a hard-bitten fifty, is missing an eye and has a prosthetic hand. You shoulda left that where you left it. GEORGE I left her once. BREAKER If they find it at the scene-- GEORGE barks a laugh. There's no humor in it. What we got in this van, they gonna find pieces of us in Nebraska. I could send a letter to the New York Times, wouldn't do a thing to stop it. BREAKER This isn't funny. GEORGE holds the marker up. Says nothing. BREAKER Yeah, you have a reason to be here. I'm not saying you don't. But I plan to walk away from this. Which means that you need to walk away from it too. Because if they trace you to me-- GEORGE [lowers the marker, lowers his head, traces the letters with his thumb] They ain't gonna trace no one. BREAKER You plan to walk away after, or Bobby pulls over and you walk away now. GEORGE (to the marker) I ain't got nowhere to go. -- SCENE 2

I like this, but the upbeat ending feels weird to me with the buildup of sympathy from the beginning. As I started, I saw this as a kid trying to rescue his mother, and was feeling sympathetic to him and sad. When the father steps in to reassure him, though, it changes the tone of the scene for me. It's just..off, somehow; dad is saying "what if we get a bit of help" but obviously he wasn't able to help Mom. The tone shift might be okay, I don't know. Obviously it's intentional. But it definitely jarred for me. Might be that's a good thing, I don't know. If you want to keep me from getting that initial deep sympathy for the kid, having Dad in frame for a moment earlier, wearing that weary smile, might do to let me know this isn't the first visit after she died.

SCENE 2 ——— EXT. CEMETERY — DAY A disheveled man (JOE) with several MY LITTLE PONY stickers randomly attached to his shirt stands in front of a tombstone on an overcast day. He sighs heavily. JOE: Sooooo, how are you? Joe looks around self consciously and sighs again. MAX: WHO YOU TALKING TO DADDY?! A 3 year old boy tugs at Joe's shirt. JOE: No one. I was just... I... This is a special rock buddy. It means a lot to me. Run along with your sister for a minute okay? MAX: Okay... Max chases his 6 year old sister (MARIELLE) through the cemetery. JOE: So what's up with you, you get your harp yet? (Eyes welling with tears) God damn it. I miss you so much... Look Sarah. I'm falling apart here. Last week I got fired... on Take Your Kid to Work day. Technically I was laid off, but Marielle keeps telling people I was fired since she was there to witness it. Whatever. My severance runs out in 3 months. I don't know what I'm going to do. Behind Joe, Marielle jumps from tombstone to tombstone perilously as Max zig zags between them. JOE: I've actually started a blog. Carlos told me to do it. I wrote this piece called "If I Can Parent, You Can Too" and it went VIRAL, whatever the hell that means. Marielle swings from the branch of a nearby tree and it snaps, sending here to the ground giggling. JOE: I'm being called a Dad Blogger. It sounds so weird. Dad Blogger. Can you believe that? I didn't even know that was a thing. Now I'm supposed to go on a Talk Show in Chicago to talk about it. Marielle is laying on her back near a tombstone, she gets up slowly with wide eyes and begins walking after Max like a zombie as he flees in terror. JOE: I can't do this without you, Sarah. I got home the other day, forgot for a second that I have kids, I looked around and I thought someone broke in and trashed the place to send a message. Look at me? I'm being suffocated by stickers and anxiety. (long pause) Kids run up, out of breath. MARIELLE: Hi Mommy! Max looks at his sister in confusion. MAX: Mommy? It begins raining. Slowly at first. JOE: Happy Mother's Day, Sarah. As the rain becomes a downpour, Joe looks down at kids with a look of exasperation. A smile slowly forms on his face. Joe and the kids exchange knowing glances and sprint down the cemetery path, jumping enthusiastically in each puddle they come across.

Scene 2 - INT. Stone Shop Basement – Night Gretta, wearing a gray sweater three sizes too large, finalizes her intricate sketch under the light and moves the thin paper over the huge slab on the workbench in the poorly lit workroom. She reaches for… A chisel. GRETTA: You sure? Bob leans by the door. His mustache is a spectacle, but the rest of him is largely unimpressive. The glare on his thick glasses masks his eyes underneath. BOB: Strict guidelines. Apparently he was a fan. GRETTA: Of my stonework? BOB: Yeah. Can you finish it tonight? Gretta glances at the clock above Bob’s head. Insert: 11:21 P.M. Gretta shrugs, her sweater falling off her bare shoulder. She notices Bob notice. GRETTA: Yeah. I’ll get it done. Bob flicks on the overhead light and hands her a Coke. BOB: I heard he tipped you well. GRETTA: The dead guy? Bob nods, and with a goofy wave, leaves the room. Gretta claps twice and the light turns off. She tosses the Coke in the garbage can. She fishes the Coke back out, stares down the slab. GRETTA: You want a piece of art? She flips the chisel around her fingers. Gretta pulls off the paper and crumples it up, tossing it on the floor near the garbage. She dons a thick pair of safety glasses. GRETTA: Fine. I’ll give you art. She grabs a mallet, feels the weight in her hand. She sets the chisel down on the smooth surface. Raises the mallet. Strikes.

I like this. Nice take on the prompt, and I want to see what she's carving.

EXT. CEMETERY - DAY JESSE walks slowly across the cemetery, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He squints into the sun as he walks towards it. He reaches a tree at the far end, and turns. He breathes in, and exhales hard, a cloud of breath forming in the cold air. At his feet, a headstone: MATTHEW HARRISON, Beloved son and brother, 1987 - 2014. JESSE: So here we are. He stands there, staring down at the grave, breathing hard. JESSE: Shit. He looks for a second longer, then turns, and starts to walk away, before abruptly coming back. JESSE: What were you thinking? What. Were. You. Thinking. He takes a deep breath, then keeps going. Words pour out of him, but his voice stays calm, barely above a whisper. JESSE: Everyone keeps saying how smart you were. Even someone really fucking stupid would have known not to do what you did. And now you’re dead. Maybe you deserve it, but Mom and Dad don’t. You had one night of fun, and then that was it for you. You didn’t have to see Mom’s face. I did. I was the one that had to watch it all go down. He walks to the tree, slumps down the trunk, sitting at its base. He sneers at the headstone. JESSE: Mom was mad at me for not coming before. But I didn’t need to see all of that. She said something about visiting you, like somehow you’d be sitting here and we could have a conversation. (beat) You thought you had it all figured out. And now look at you. Well, guess what genius, you can’t escape it. You think you were the only one who hurt? He covers his face with his hand. When he finally lowers it, his eyes are misty. JESSE: You weren’t the only one. And somehow you couldn’t see it. A mechanical thunk rings through the air. Jesse looks up to see a couple of cemetery workers a few yards away. One of them is staring at him. Jesse gets up, and slowly walks away, turning to look at the headstone one last time. A weed pops up from the front of the headstone. He reaches down, pulls it, tosses it aside. Then quickly, staring straight ahead, he stalks off.

This is well written, but there's no tension or change in it for me. Also, the line "a weed pops up" so close to the mechanical thunk for some reason made me think the weed sprouted there as Jesse was watching; on first read I thought it was a mystical sign of some sort.

Thanks for the feedback! I was worried about it being too melodramatic, so I dialed it back a bit, but perhaps I went too far...

I can see why you were concerned about that. The problem for me with the scene wasn't the tone, though, but rather the lack of motion. It relies on the emotion of the character to pull us through the scene, but in the end nothing is different. (hrm, the same could arguably be said of mine... plank in your own eye, JP, plank in your own eye... :) ) Imagine the scene before and after this one. The way I read this scene, it could be completely excised from that sequence - it shows the emotional fallout of what came before, perhaps, but there's no feeling of a character in change here. Jesse enters the scene depressed, confused, and resentful, and he leaves the scene the same way. Similarly, his circumstances haven't changed; the dead person is just as dead, and he's not better off for having made the trip. HTH; sorry for not explaining more thoroughly the first time.

Thanks for the explanation - that was incredibly helpful.

SCENE 2 EXT. CEMETERY - DAY YAEL, 25, stands in the middle of Mount Hertzl. She is dressed conservatively with a knee length skirt and a long sleeved shirt. She looks down at a grave site: a stone rectangle about 2 feet high, grass growing from within, and a large headstone lying flat with Hebrew carved into it. She is holding a bouquet of flowers, several stones, and a dried starfish. Several people mill about. A tour group has convened about 20 feet from Yael. She looks around, and tries to figure out a comfortable way to kneel next to the grave. She tiptoes in between graves and settles for a spot in the aisle above the gravestone. We see her looking at the upside down Hebrew as she delicately arranges her flowers, stones, and the starfish on the grave. YAEL: I know I'm not supposed to bring flowers. I don't really know how religious you were, though... And they reminded me of that streak in your hair. Aren't they great? Very colorful. Plus, these other guys have flowers growing from their graves... so why the hell not? I brought stones too. And this. She plays around with the starfish, and attempts to find the best place for it. YAEL (cont.): All the way from California. You're welcome... I met your mom. We all had a little get together when we got back, you know.. Not a "get together," like some happy thing... I told her to go to my aunt's restaurant when she came out here. I don't know if she did. An old Hasidic man saunters past Yael, and settles down a few graves away from her. She stares at him. YAEL: I'm starting to learn Hebrew. More than just sababa. You'd be proud... Slicha. I'm sorry. They engraved your name in that memorial... Pretty close to where my name would have been. I'm sorry I told you that story... I was self-absorbed and... Slicha. She picks up the starfish, kisses it, and places it back on the headstone. She looks over at the Hasidic man deep in prayer. She tries to pray herself.

It is overcast with a breeze in the air, rustling through the trees. JACK (46), dressed all in black, emerges from the brush under a cluster of trees. From a distance it’s hardly recognizable he is even there. He walks up to the grave site slowly. In his hand is a bottle of Macallan scotch. He saunters up to the headstone, stops and stares at it: “Ivan P. Leonard, Beloved Husband and Father”. At the base is a half empty bottle of Jim Beam and three flower arrangements. Jack continues to stare with a questioning look. JACK: Beloved husband and father, eh Ivan? I guess that says it all. Jack takes a swig of the Macallan. JACK: Good stuff. I see you prefer Jim Beam. Or maybe the fam was afraid someone might steal it, eh Ivan? Jack takes another swig and then begins to laugh. JACK: Ain’t that a bitch? Who’d want to steal from you Ivan. Beloved father and husband and all. My boss, a fucking CEO of one of the largest insurance firms in the world. People died in six figures so you could pull in eight, or is it nine? It’s actually quite patriotic, isn’t it? There should be an eternal flame here or something. There must be something I can do… Jack takes another gulp. He stumbles a bit and then carefully puts his bottle down. He unzips, and carefully urinates on the grave stone, making sure to get it from all angles as it streams down over the granite. He stops. JACK: Much better Ivan. It may not be an eternal flame. More like an eternal stain. Hey that rhymes. Jacks laughs, picks up the Jim Beam, opens it, and urinates into it. He places it back. JACK: There you go, beloved. A bit of Macallan for you. He zips back up. Pulls himself together and takes two more gulps of his Macallan. JACK: Good stuff Ivan. I grabbed a few more while I was at your…, your estate for the funeral. Thanks. Jack stares at the stone. He becomes tearful as sadness overcomes him. JACK: I’m just so sorry Ivan. So sorry I had to bust a cap in your useless head from behind. It was cowardly. But I couldn’t get caught. I had to move fast. At this point Jack can’t stand very well. He sits in the grass, and sips some more. JACK: I want you to know that you are an inspiration. Your dependency on people like me with the technical skills you couldn’t possibly fathom, well it’s just pure inspiration. It’s an honor, Ivan. Now, I’m going to move on to your successor, and all your industry CEO colleagues. It’s no easy task. But I’m on a quest now. And that’s all because of you Ivan. Jack takes the Macallan, raises it like a toast to the headstone and finishes it off. He stands up and smashes the bottle over the headstone. Glass showers all over the flowers and base of it. JACK: There you go buddy. They’ll just think it was some drunken teenagers now. Have a nice death in that big executive suit in the sky, or wherever. Jack carefully walks away, aware of his state, and disappears into the nearby brush as stealthily as he showed up. The wind whips up through the trees and flower pedals sick to the urine on the gravestone.

I like it exactly as it is. I don't see the need for explanation. The character arcs from anger to sorrow, and then perhaps to humiliation or embarrassment.

Scene 1 INT. Industrial Workshop - DAY Sunlight floods through 15 foot windows in an industrial brick workshop, giving it the look and ceremonial feel of a cathedral. The only sound is that of a metal tool chipping away at stone. Unmarked gravestones and uncut slabs of granite line the brick walls. EDDIE (30) stands at worktable with his slender frame hunched over a gravestone, carefully shaping a letter "F." The gravestone reads: Edward James Richardson, III 1946 - 2014 Devoted Husband & Loving F EDDIE: (standing back to read his work) Loving Fraud ... Loving Fuckup ... Loving Fascist ... EDDIE leans back over to begin the next letter, but pauses, stands straight up and throws the chisel against the wall. EDDIE: Goddamit! Why am I even doing this? I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for mom. (pause) It wasn't enough for you to cheat on her and run this place into the ground. You had to go and die and leave the mess for us to clean up. That sounds about right. (pause) Rest in peace ... Burn in hell. Whatever. What the fuck ever. EDDIE rubs his face, walks across the room to retrieve the chisel, and returns to the stone. He gently touches the stone. EDDIE: You know, I almost got through this without getting pissed off. I was pretending it was just another job for a stranger. (pause) I finally got the lettering right. I mean, it's perfect. I don't even need you to clean it up or nothing. Not even a little. (pause) And you'll never see it. EDDIE wipes a tear with the back of his hand. EDDIE: Son of a bitch. EDDIE continues working on the stone and we hear the chipping sound again and fade into the sunlight.

EXT. MONASTERY RUINS GRAVEYARD - DAY The day is gray and cold. JASON, 21, is sauntering through the grown-over and decrepit gravestones in back of the ruin of an old English abbey. He coughs a bit, a wet cough that racks his entire body. A tourist couple a few yards away is taking a “selfie” nearly on top of one of the gravestones, obviously meaning to get a picture of themselves with the beautiful English countryside in the background. Nevertheless, Jason is visibly disgusted and looks at the modest gravestone like a protective parent. The tourist couple, oblivious to Jason, hugs each other and walks away, chatting about lovely things in the lovely Italian language. Jason looks at the couple as though they’ve just arrived fresh off a spaceship from Mars as they pass, but is again unnoticed. JASON (to himself): Fucking honeymooners. He walks over to the gravestone and looks upon the inscription. It reads: WILLIAM MACBRIDE. 1792- 1810. Nothing else. JASON: Jesus. He looks around the small graveyard now, checking to see if anyone else is here. Nobody. He rolls the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and attempts to rub some of the moss and lichens off of the stone below the name, to no avail. JASON: You were 18. Maybe. Probably 17. He tries again with the rubbing, but nothing is written below. JASON: Nothing, eh? Nothing below the name. What happened to you? He stands back up. JASON: Sorry about those guys. I think they just weren’t paying attention. Like when that woman elbowed past me on the Subway today. Underground. Whatever. I wanted to kill her. I’m not sure why. But I’m sure that’s what it felt like. He stares at the stone. It stares back. JASON: And I’m talking to a gravestone. He lights a cigarette. JASON: (Regarding the cigarette) What the fuck, right? Just hope I can take this one down before the rest of them get out here. It’s claustrophobic up there in those turrets, eh? I bet you’ve been up there once or twice before. 18 year old kid in England with apparently not a damned thing to do. And I’m guessing the monks were pretty nice to you. Since you must’ve been sick, and all. He looks back at the stone. JASON: I mean, 18. You must’ve been sick, right? (A beat. Waiting for an answer) JASON: Maybe you were killed in battle. Gloriously. Big charge. You had your- sword out, or whatever. Screaming. Jason finishes the cigarette, flicks it over the stone wall and out of the graveyard. JASON: That’s how I would’ve liked to have gone. Anyway. Take care of yourself. He walks away.

SCENE TWO EXT. CIMETIERE DU PERE LACHAISE – DUSK A light snow falls, beginning to coat the ground. A WOMAN, 42, wearing a hat, a heavy coat, and a scarf approaches slowly, looking around. She walks up to a map and stares at it for a long moment. She tilts her head and turns to her left, glances at the map again, then walks determinedly forward. She reads the names on several headstones, before finally stopping in front of one with a bust of an intense-looking man on top. She smiles in shallow satisfaction and stares at the grave of GEORGES MELIES. She stands in silence for a few moments. Her smile fades, and she appears wistful. She reads from the stone in a slow, overdone French accent, trying to enunciate currently: WOMAN: “Createur du Spectacle. CreAteur du SpecTAcle.” She glances around the empty cemetery with an embarrassed grin, but sees no one. She turns back and stares into the eyes of the bust on top of the grave. WOMAN: Not gonna lie, Georges, I thought this would feel more substantial. It’s a bit anticlimactic after searching for over an hour, I guess. And you’re sort of crammed in there with… She glances at the grave to the left. WOMAN: Damn, that’s a whole family in that one. She laughs without humor. WOMAN: Shows how different families were in your day, huh? Even before the divorce, Luke and I never would have imagined literally being buried together… Maybe that should have been a sign. She shakes her head, as if to rid herself of hollow memories, and stares at the grave again. She speaks with quiet frustration. WOMAN: I was going somewhere, you know? All that fucking potential they used to tell my parents about in parent-teacher conferences. “Your daughter’s a special one. Got quite the imagination.” Maybe that’s why I always liked you. A Trip to the Moon. Le Voyage de la Lune? She frowns. WOMAN: Dans La Lune? Sorry, I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of French. At one point, I really thought my name would be in a textbook, like twenty-seven chapters after yours, in some tiny little paragraph mentioning the names of female screenwriters to break through the male-dominated industry during the turn of the century. Not in like a feminist way, just showing that some women had the talent to break through even when Hollywood didn’t seem to want them. That sounds feminist doesn’t it? Luke would’ve called that feminist. She stares silently at the grave for a long moment. WOMAN: Well, thanks, I guess. The first time I saw your- She breaks off as two young girls walk by, giggling with their arms linked. She stands in silence as the girls pass, speaking in muffled French. After they pass, she glances back at the grave. WOMAN: Just, thanks. Merci. She nods, and after a moment, she turns and walks away.

I see we had the same idea to get away from the cemetery. Your scene is vivid. I like your minimal communication with the gravestone and the mystery of the whole thing. What is she writing? The dead guy tipped her for what?

EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT JON(30s), bloody and worn, is knelt down in front of a neglected, marble tombstone. His face looks like he just went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. He stares at the engraving: Kim Edson -- October 15th, 1980 -- June 2nd, 2012 -- Forever in Our Thoughts and Prayers Jon: Hey, babes. I'm sorry this is the first time I've visited you. I've been meaning to, but life kept getting in the way, you know, them monsters chasing after me. I left Bailey with David. I know you'd like that. You should see her. She's gotten so big. David told me, he sees you in her, more and more, each day. He says it's beautiful. Jon's eyes well up with tears. They stream down, pooling together with his bleeding lips. He breaks down, crying, hysterical. Jon: I'm sorry. I was fucked up, then. I'm still fucked up. I should of listened to you. There's this doctor, he got me on these pills. They making me better, I'm not seeing them monsters no more. I swear to God... Jon, desperate. Jon: ...I thought I was killing them monsters. I thought they's were real. I didn't know it was you. I swear, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive-- --BOOM-- Blood splats across the tombstone as Jon's body slumps over, dead. Standing over Jon, DAVID (40s) drops the smoking .38 revolver. He wipes the blood and gray matter off the tombstone with a cloth, so that "Kim Edson" is visible. David: Good, I can see you now. You didn't deserve what happened to you. None of them girls did. I told ya, I'd get him. He won't be hurtin nobody, no more. You rest easy, Sis. I be seeing you in a couple. David stands. He takes one last gaze at his sister's grave, then leaves, knowing he kept his word.

Prompt idea: Someone purchasing a car.

SCENE TWO Ext. Graveyard - Evening Mist rises from the grass of a graveyard at dusk. A broad-shouldered man in a suit strolls by gravestone after gravestone, drifting deeper into the recesses of the expansive graveyard. Beneath the man's casual air his eyes dart back and forth, giving away his uneasiness. This is THOMAS (40). Trailing behind Thomas, we find a good-for-nothing teenager immersed in editing a photo of his abs on his phone. This is PHIL (18). Phil is dressed in preppy salmon shorts and a clean blazer. He looks up to realize he's falling behind his father, and hurries to catch up, pocketing his phone. PHIL: Dad. Can't this be over already? Wow, I'm almost an adult, oooooohhh so close to resting under one of these slabs, feeding flowers, I'f I'm not careful! THOMAS: Ahhh here it is. Thomas stops before a unremarkable gravestone. Phil sidles in beside his father, perplexed. Phil looks around thinking he's missing something. PHIL: Who's, "Margery Willdower?" THOMAS: Son. I brought you out here to tell you a story. Phil isn't paying attention. PHIL: Ugh. Look- I got mud on my sperrys! Phil begins to wipe his shoes on a gravestone. THOMAS: This woman is responsible for everything we have. Phil looks up. THOMAS: I brought you out here to introduce you to how our family started. With Margery. PHIL: I've literally never heard you mention her. THOMAS: That's because I have no fucking clue who she is. The two men stand silently next to each other as the mist floats by. PHIL: Are we related to her? THOMAS: No. You know the first rose I ever gave your mother? PHIL: Yeah, yeah, it was blue, blah blah you fell in love, THOMAS: Well. I stole it. PHIL: SO? It's a flower Dad. Big deal. Can we go? I need to charge my phone? THOMAS: I bought it with money I dug up from this grave. Phil processes this information, looking at his father skeptically. But he sees that Thomas is telling the truth. PHIL: That's.... really messed up.... THOMAS: It's strange I know. But that's what I did. I was a gravedigger. PHIL: You stole from dead people? THOMAS: My entire fortune. PHIL: You touched dead bodies in the ground? old dead bodies? THOMAS: This was the first grave. After, I went to town after town. Researching. Finding wealthy families and taking what they didn't need. It was like hunting for treasure. PHIL: Gross. But... you're a chef? THOMAS: I was eventually able to pursue my true dream once I... 'struck gold.' PHIL: How much did you... make? THOMAS: More than you'd ever think possible. Thomas walks away from the gravestone, but heading deeper between the rows of stone and the twisting trees. Phil is left stupefied for a moment before he hurries after his father. THOMAS: You know, there are still graves I never got to. Thomas stops before a large gravestone and pulls out a hand sized object from inside his coat. It opens into a shovel. He offers it to Phil. THOMAS: Nobody's around. Like father like son? Phil hesitates. He looks around. No one is in sight. He reaches for the shovel, obviously curious, and takes it, examines it. THOMAS: Don't worry, I've got one too. Thomas takes out another shovel and flips his tie over his shoulder. PHIL: This is so fucked up. Phil starts digging. Blackout.

Just for fun.. this second scene continues from yesterday's first scene. EXT. CEMETERY - DAY Majo stands in front of a tombstone that reads "MARIA JOSE LÓPEZ. 1965-2013." She puts flowers over it, looks around to see if nobody is watching her. In the background a cab waits. MAJO I... Hesitates. MAJO I'm... sorry I won't be coming to put flowers anymore. She sighs. MAJO And you won't come with me to the U.S. Opens her purse, takes out a photo of George, a thirty something man, blonde, overweight, in an expensive looking suit, shows the photo to the grave. MAJO This is George. You would call him Jorge. He's my fiancé. He's very nice, has a big house in California and another in Canada, and lots of cars, and... and... I'm gonna meet him tomorrow. Takes a plane ticket and a passport out of her purse. MAJO America, mom! America! She puts the ticket and the photo in her purse. MAJO I know... I wish it was different. If you were alive you could have easily bagged a husband through the Internet. She hears incoming footsteps, turns and sees a gardener approaching. He stares at her. MAJO And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. The gardener walks away. MAJO And lead us not into. Stares at the passport and plane ticket inside her purse. MAJO Temptation. She takes a lipstick out of her purse, puts it on her lips and kisses the tombstone leaving a kiss over it. She gets into the cab. MAJO To the airport. The cab drives away.

#2 7/2 EXT. JUNGLE - MORNING WESLEY MILTON stands in the deep green forest dripping sweat from the humidity. Vines hang, giant leaves hover. He stares down A brick sized rock is peaking out of the ground. He kneels. Uses his hand for a few shovels of wet grass. More of the stone is revealed, but it’s not a rock. It’s man made masonry. Wes looks at it, shakes his head. WES-Swear to Christ, I’m gonna name my hemorrhoid after you. He stands, walks ten feet back into the woods, goes through his duffel bag, reappears with a shovel. His boot hits the beat up metal digging into the earth. EXT. JUNGLE - LATER Wes now has his shirt off and is six feet deep into the ground. The excess dirt is piled to his right. But there is no coffin, just the tombstone. It’s gray, but dirt covered, six feet tall. The jagged circular symbol Wes has come to know so well, sits atop the memorial piece. The name of who is buried is covered in dirt. WES-Man, when you wrote down, ‘they insist tombstones shall be buried six feet deep’, you weren’t fucking joking. He shovels more. EXT. JUNGLE - EVENING Wes, now twelve feet deep, and standing on a mud covered coffin is exhausted. THUNDER is heard. WES-Ah fuck. He crawls out of the hole. Runs to his bag. Pulls out the journal. Flips to the page... Sees the IMAGE. It’s black ink and rough, but it was clearly drawn in the spot where Wes is standing. WES-What the hell man? This makes no sense. This is dated in forty six. You were thirty years old! And what the hell is up with this text on the back page. He flips the page, rain drops slowly hit the old paper. WES(reading) “Vibrations sedated, victory and blood, shield the visions, mindful expansion shall not come...” (beat) That makes a lot of sense?! Followed by, “Jekyll Island, Jekyll Island, Jekyll Isand...” I was at Jekyll Island! There’s nothing there you fucking fuck!!! The rain picks up. THUNDER. The ink begins to run. Wes runs to his bag, puts the journal inside, protects it. As he gets soaked, he looks to the now fresh casket. The rain has cleansed it, showing it is white marble. Something catches his eye. He climbs down the twelve feet slippery mudwall, and stands on the marble resting place. On his hands and knees he wipes away the muddy water from the casket. At first he sees his reflection. But once he feels the casket he realizes, it’s not a reflection at all. It’s engraved on the marble. This moment, this image, including the giant leaves and vines above him, is an engraved sketch of Wes looking down at himself on top of this casket which was somehow engraved on the marble before his birth. He looks to his right, hair dripping from the rain, and as the mud drops from the tombstone, the name is revealed. WESLEY MILTON

SCENE 2 EXT. CEMETARY – DUSK Fog surrounds JACKIE (25, usually very happy but given the circumstances). She kneels before a GRAVESTONE in which it is marked: KRISTEN DAWN (1987-2014) You were born to run Jackie is understandably hearbroken and the setting sun catches a single tear that rolls down her face. But Jackie is no frowning, nor sobbing uncontrollably, no she is in fact SMILING. JACKIE ...And I remembered that time we decided to throw everything into the wind! Jackie can’t stop smiling! JACKIE We didn’t have a care in the world, what our friends thought, what our parents thought! We were going to travel across the US in a stolen van if we had to! The fog is rolling in almost viciously. The setting sun is but a few rays on the land of the dead. JACKIE And boy did we have fun! She is no long smiling. She pauses. And now, the tears come. But Jackie is a strong person and maintains her composure. But her friend is in the ground, and she is just so unbelievably SAD that only PURE GRIEF shows on her face. JACKIE We had fun...doing all sorts of crazy things. Things neither one of us would do alone...but together....together we could accomplish anything. Jackie stands. The sun has all but set. The fog nearly consumes the grave. She turns and leaves her friend behind.

(think Terrence Malick for this one) EXT. GEORGIA FARM - DAY (1952) Sprawling bit of land dotted with breezy trees in full bloom, wash hanging out to dry, and lazy horses out to graze. Bliss. As we slowly make our way to the old barn we hear a steady set of TINK TINK TINKs on a hard surface mixed with a little girl's (MAY PEARL) soft, soulful humming of This Little Light of Mine. MAY PEARL (O.S.): This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. (fades to humming) Tink Tink Tink. INT. OLD BARN - DAY Sun filters through cracks in the weathered barn walls revealing a mix of hay bales, horses' tack, and some roosting chickens. MAY PEARL (O.S.): Papa? (beat) Remember when we went to Savannah to see the 4th of July fireworks? A slow lazy tour of the stables as she speaks. MAY PEARL (O.S.): And remember when Momma couldn't stop laughing at your joke about the lamp? (she giggles) That was silly. Back to humming. Tink Tink Tink. Barn tour continues into the loft where a jumble of spider-webbed wood projects lie half finished. MAY PEARL (O.S.): And we went down to the beach and climbed to the top of the lighthouse to watch the sunset. You gave me a piggyback ride after I tripped on the stairs. Back down a row of rusty ol' garden tools leaning against the wall: shovels, sheers, a pitchfork. MAY PEARL (O.S.): My scar's almost gone. More humming. We follow the wall of tools to a large make-shift workbench with a litany of small stone figurines of farm animals lined up in perfect little rows. Tink Tink Tink. Blow. MAY PEARL (O.S.): I think I'm done. We pass the workbench to a large stone slab cut straight from the earth leaning against the wall as a 10 yr old girl blows on its surface and brushes dust away. She steps back to admire her work and smiles. An outline of a lighthouse has been carefully chinked out on the face of it with the name WILLIAM GILBERT SWIFT and the dates APRIL 20th 1916 - FEBRUARY 16th 1952. She smiles at it. MAY PEARL: Momma said you'd like this. MOMMA (O.S.): May Pearl! Come wash up for supper. (beat) May Pearl! MAY PEARL: Gotta go. She made apple pie. She picks up her hammer and chisel and places them on the workbench next to a rudimentary figurine of a man. Before she runs out she turns to look at her father's gravestone once more and smiles. MOMMA (O.S.): May Pearl! MAY PEARL: Coming! (towards the stone) Apple pie. Bye!

EXT. CEMETERY - DAY A sunny hillside sprinkled with new and old graves. A woman JANE (40s), stumbles through the tombstones holding a six pack. She walks up to one and squints. JANE: Where the fuck are you? She walks away from it and wanders around. She wipes sweat off of her face. She crests the hill and looks down the other side. She sees a YOUNG MAN sitting amongst the graves. She walks over to him. She walks behind him and squints at the gave he’s sitting in front of. It’s a flat tombstone. JANE (CONT’D): Can you go now? YOUNG MAN: Excuse me? JANE(shouting): LEAVE ME ALONE! The Young Man gets up and starts to leave. He bends down the pick up a bottle near the grave. JANE (CONT’D): Are you fucking kidding me? Leave the whiskey. He does. Jane plomps down in front of the tombstone and cracks open a beer. JANE (CONT’D): Cheers! She toasts the gravestone. JANE (CONT’D): I’d still fuck you. She presses her forehead up against the grave. JANE (CONT’D): You know you were wrong about a lot of things. I blame you for hating women. Jane pours the rest of the beer onto the grave and goes for the whiskey. There are other bottles littered around the grave. JANE (CONT’D): They should really get you a fridge or an ice maker out here. She swigs the whiskey and immediately spits it out onto the gravestone. JANE (CONT’D) Holy fuck that’s bad. She gulps more. JANE (CONT’D): You taught me how to be a drunk. I was trying to learn how to be a writer. I like drinking better though. She lays down on top of the grave. She closes her eyes and falls asleep in the sun. The tombstone reads “HENRY CHARLES BUKOWSKI JR. DON’T TRY”. Jane snores.

EXT. BACKYARD - DAY A fresh mound of dirt behind an apartment building. JESSIE, a scrawny, thirty something who probably doesn’t have enough sex, jams a shovel in the ground and wipes his dirty hands on his jeans. A nerdy TOOLBOX sits nearby. MELISSA, a pretty young woman, stands next to him crying. Jessie removes his hat from his head. Stands in reverence. JESSIE Goodbyes are hard. Especially when it’s someone you love. Someone you cherish so deeply...was ripped from your hands. Melissa SOBS. She lays a single red rose on grave, turns and runs back inside the house. We hear WAILING inside the house. JESSIE I just have a few more things I want to get off my chest. Jessie checks and makes sure the coast is clear. JESSIE (whisper scream) FUCK YOU, MILO! He hock a loogie and spits on the grave. He takes a tennis ball out of his pocket. He holds it up. JESSIE See what I got!? Look. Do you see? Fetch! He chunks the tennis ball like it stole money from him. JESSIE What’s wrong buddy? Oh. Sorry. Can’t fetch now can you? Yeah, that sucks. You know what else sucks? The last four years of my life, stepping barefoot in your warm shit in the mornings when I get out of bed! Jessie pulls down his pants and squats. Jessie manages to produce a small turd that kind of looks like fro-yo. JESSIE Not so much fun now is it! He pulls up his pants. Jessie BARKS at the ground a few times. JESSIE Oh, didn’t catch that? Let me translate. You were a shitty three-legged mistake! Screw you. And screw Melissa for bringing you home. I hope they serve kibble in hell! Jessie double checks no one is around. Jessie goes to the toolbox and takes out one of those red containers of gasoline. Empties it on the grave. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Strikes a match. JESSIE Oh. And here’s the whammo. He gets down on one knee for emphasis. JESSIE I *let you* run into the street. Bitch. He throws the match on the grave. Flames everywhere. For the first time in years, he truly smiles. FOOTSTEPS behind him. Jessie spins around. It’s Melissa. She heard everything. JESSIE Wait...I can explain! Jessie tries to figure out a way to explain the gas can and the BLAZING INFERNO on their dog’s grave.

can i get in on a little that whiskey...? hilarious!

Peter pauses as he walks along the sidewalk and looks into the cemetary. In the sunny morning the neat grass, spots of flowers on various graves and the shady trees along the roadways winding through past the plots attract his eye. He turns and enters. He walks for a short distance and stops under an old tree. It’s well trimmed but past its prime, beginning the inevitable decay. He leans against the tree standing in the shade looking at the rows of graves. The bright red chrysanthemums at one grave attract his eye and he wanders over to it, crouching down to examine the engraving. He reads it aloud. PETER Helena Stewart, born 1951, died 2004, loving wife and mother. (beat) What was it? An accident? Cancer? He leans over and smells the chrysanthemums. PETER (CONT’D) Your flowers smell nice. Who planted them for you? Someone who wanted something that lasts. Perhaps because you didn’t. (beat) Mother. I bet it was your daughter, it seems like something a daughter would do. Peter sits on the grass. PETER (CONT’D) Fifty Three years on this earth and this is all it comes to. “Loving wife and mother” -- and some chrysanthemums. I’m sure you had dreams as a child, how many came true? You obviously found someone to love, marry and have a daughter. Was it your first love or did he get away? Were you happy? Was it all you hoped for? (beat) Probably not, you expected to be around for your grandchildren. Now you’re gone -- or has your ghost stayed behind to watch over them? He picks at one of the weeds near the grave, compelled to make it a little neater, then confesses: PETER (CONT’D) I feel like a ghost. (beat) I had dreams. I had a plan. I had Vickie. Or at least I thought I did, but then so did Stephens. It killed me dead, but no one put me in a nice comfortable grave. He reaches down and gently pats the grass. PETER (CONT’D) Instead I have to move through a life that’s meaningless. Go to work every night, come home every morning. People do notice me so I’m not really a ghost. I’m not sure my heart still beats, though. (beat) What’s the point? He looks at the grave for a long moment and sighs. PETER (CONT’D) You’re right, I am ungrateful. You only have a past, I have a future. You're right, perhaps I should make something of it. He rises to his feet and takes a deep breath. PETER (CONT’D) Thank you Helen -- may I call you Helen? You've been a big help. Maybe I’ll drop by again and tell you how it turns out.

Exceptional.

Well constructed.

Scene 2 EXT. CEMETERY - DAWN Long shadows from rows of headstones stripe the serene cemetery grounds as the orange sun breaks the horizon. LARRY ARENDZ (50) stumbles into the picturesque scene, disheveled hair, wrinkled suit and shit-faced. His bulbous red nose suggests this is not an uncommon state for him. LARRY: Take my keys... "Walk it off Larry"... I'll walk you off... Son of a bitch... He hocks a loogie and spits with a snarl as he digs into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He flips the lid and reaches in when he notices one already lit between his fingers, near burnt to the filter. He flicks the butt to the base of a headstone and pops a fresh smoke in his mouth. LARRY: There ya go, bub. Finish that one for me. As he lights up, he squints to read the stone. LARRY: "Beloved husband and father." That's original. Shoulda said "Gave up dreams and freedom for an ugly old woman and ungrateful stinking brats." He saunters over to the next plot while he smokes. LARRY: Captain Thomas Jameson Hulsey, United States Marine Corps. Purple heart. Larry straightens up to give a sarcastic drunken salute. LARRY: Thank you very much for your service. Dumb fucking schmuck. Signed yourself over to the government, eh? Take a bullet for what? Piece of purple ribbon? Dumbass. Had any sense you woulda deserted. (bending down) What's wrong? Couldn't get into Arlington? Larry rises to look at the next headstone. LARRY: "Thy gentle voice is now hushed." Ain't that poetic? You're so special, lady? So gentle? See how gentle you'd be. Dragged before the board. Corporate thugs. Gross negligence? Violation of company policy? Cocksuckers. You'd be tearing assholes like anyone else. Gentle voice my ass. He stumbles forward, catching his balance awkwardly, notices an elderly woman a few plots over. She's impeccably dressed in matching yellow dress and hat, holding a bouquet of flowers, frowning at him. Larry stares at her, slack-jawed. Her frown softens and tears begin to well in her eyes. He turns his back to her brusquely. Tilting his head back with a good drag, he stumbles away. LARRY: Gentle voice my ass.

EXT. - CEMETERY – DAY ROBERT parks the rusty pale green '52 Cadillac beside the road passing between two sections of the cemetery. He gets out and reaches back into the car for a terra cotta pot full of yellow daisies. He holds the pot against his hip with one hand, reading a map in the other as he walks into the nearest section. ROBERT: The office said you're the fifth grave down from Rosario Benevidez. Here's Rosario. God rest you, Rosario. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. This is where you are, Daddy. This is you, here. There's no marker. Robert displays no emotion at all. He puts down the pot, then looks around and notices there are no containers on any of the graves, just a few loose flowers. He pulls out a Scout knife, gets down on his knees, and digs a bunch of daisies from the pot, then makes a small hole in the grass and pokes them into it. ROBERT: I didn't tell Mama I was coming. She's in a rehab place with a broken hip, so I brought you some flowers. I don't imagine you've had many since the funeral. It's been thirty five years, now. Mama didn't want a marker, so you're hard to find. He stands beside the grave, arms folded. Then with his hands on his hips. Then pacing silently beside the grave. Then looking out over the cemetery. Then with his head between his hands, dry-eyed. ROBERT: It's strange. I don't feel anything. I don't even know what I expected to feel. Maybe some sense that you were here, that you'd know I'd come for the first time. But it seems like there's nothing here. Nothing. He takes the knife and cleans it on his cuff, perilously close to the veins in his wrists. He looks at both the clean blade and his wrist for a beat, then closes the knife and puts it in his pocket. ROBERT: I don't feel like crying. I feel blank. I guess I should have cried in the hospital, when you did, near the end. But I thought if I cried, it would make you feel worse. That probably was a mistake. Maybe you cried for me when you saw me shutting down. He kneels and prays mechanically, still no emotion showing. Finally, he picks up the crock and starts back to the car. He stops, turns and looks at the grave again. ROBERT: Goodbye, Daddy. He gets into the old Cadillac and drives past the grave, then circles right and drives towards the exit. He looks back over his shoulder at the daisies, which stand out, the only yellow amidst the endless green of the cemetery grass. ROBERT: They look nice, Daddy. I'll tell Mama that later, that I could still see them a hundred yards away. But I guess I'm too far away for you to hear me, now-- The car stops suddenly. Robert leans against the window, wracked with sobs, shedding tears from thirty-five years before, still yesterday in his heart.

Can I submit 2 different scenes for this one topic?

#1 (for me) EXT. BARREN FARM - DUSK Orange sky frames a red barn in the distance. Locusts BUZZ. A plank juts out of the dry soil near a mound of loose dirt. The barn door swings open as the silhouette of a LARGE MAN lurches towards us. The Large Man’s leather gloves clench hard to weighted burlap as it scrapes over rock and dirt. He releases the bag. Limp, bloody. The locusts go silent. Worn Denim, knee to the ground, he heaves. The mangled contents of the bag drop. His long shadow momentarily looms over the deceased. The Large Man sniffs. Takes the handle of a shovel and breaks the loose pile of dirt. He pauses - throwing the first covering is always the hardest. He gives in. Another follows. And another. EXT. BARREN FARM - LATER The Large Man sits on his haunches, Stetson in hand. LARGE MAN - Well... His leather glove brushes at the soil. LARGE MAN (Cont.) - Shoot, you’s a good one, you know. A man... man don’t get but one good partner in life and... you was certainly that. One heck of a... Shoot. I... I jus’ couldn’t see ya like that no more, boy. I jus’ couldn’t see you like that. You’s always good t’me. He stands. Boots kick up dust. LARGE MAN (Cont.) Hope I’s as good to you. He shuffles back toward the barn as twilight consumes the sky. The locusts begin again.

EXT-GRAVEYARD-DUSK Sunlight is fading. A GRAVESTONE reads: Lorraine Bright 1947-2014. Here lies our beloved mother. You are an inspiration to us all Dirt flies into the air hitting the gravestone. A head pops into view. PAUL LEE - early 40's. He stares at the gravestone. PAUL: Quit judging me Lorraine. You would do the same thing for your family. Paul slams the shovel into the dirt and removes a pile from the hole. PAUL: It says so right there. Inspiration to us all. I didn't know you when you were alive, but you strike me as a person who would go out of their way for their family. The shovel slams into the dirt. Sweat falls from Paul's forehead. PAUL: And that's. The shovel slams into the dirt and scoops it up PAUL: Exactly. The shovel slams into the dirt again with more force than the last time. PAUL: What I'm doing. The shovel slams into the ground with power only to be stopped by a coffin. The sunlight is barely there. Darkness begins to take over. Paul clears the rest of the dirt atop the coffin. He slowly opens the lid. He hears A SOUND He looks around but there is not enough light to see very far PAUL: (To the Gravestone) Was that you? He stares at the words on the Gravestone. Beloved. Inspiration. Us all. He stands still. Staring. PAUL: I don't know what else to do. I need this. You don't. You're dead. It's not going to do you any good. He looks around. It's almost completely dark. PAUL: Your life can't be saved. I know someone's who can. Paul reaches into the coffin and pulls a diamond necklace from Lorraine's neck. He holds it in his hand. He looks up at the Gravestone. The words are sharp. Beloved. Inspiration. Us all. Paul is still. He looks down at Lorraine's body. PAUL: I'm sorry. He pulls himself out of the hole he dug and runs away. Into the DARKNESS.

These are great! I love seeing everyone's take on a single prompt.

INT. GRAVEYARD – NIGHT Nearly complete darkness. A small beam of light shines on the edge of a gravestone. A MAN (27) kneels in front of the gravestone, only the shape of his body can be seen. MAN: It's been three months. The man grabs a clump of dirt, raises up into the beam of light, and lets it slowly sift through his fingers. MAN: I never thought it'd reach this point. He taps on the gravestone. MAN: Physical pain. Emotional pain. Blended together to create pure carnage. The man's hand shakes. He rests it on the gravestone. Tries to compose himself. MAN: You asked for this. You wanted this! The man stand now. His face remains hidden in darkness. MAN: I'm not going to sit here and ask for apologies. I don't want apologies, I don't want sympathy. A small spotlight POPS on. It shines on the back of the man's head. Long black hair hangs to his shoulders. MAN: Getting buried alive is the worst feeling imaginable. Before that happens, I am going to make you suffer. The man spins around, reveals is face in the full spotlight. It's, the AMERICAN NIGHTMARE. Black paint streaks run under his eyes like thick streams of tears. He raises a metal shovel up in the air. MAN/AMERICAN NIGHTMARE: Tonight, we're stepping out of the ring. Into your nightmare. Hollywood Henry, welcome to your nightmare. An unimaginable force of violence. By the end of tonight, you'll be begging me to bury you alive. AMERICAN NIGHTMARE (CON'T): As you're experiencing the worst pain of your life... He DINGS the shovel against the gravestone. AMERICAN NIGHTMARE: Thousands of fans will be reveling in your destruction. He looks directly into the camera. Hundreds of lights go up to reveal an empty arena. An empty wrestling ring sits in the center with the graveyard area next to the entrance stage. The gravestone reads “Buried Alive 2014: American Nightmare vs. Hollywood Henry.” AMERICAN NIGHTMARE: Your worst nightmare is going to be a dream come true for me. The lights fade. It's complete darkness. A lone spotlight turns on and shines on the gravestone. American Nightmare is gone. ANNOUNCER (V.O.): Whoa! That's right! In less than twelve hours, order the live pay per view, LCW's “Revenge of the Fallen”, featuring the deadly Buried Alive Match with the LCW World Heavyweight Championship at stake! FADE OUT

Agreed!

-SCENE 2____________________________________ EXT. GRAVEYARD. DUSK A young well looking MAN, gravekeeper is walking around the gravestones, a lamp in his hand with a bell ringing around. His partly lighted with the light. He is humming a song… Play along with his lip syncing-"Ain't no rest for the wicked" MAN (SYNC) I was walking down the street When out the corner of my eye I saw a pretty little thing approaching me… As he points to a grave a row behind… Julianne herbot 2020 to 2050. A BELOVED NEMESIS. He keeps walking through the rows in full spirit. He looks back at her grave exasperated. MAN (SYNC) She said I never seen a manWho looked so all alone Oh could you use a little company……She looked at me and this is what she said. The music stops as he looks back in front of him and notices a gravestone. His smile drops all the spirit drained out of him. MAN Oh dear… He brings a serious expression and his eyes soon get glisterry. He kneels down in front of it as we see the back of the stone. He pats it tenderly. He shares a long while of gaze and then gets up. He brings on a wicked smile on gis face. The wind growls… its dark now. MAN(whispers) Thankyou Miss Scott! As he is about to walk. His mobile rings… he picks it up. The conversation is indistinct. He walks as he reaches the last grave on the line. He removes a cloth from the bag beside it and dusts it, puts the phone back in his pocket. He smiles at the grave. MAN May you RIP, greatest person on Earth. He takes the bag along with him. And is walking away slowly as he is soon running disappearing in the woods. A pamplete fly by the screen, it clashes on the grave as we follow it. It has his face, Miles Owen, WANTED on it. As the wind roars, it floats out with it. The grave- Miles Owen FOREVER WANTED _______________ Thank you for taking your time and reading this. Means alot=)

Nice!

The song continues after the end Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked... Note: miss Diana Scott maybe a loved one or just a stranger he owes

[A/N: Written in Fountain.io, formatting marks may appear.] > FADE IN. EXT. WOODLAND MEMORIAL PARK - SUMMER EVENING TWILIGHT MINA, 20-something woman, grips a thick quilt at arm's length and eye level in front of her, riding up and down behind it, her face and hair damp with sweat. Her head flops back from time to time, eyes shutting and opening. MINA You criticized me my entire childhood. Nothing I did was ever good enough. (pause) You refused to let me date in high school, telling me my studies were everything and men would come later. (pause) MINA rides up and down again several more times, the look on her face growing more intent and focused. MINA (angry) You withheld my tuition when you found out I had gone on a date my freshman year. I had to sell my car to pay for my sophomore year. (pause) And my mother's wedding ring to pay for my books. (pause) With a gasp, MINA slows, her face even tighter. MINA (angry whisper) You threw out all my personal effects when your P.I. told you I had another date my junior year. (pause) MINA begins to move up and down even faster, her mouth slack for a moment as her head flops, uncontrolled. MINA (moans, then intones with her rhythmic movement) You banned me from the house when I graduated, when I told you I loved MARK and wanted to marry him. (pause) MINA gasps again, this time with her evident climax. MINA drops down out of sight behind the quilt she'd been gripping. The quilt slips off a headstone, behind which lies MARK, a 20-something man, spread nude on the grass covering the grave beneath the headstone, upon which MINA had been astride and now lays beside, panting. MARK pulls at the quilt and covers now fatigued MINA and himself, both smiling with satisfaction. MINA (quietly, grinning) You told me you see me with MARK over your dead body, Daddy. (pause) I'm so glad I didn't let you down this time. MARK and MINA draw closer to each other beneath the quilt, kissing softly before drowsing off beneath DADDY's headstone as twilight fades. > FADE TO BLACK.

FADE IN: INT. WORKSHOP - DAY Cluttered work space. Dark and dingy. A stream of daylight floats in a small window near the ceiling. We are in a basement. A man bends over the table, chiseling. He wears dirty overalls and has goggles over his eyes. He stands tall, peels the goggles from his face, wipes his brow. He is MILES (60s). Miles surveys his work. He nods. Job well done. EXT. CEMETARY - DAY A small private graveyard. People lurk in the distance. Miles rolls a cart down a row of graves. The cart’s contents are covered with a tarp. He reaches his destination. PEG and DON (60s) are waiting. Peg sees Miles approach and nudges Don. PEG (to Don) Here he is. Don turns to face Miles. PEG (CONT’D) Good morning, Miles. Miles stops his cart and offers his hand to Peg. They shake. MILES Glad you could come. He extends his hand to Don, who makes a point of ignoring it. DON So, I assume this is it? MILES It is. DON Well? Let’s see it then. Miles pulls the tarp from the cart, exposing a headstone. Peg is moved by his work. PEG (gasps) Beautiful. Just beautiful. (to Miles) You’ve done a lovely job. Hasn’t he Don? Hasn’t he just done a lovely job? Don dodges her question and reaches into his pocket. He produces a wad of cash which he shoves into Miles’ hand. DON (to Peg) Let’s go. He takes her arm and pulls her from the graveside, leaving Miles alone with his work. He moves the cash to his pocket and nudges the cart closer to the grave. MILES You know, Mom, no matter how much I apologize, he still blames me. He always will. Miles pushes the stone into position. He brushes the dirt from his hands. Looking at the stone, his eyes fill with tears. MILES (CONT’D) One of us has to be responsible, I guess. Might as well be me. He wipes his eyes. The light from the sun SHINES on the word “MOM” on the stone. Miles takes a rag from his pocket and wipes the stone. Standing, Miles grabs hold of his cart and heads home. THE END FADE OUT.

I know, right! So amazing....

Scene One Ext. – Cemetery - Night A thick fog coats soggy grass and tombstones in a desolate cemetery. Crickets and frogs fight to be the loudest animals until an owl perched high in a lone oak in the middle of the graveyard trumps all with his call. In the back corner of the graveyard Herbert Ford is overlooking a freshly dug grave. Herbert Ford: Melvin Pointer – 1845-1899. What do we know about Mr. Pointer right now? Herbert pulls a small leather bound book out of badly torn coat and places a monocle on his eye socket. The monocle slips deep into his skull. He starts to flip through a small notebook with countless pages somehow squeezed into the tiny cover annoyed with the monocle. Herbert Ford: For pete’s sake. Don’t need it anyhow. So. Let’s see. Pointer, Pointer. Ah here, Mr. Melvin Pointer. I think this is Mr. Pointer. Herbert slides over a foot or two into a strip of moonlight. The tattered books pages are in stark contrast to the fresh dark ink on the page. Herbert Ford: Better. Melvin Pointer. Father of three, devoted husband. Banker. Oh Melvin, this might be a tough one for everyone to accept. Behind Herbert the sound of something sliding through the grass suddenly stops. A timid voice from Niles James breaks the silence. Niles James: Mr. Ford. Excuse me. Herbert turns to see a diminutive young man with a large hole blasted right in the middle of his torso, shredding his Union uniform. Herbert Ford: Niles my boy. How are you doing tonight? Glad to see you out and about. Niles James: Still a bit confused but I’m really happy to be here. I just wanted to thank you and the others. I mean, I didn’t really know what to expect, I mean I didn’t know I was even… Herbert Ford: No need to explain. It’s our pleasure. Plans tonight? Niles James: I think I might head over--- Before he can finish, an obnoxious and shrill voice cuts his next words off. Ward Baker appears out of nowhere trailing after his harsh tones that always precede him. A flowing long beard hangs nearly down to the middle of his stained suit coat. Ward Baker: Herbert Ford! You best not be thinking about letting ‘ol Melvin up here with us. That penny pincher did so many people wrong. Herbert turns back to the grave with his back to Ward. Herbert Ford: Good evening Ward. So nice to hear your opinion - yet again. Ward Baker: Never liked him. Always holding something over us like he was better and more important than the rest of us. Ward looks over to Niles. Ward: Evening soldier. Sorry about the hole in your gut. Herbert Ford: Well you may not like him Ward but we have a process here and it’s not just up to me. The rest of the council has to weigh in on this decision. So until they get here you can scream and yell all you want but it won’t matter a lick to me. Ward Baker: Oh I’ll let them know. We don’t need him here. I won’t stand for it. Herbert turns abruptly to Ward. Herbert Ford: Well maybe we should just send you back down. How about that? Ward’s tiny slit eyes widen. Ward Baker: You can’t do that! No one goes back. Ever. A sly smile appears on Herbert’s gray face. Herbert Ford: Well Ward, we just got word that we might need to start cutting back. Seems we’ve been bringing up a few too many people lately.

Great work, everyone. Some of you have already written 2 scenes. Only 8 more to go to qualify for one free Core class. Beyond that, of course, I hope you feel like you are working your writing chops and benefiting from the process. Also from reading the scenes of other writers, how they approached the same scene premise in a different way. Onward!

INT. FUNERAL DIRECTORS - DAY TERRENCE: This really isn’t what people do on a Tuesday morning Rick. Let’s get back to the home before someone notices that we’ve been gone for well over thirty minutes over our deadline. RICK: I’m not having some jumped up mudhole of a care home decide on the way my corpse should look when I go. I dress myself and I’m 87. If some joker thinks they are going to get to put on some cheap suit when I’m dead then they’ve got another thing coming. They’ll probably rummage through my stuff, take the best of it all and leave me to die wearing that tie Lizzy got me at Christmas. She’s nice and all but Christ knows what it’s made of. It’s practically falling apart. The pattern of all of the spectacles have become so fuzzy that they are look like little asses. TERRENCE: Glasses to asses. RICK: Damn right. Little glasses to fuzzy asses. TERRENCE: Asses aside, why are we standing here? RICK: Think about it Rick. If I ain’t going to wear a cheap tie underground, I ain’t gonna want a shoddy headstone above it am I? ASSISTANT approaches. Assistant – Good afternoon sirs. May I help? TERRENCE: Afternoon. My friend here is looking for a headstone. He needs to do a little research for his… piece of mind. ASSISTANT: I’m sorry for your loss sirs. Were you close to the deceased? TERRENCE I am very close to him as it stands. He’s closer. RICK: Good looking guy. Brilliant smile and the envy of the care home if you ask me. You know the type. His cooking at the care home made the women’s knees tremble. At least the ones whose knees didn’t tremble anyway through arthritis. You couldn’t tell with the others. Poor girls. Rick expects to get a reaction from the assistant. Obviously they haven't fully understood his comment so he changes the topic by pointing to a simple black marble headstone. Rick (CONT’D): How much is this one? ASSISTANT: That is 2500 dollars sir. RICK: Son, you must get extra business telling people these prices when they drop dead hearing them. Hey Terry. Look at that one. Rick points to one with Jesus standing in front of large, dark grey gates. It appears to symbolize Jesus standing at the gates of heaven. ASSISTANT: This is made of the finest polished blue granite sir. It starts from the reasonable price of 3900 dollars. For an additional cost, you can have a granite book placed at the foot of the grave for a message or inscription. TERRENCE: You could have something peaceful and serene on there, like ‘please tell me I wasn’t buried with a tie of fuzzy asses’. RICK: A man has to pay that much to have a pair of what look like prison gates above my head? And what is with the look on this fella’s face? Looks like he just got out the slammer himself. ASSISTANT: It symbolizes serenity and the afterlife. That is Jesus standing there sir and I would ask you not to blaspheme in such a way. We are a reputable organisation and dedicate ourselves to the consideration of the deceased, whatever their beliefs. I would ask that you extend me the courtesy of doing the same. Rick looks at Terrence with a smirk to signal that he’s had his fun and the joke’s over. RICK: I’m sorry guy. I wasn’t out to offend. At my age you got to take the good with the good and ignore the bad. When you are this close to the end you just hope that the finishing tape don’t snap when you get there and it bounces you back to give you a few more years instead. Rick shakes the assistant’s hand firmly to show he is being sincere. Rick (CONT’D): Thanks for all of your help. Terence looks outside to see the care home nurse GRETA directly outside of the funeral director’s establishment. She is looking up and down the road, puzzled and exasperated. As she turns, she sees the two men through the window. From the disappointed look on her face, she has obviously found who she was looking for. TERRENCE: Look alive Rick. She’s found us. Rick sighs and turns to the granite headstone with the gates. He bends down slowly and as far as he can and looks directly at the small statue of Jesus and starts talking to it. RICK: Prison gates or not fella, let me know when your ready for me. I’d take prison or whatever you’re offering instead of Greta out there. Rick gives a little salute to the statue, stands up again and hears Greta enter the building behind him. In an attempt to avoid confrontation, both men walk out of the open door without making eye contact with Greta. She however, looks to the assistant and nods politely to confirm that she is taking responsibility for the men.

"SCENE 2” EXT. A LONDON CEMETARY - DAY A young African woman is visiting her mother’s grave on the day before leaving for college in the States Seeing how her mother struggled during her long battle with cancer, provided Makenna the impetus she needed to pursue medical school after she graduates from one of the top schools on the East Coast. MAKENNA Mom it’s me. Baby girl. I know that I haven’t visited for awhile, but I have been busy getting things together for my big trip tomorrow. Yes. That trip. The one which will take my dreams and make them into reality. (pauses) I must admit I’m nervous. I wonder how the kids will accept me. I know that I’m one of very few Blacks at the school and that makes me nervous. Not nervous that I’m not good enough in the academic sense, but nervous as to how I’ll fit in with them socially. I of course wanted to live on campus, but Dad insisted that I live off campus, citing dorm life provides too many distractions. Speaking of Dad, lately I’ve noticed Maggie spending a lot of time at the house. I know this sounds crazy, but I think he’s grown quite fond of her. I know that Dad is going to date one day, but must it be Maggie? You know I love Maggie, but I also think her moving in on Dad is tacky. You were her best friend. MAGGIE And she always will be. Maggie, the friend in question walks up to the grave slowly with flowers in her hand. Makenna looks away shocked and embarrassed while Maggie places the flowers on the grave. MAKENNA Were you eavesdropping the whole time? MAGGIE No. I just caught the tail end of what you were saying. MAKENNA So is it true? Are you trying to move in on my father? MAGGIE That’s crude Makenna. No. I am not trying to “move in” on your father. He and I are friends and nothing more. MAKENNA You aren’t attracted to him? MAGGIE Let’s not do this Makenna. Not here. MAKENNA Fine. MAGGIE Are you headed home after this? MAKENNA Yes. Dad is making my favorite dinner tonight. MAGGIE Barbeque chicken and cole slaw? MAKENNA Yeah. MAGGIE Your mom loved making that for you. MAKENNA Nothing quite comes close to her cooking. MAGGIE Well I’m sure your Dad has made quite the effort. MAKENNA I need to get going. MAGGIE You are going to do so well at that university Makenna. You have nothing to worry about. MAKENNA There’s always something to worry about. THE END

Ext. Graveyard - Day A beautiful, pristine sight of rolling green grass hills and a cloudless, sunny sky. Birds chirp in the background. Despite the distant view of the city skyline, this place feels miles away from the hustle and bustle of society. This is absolute serenity. Of course, the only thing to possibly detract from this gorgeous landscape is the presence of gravestones, tons of them, all of different sizes and shapes. Some are small and nondescript, while others are enormous, gothic structures straight out of a scary movie. A morbid twist on this otherwise peaceful scene. RYAN, an early-thirties yuppie in formal business attire, paces in circles in front of a row of graves, angrily talking to himself. Ryan: "Don't forget to upsell the client!" How about I upsell my fucking...ughhh! "why are these projects taking so long, Ryan?" Gee wiz, I don't know, Gerry, maybe if you weren't such a miserly old fuck and didn't lay off half of the company, then I wouldn't have to waste my time on such menial BULLSHIT! The word bullshit rings through the empty graveyard, causing a flock of birds to scurry. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he stops in front of one of the gravestones, which is decked out in flowers and pictures. Ryan: (reading gravestone) Maria Diaz-esss-ati. Hmm. "1931-2008". He examines the grave and it's decorations once more. Ryan: It's been six years, get over it. He takes a look at one of the pictures of Maria when she was in her twenties. Ryan: Damn, Maria. You were one fine senorita. He puts the picture back on the gravestone. Ryan: Let me ask you something, Maria. What would you do if you were in my shoes? You work your ass off from 8-5, just listening to stupid bullshit from morons from all walks of life, then when you get home, you still have work to do, to the point where you are so completely limited in terms of having a social life that even getting a simple date is an act of God. And by the off chance that you're even able to make time to have sex, let alone rub one out, you can't even muster up enough energy to even sustain an erection! What's that? I need to relax? Fuck you, Maria, don't tell me what to do. Sensing he's not alone, Ryan abruptly stops and turns behind him. Standing there is a Mexican family holding flowers, looking incredibly insulted. Ryan's heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

SCENE TWO EXT. ROTHSTEIN AND SON - DAY Wan morning light illuminates frost-rimed monuments in various stages of completion, casting long shadows across the snowy courtyard. SHOSHANNA ROTHSTEIN (29), in apron and safety glasses, works with a hammer and chisel on a block of blue granite. SHOSHANNA Oh, yes. Here we go. I know you're in there... She brushes rock chips and dust away from the top which is taking on a serpentine shape. SHOSHANNA The first time I met Mrs. Bronfman, it was at Moshe's Bar Mitzvah. It told her that her eyes were the same colour as Norwegian Blue Pearl Granite. Papa made me apologize. But she said I was right... I have never seen eyes like that in all my life. She pauses to blow warm air on her cold hands. SHOSHANNA Mrs. Bronfman could see inside of things. She told me that was how she painted: she looked for the picture behind the canvas. Just like the monument is already inside the stone. A rock shard grazes her cheek. Shoshanna brushes it off and continues. SHOSHANNA When Papa wanted to send me away to art school, Mrs. Bronfman was the one who stood up for me. "Let her work in the business," she said. "Why can't she make art right here with you? Art is art is art." Shoshanna nods in agreement. She trades the large chisel for a smaller one. SHOSHANNA When Mr. Bronfman passed, she was horrified when by the gravestones with laser-cut portraits. "Vanity," she said. She picked a simple engraving in Prairie Green, to match Mr. Bronfman's eyes. Papa made it by hand himself. When she saw it, all she said was "Craftsmanship". That was enough. SHOSHANNA pours herself coffee from a thermos and clasps her hands around the cup as she steps back to survey her work: a delicate garland of flowers along the left side. She resumes her work. SHOSHANNA Moshe runs the business now. Our books have never looked better. And now we use the laser for most jobs... But not for Mrs. Bronfman. She rubs her frozen hands together. SHOSHANNA You will be a beautiful Blue Pearl monument, the same color as her eyes. People will see you and remember the woman who could see inside of things. And Mrs. Bronfman will know that we didn't use the laser. Shoshanna brushes the dust away and examines the stone, now with matching flowers on the right. Below the a Star of David, the text reads: "Rachel Bronfman, 1932-2014, Beloved And Forever Mother, Wife and Sister". SHOSHANNA I think Mrs. Bronfman would approve. She pats the marble. MOSHE ROTHSTEIN SR (70s, formidable) walks up behind Shoshanna, gnarled hand clutching a walking stick. Bright eyes that match Shoshanna's peer out from under an Astrakhan hat and scrutinize the monument. Shoshanna hold her breath. MOSHE SR "Craftsmanship". She lends her father her arm and they walk together into the office.

Scene 2 EXT. CEMETARY-DAY DETECTIVE MILLER walks slowly and deliberately through rows of GRAVESTONES, homing in on one in particular. The BRILLIANT SUNLIGHT contrasts with his PALLID, HAGGARD FACE. This guy is running on fumes. He takes a turn into another row and turns his head slightly, almost slows down, then decides against it. He knows where he wants to go. He finds the gravestone he was looking for. He sees the carefully inscribed name and his eyes run over the epitaph: HERE AND THEN GONE. YOU LIT THIS WORLD FOR A MOMENT. YOU STILL SHINE IN OUR EYES. He lowers his eyes and stands silent for a moment. He opens them and stares intently at the gravestone. MILLER: I’ve got nothing. He runs a hand roughly across his stubbly cheek and through his greasy hair. MILLER: (cont’d) I thought I understood you. Thought I had you figured out. His right fist CLENCHES AND UNCLENCHES reflexively. MILLER: (cont’d) I told myself, if I had just spent a little more time getting to know you, this could have been avoided. Just one more pass at the photos, at the reports. I told myself, he’s practically screaming for attention. I just have to spot the hands waving in the crowd. He turns away from the gravestone, gazing down the rows of nearly identical slabs. MILLER: (cont’d) They say I’m pretty good at this. I believed them. I pay attention. I can see what people want me to see. His eyes close for a moment, and then he forces them wide open again, blinking rapidly several times. MILLER: (cont’d) What did you want me to see? I’m tired, I can’t think straight. I looked everywhere. I tried to play your little game. He starts shuffling off, almost without realizing it, in a random direction, the grave he came to see left behind. MILLER: (cont’d) How could this possibly be what you want? I’m clueless. I got nothing. Nada. Zilch. He begins to pick up the pace, his VOICE RISING. MILLER: (cont’d) You put too much work into this! It was too…clean! You were never careless. I know you. (With disgust) I know your…type. This is your stage. You’ve been playing to sold-out crowds on the nightly news. Crying mothers and pictures of their baby boys. You’re trying to say something! What! What! He suddenly realizes he’s been walking away. He looks back to the grave he came for and turns his head in shame. His shoulders slump. He sighs. He begins to walk back… …And stops. He recognizes the grave that had almost caught his eye. The name. He looks closer, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. No, it’s no mistake. He starts walking down and up the rows of gravestones, looking left and right. In the third row he stops again and squints. His breath catches in his throat. He walks even faster, almost running. In the fifth row he stops again. His eyes begin to burn with a FIERCE GLEAM. MILLER: (whispers) How…how could I have missed this…How could you have done… He keeps walking at a ferocious pace, looking at the gravestones. He stops again. And again. And again. Nine gravestones. Nine little boys. His hands tremble. His eyes widen with sudden clarity. MILLER: I’ve got you, you son of a bitch.

SCENE 3 EXT. FERNCLIFFE CEMETERY - DAY GIRL I’d be embarrassed if anyone I knew saw me so that's why I'm here. Seriously, I’m not sure this is the right place to talk to you but it’s time. So much has happened since you left but some things sadly remain the same but there are signs of change everywhere. Of course, I miss you being around, that goes without saying. Watching you was always so funny. It seems only right that I’m upset when I think of what could have been if you were still here. That portentous photograph. Only you would know, but I felt, it was the moment you were most content that you were snatched away. I can’t really remember you leaving the first time round. I’m sorry about that but hey, when I did start to listen to you, I couldn’t stop. Your love, sardony, wit, depth and originality followed me around. So did the ache when I realised you had gone. Your true face is wrapped in London’s fog but they still plaster your image everywhere. All that remains are feelings. What you said still matters to me because you meant what you said. You didn’t try to make me share your exact feelings but the meaning behind your words mean as much to me as they did you. You made so many people feel this way. Still do. You made it cool for me to care. ‘Imagine’. You never said anything lightly except when it was banter. You’re still more popular than Jesus, who as you said in your own inimitable way, ‘was alright’ but for the hangers on. You said people could make a difference. Everyone of us has the power to have the God we crave. Maybe, people can be bigger than the God we are given or told about if we create the kind of God we want. You gifted me the feeling that people and our world will always matter. I believed you. Always will. I never got to say thank you but you must have some kind of messaging system by now. Since you left, you’ll be pleased to hear there have been others but you will always be my first. One last thing before I go. Thought you might like to know it’s Sunday. I’d sing Watching the Wheels but you know I can’t sing, play drums or guitar. You can’t have everything!

My 3rd entry so far EXT CEMETERY DAY A friendly, sunny afternoon, blooming plants, large trees casting playful shadows over the well kept graves. We see a woman and a teenage girl walking onto the yard. Both strikingly blond. Mother and daughter. ELSE (50) is Beautiful in her practical but elegant clothes. And MARTE(15) will be some day but now looks awkward. Almost the same height as her mother but still like a stretched out child. A difficult age. ELSE: Ok, you wait here now. MARTE: You should get over this someday. ELSE: I just want to be sure. MARTE: Ok, make it quick and get to the point, the shops are closing in half an hour. Else strokes Marte’s hair. They smile. ELSE: It will just take a moment. Else walks away and Marte sits down on an elaborate family grave consisting of several angels, rusty chains, and an actual bench. She looks at her mother. Standing by a grave. We see Else waving ‘hello’ to the stone and touching it lightly. Then she starts talking, still far away. We cannot hear what she says. CUT TO: The grave, a simple grey marble stone with ‘Bas Veenstra 1959- 2007’ engraved in it. A variety of blooming plants growing on the grave. ELSE (whispers): Forgive me, I just don’t want her to hate me. CUT TO: Marte sitting, fidgeting with her feet in the gravel. Else’s gestures in the distance becoming more expressive. She’s arguing. Pacing up and down in front of the grave. Clearly trying to make a point. Putting her hands in her waist, waving her finger and sofort. Marte sits up straight trying to hear what her mom is saying. We can barely make out... ELSE:... but isn’t that just being conservative?!’.... I Think I disagree! … Eventually she falls silent. Nods. She kisses her hand and strokes the stone once more, then turns around and walks toward Marte. Marte gets up to meet her mother halfway. MARTE: And? Was it oke? We still have 15 minutes left to go and buy them. ELSE: I’m sorry darling.. I’m afraid it’s going to be next year. He doesn’t think you’re ready. MARTE: (angry with tears in her eyes) Why? ELSE: (putting her arm around Marte’s shoulder) You know what he’s like, I’ll talk him into it someday. Let’s go.

Great fun this One! I loved Rick's character and somehow expected a tragic edge to the story. But I didn't mind it not coming in the end.

SCENE 2 (2nd ENTRY) EXT. SCEPTER STREET CEMETERY - NIGHT Lone wind whistles and the shuffling of leaves provide nature's soundtrack. PAUL, bundles in a worn winter coat, hugs his knees to his chest. He rocks back and forth to ward the unshakable chill. LEAVES CRUNCH in rhythm - someone's coming. Paul stops rocking, sits still as a stone. He peeks out from behind the tree, frightened. GRAHAM approaches, coughing, in a much warmer wool coat. He carries a small backpack. Paul's brow furrows, fear dissolved. He didn't expect his stepfather. Graham stops at a headstone, surveys his surroundings. He pretends to miss seeing a not-so-stealth Paul peering at him mere feet away. GRAHAM: Been a while, Conley. You look good. Paul slumps into the tree, careful to keep quiet but annoyed. GRAHAM (CONT.): I know you weren't my biggest fan, so I'll keep it brief. Respect your time. A beat as he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. GRAHAM (CONT.): It's hard down here without you. The admission causes Paul's jaw to drop. He didn't expect this. GRAHAM (CONT.): I'm living your old life. You know it, and I hate admitting it. But it's been three years. Lynn's been lonely. She's a beautiful woman - but you know that, too. I wanna marry her, asked everyone but you. So, I'm sorry for that. I'm here, man to man, to make this right. He reaches inside his backpack, pulls out a small pizza box and a thermos. Sets them on the ground before the headstone. GRAHAM (CONT.): I heard you liked Geno's - extra sausage, extra cheese, right? And I'd have brought a cold one, but thought, 'Not today, right?' So, when you're finished, got some hot chocolate for you. Paul's almost out of hiding now, tempted by his favorites. Graham still keeps his back to the boy. GRAHAM (CONT.): But, before you take this, Con, I gotta ask. . . if you have any pull with, you know, the angels up there, The Big Guy. . . would you ask him to send Paul back? Paul freezes again, taken aback by the request. GRAHAM (CONT.): Please, man, I'm begging. Not too proud for it, either. His mother's heartbroken, we all miss him. It's just not Christmas without him. Would you think about it? If you don't want the food from a schmuck like me and he comes by, give it to him. I'm not trying to take your place on everything I love, I just. . . I want a family, too. Fresh tears well up in Paul's eyes. He's too stubborn to wipe them as he listens. Grabs his comic book closer. Too conflicted to move. GRAHAM: All right, man. You take it easy. Please think about it. Merry Christmas, Con. Graham takes a look around again, stopping just shy of Paul's location. He ambles back towards his car with the ball in Paul's court.

Scene 2: EXT: Grass Valley Cemetery. It’s still. No sound or elements are heard or seen. We close in on ERIK HAMELS, 23, hair a little below his ears, growing the start of a beard. Erik brushes leaves off of a stone a marker. MARKER: PEGGY HAMELS – NEARER TO HER MAKER 1930-2013 Erik: Hi Gams. How’s it goin? Erik waits, almost like he’s hearing a response. Erik (cont): I think you know why I’m back here. I figured that since I missed you, passing, I thought I’d be here for grandpa. Least I could do. I’m doing fine, Ashley and the kids are back in Chicago. Micah misses you, and he talks about the cookies, the new one, Ella, well she’s one of you, a Hamel woman, 8 months going on 30. He waits. Erik: I miss you too. Just wanted to let you know. All I hear about you is that you’re safe, and somebody needs to clean up the leaves and cut the grass more often. Pause. Erik: Gam, I know he’s going to go, so if you can help the process any, as bad as this sounds, can you bring him in? He’s fighting hard and getting weaker. He’s not eating or drinking. Dad keeps calling him an “old lion,” and really, he’s just burning himself out, looking for reasons to keep fighting. Pause Eric: You know what he told me? He wants to last long enough so that the funeral director has to cut his hair, doesn’t want to go out “looking like a hippie. “ Then he told me to come here and see you, and see the marker. He told me he’d see the next reason why he’d hold out. I don’t get it. Pause. Erik takes a closer look at the marker. Erik: Gam, I know you wouldn’t approve of this, but, son of a bitch. Erik starts laughing, its light. We See the other half of the marker. LEONARD HAMELS UNITED WITH HIS LOVES 1928- 200 The marker is unfinished. Erik: Probably drove him up the walls. Someone thinking they knew he’d only last that long. The laugh keeps going then they’re tears. A good 60/40 ratio of sadness and happiness. Erik: Ok Gams, well, like I asked, bring him home, and tell him we love him. END

SCENE 2: EXT. CEMETERY - DAY MARK (30s), all scruff and a broken spirit SWIGS from a big brown bagged beer. He paces in front of a HEADSTONE. MARK: And then she set all my clothes on fire. (laughs) So I’ve had a bit of a day. Mark drinks. MARK: You know, relationships are fucked. His CELLPHONE BEEPS. He pulls it out. MARK: Sorry, Facebook. (thinks) Is it rude to check this right now? I mean you’ve got plenty of time. You're not going anywhere. Mark squats down and leans to the Headstone so it can “see” his screen as he scrolls through his Facebook wall. MARK: Dave and Lisa’s kids got fat. And it’s not genetic. They’re just horrible parents. (beat) Mark: Ben went back to Reno and pretends “it was the plan all along.” It’s like, just admit you fucked up and you’re unhappy dude. Come on. (beat) Mark: Your mom defriended me after. I mean I miss her rants on how Obamacare is part of the gay agenda to removed the Jews from Israel, but what I’ll really miss are the pictures of her shitty floral designs. MARK: Your dad... (laughs) He didn’t say anything to me for a long time. Not even a word at the funeral. But then one day he called me and we talked for like an hour. I don’t even talk to my own dad for an hour! Mark takes another drink. MARK: It was good. He’s living life a bit freer now, which I think your mom hates, which I think he loves. Mark paces back in front of the Headstone. MARK: You’re missing a lot of shit down here. And I do mean shit. (reading from Facebook) Mark: Tori is doing a webseries about universes that take place within the breadth and confines of farts. I mean what the fuck? Mark takes a deep breath. He puts his phone back in his pocket. MARK: My posts have been pretty sparse. I’m mostly just living in other people’s drama and hating them for it. I try not to remember when I had a real life. I’m afraid I might remember how to be and forget you. Mark looks around the cemetery. Mark: But I mean this is really nice place to be. These trees are great. And the lawn is like, so green and perfect. Mark drinks. Mark: It’s nice to pretend you’re here. I mean if I believe enough it’s true, right? Well. I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to make you be here just because I need you to be. You went through this shit storm we call life and made it to the finish line. I’m not going to ask you to look back. Keep moving forward. That’s the best any of us can ever do. Mark finishes the can. Mark: Eh. I gotta get some new clothes.

EXT. LEAFY CEMETERY - DAY SCENE TWO Judith, 30, heartbroken and choked up, creaks open a mouldy gate to reach MAISIE, 22, a hardened TV presenter. MAISIE: I'm very sorry, this is where the search has led. I'll leave you two alone, in peace. A skeleton TV CREW's CAMERA trains on Judith, she trembles. Maisie directs her to a badly kept plot, overgrown moss obscures the name. Judith claws a worn handkerchief with the initials, O.N. JUDITH: I tried to find you, I really did. I'd give anything to see you for real. I wanted you to meet this little one. Judith pats her stomach. Maisie mouths "I didn't know". SOUNDMAN, 40, gives thumbs up to the CAMERAMAN, 50, who nods, "got the shot". JUDITH: I wish I just had the chance to touch you, to hold you, to look into your eyes, even once. Maisie melts in empathy, gets a bit wobbly lipped. Cameraman glowers at Maisie. CAMERAMAN: This is going to be a lame Christmas special. Five family searches and reunions -- with dead ends. Maisie frowns at him. Soundman shushes. CAMERAMAN: I'm going to see if I can get a more emotional angle. Damn, the light's fading. Cameraman shoulders his tripod, as light leaches out of the sky. CAMERAMAN: Ugh, what's that smell? Lichen singes off the edges of the gravestone. A glowing translucency develops on its surface, as it radiates heat. In silhouette, a SHADOW FORM appears inside the tombstone. Encased, it presses its fingers and thumbs through the glowing, pliable stone. It pushes outwards, stretches, reaches towards Judith. Moss tumbles, as smoke rises from the inscription. The stone restrains the mould of the SHADOW FORM as it emerges, it gains ground towards Judith, leans closer and closer. JUDITH: Mum, is that you? Judith outstretches her hands towards the trapped figure, touches her fingertips to the seeking fingers of the stone formation. A vacuum of noise sucks sound out of the air. Total and complete darkness. Maisie fumbles for the others in the gloom. Light refills the sky, a sunny day returns, birds chirp. A loud piercing SCRATCHING STATIC noise deafens Soundman, he whips off his headphones. SOUNDMAN: Did you catch it on camera? Cameraman, slack jawed, shakes his head, no. MAISIE: Screw the camera. Where is she?

@IHEATHEN SCENE 2. EXT. CEMETARY - DAY An OLD MAN stands alone, silent... glaring at an old, ignored gravesite. The decrepit tombstone reads "WILLIAM HEATH - Born DEC 1 1900, Died DEC 31 1955" OLD MAN: Finally found you... The old man clocks the date on the stone. OLD MAN: Went out with a bang did you? He waits, as if for a response. Then... OLD MAN: What was your resolution gonna be that year, pop?... "Maybe this will be the year I tell my kid she's got a brother?"...Was that it? The old man feebly kicks more dirt onto the tombstone. OLD MAN: Maybe not, right? Thanks for nothing. He snorks up a wet gob of phlegm, spits it on the stone where it lands and trickles down over the name. He watches it roll down for a minute, then turns, shuffles away.

Scene 6 – someone talking to a gravestone EXT. JAKE’S HOUSE – BACK YARD – NIGHT The moon hides beyond the clouds. A shadowy figure kneels beside freshly turned earth. It’s JAKE – 48, heartbroken. He stares intently at round stone recently pilfered from his wife’s garden. JAKE: I couldn’t really say anything before, with the others here. You know? But I’m gonna miss you. Even with all the messes over the last couple of months. I know it wasn’t your fault. Cancer’s a bitch. We were watching TV tonight and it wasn’t the same. I kept throwing popcorn in your corner. I haven’t cleaned it up yet. Behind him, a figure crosses between the kitchen light and window in the house. JAKE: I couldn’t sleep. It’s too quiet without you up there. Still smells like you. I thought you might be in with the kids but then I was awake enough to remember. Chad was really upset. You were his best friend, I think. The sliding door opens and the figure slips from the house to the deck, watching him. JAKE: I bet the squirrels are going to come back now. Nobody else could chase them away like you. The moon breaks free, illuminating the figure, it’s ELLIE – 37, business partner and wife of 3 years, in her sweats. She creeps toward him. Jake is quiet, head bowed. She reaches out to him. JAKE: Say hello to Tina for me. Tell her I miss her. Ellie stops, frozen, all compassion drained. Tina.

Sc. 1 EXT. GRAVEYARD – DAY Dark clouds hang heavily in the grey sky. A crow CAWING. An old man in a worn parka trudges along a row of gravestones. He carries a folding stool and a tattered plastic bag. This is BARRY (74). He stops at a gravestone, leans the folding stool carefully to the side of the stone, lays the bag down and, with a sigh, straightens himself. BARRY (clearing his throat): Right … Uh, hello - how are you … right. I … I know I should have come earlier, before I mean, but … it’s difficult Marge, and you know me … I’m not very good with words so I -- He fumbles around in the deep pockets of the parka. Pulls out a frayed locomotive data book, a ragged notebook. A crumpled pack of hard candy – and finally a folded piece of paper. BARRY (Cont’d): I wrote them down. So let’s see – He fumbles around in the pockets again. This time for a pair of glasses. He puts them on his nose. Moves the paper for focus and takes a deep breath -- CRACK -- thunder heralds a downpour. Barry pulls his hood up. Looks at the paper -- rain dissolving the ink. He tries to wipe of the eater, makes it worse. When the rain stops, his note is a soggy mess. He pulls the soaked hoodie off. Sniffles. Pulls out a handkerchief from the deep pockets. Blows his nose. BARRY: Right … well, that wasn’t supposed to happen … was it … none of this was supposed to happen -- He wells up. His face contorting as he fights to holdback the tears. Then a shudder. And another, before his body bursts into a flurry of shudders as he cries with out a sound. A solitary ray of light breaks through the heavy clouds. Barry takes a deep breath. Then another. It calms him. BARRY: Deep breaths Marge, just like you always said. He looks down. At his hands. At his boots. BARRY: Right … time for tea. He opens the stool. Sits down. Pulls out a tea flask from the bag and a container. The tea steams as he pours it into the cup. He takes out a biscuit from the container. Dips it into the steaming cup, bites of a chunk. Chews. Slurps the tea. Chews. A crow CAWS. BARRY: Store biscuits … I ate the last batch you made a long time ago … Slurps some tea. BARRY: And my tea is never as good as yours … it never was, was it? He smiles. Takes another sip. BARRY: Oh Margie … Right, so, I have got some new cops. Have plenty of time for that now … He pulls out the tattered notebook, licks his thumb before leafing through the pages. The clouds relent as the sun fights it’s way through. BARRY: Right … A class 12, 15 22 4. A real beauty. Never thought I’d get to see one … Then there were two D36 65 dash 7’s … The sky is almost clear. And the sun is shining. Barry takes his parka off. Then continues reading from his notebook.

SCENE 2 EXT. CORN FIELD – DAY Withered and broken corn stalks, stretching to the horizon, rattle in the howling wind, as an unnatural BLACK CLOUD rolls toward the field, bearing down on the noon day sun. Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the field, TRAVIS (8 years old, skin n’ bones, dust covered overalls) gently pats a small pile of loose soil in front of him, the wind flowing past his body picking away at his work. He pulls down a small FACE MASK from his mouth, letting it dangle around his neck. Travis plunks a SMALL CROSS, fashioned from dried out corn stalk, into the pile of dirt. TRAVIS: Can’t say I know too many prayers, but I’ll do my best, even though Pa says you’s a sonofabitch. PA: (O.S.) You git your ass into this car, boy! Roller’s just bout on our hides and you already- TRAVIS: I’m prayin’, Pa! I’m prayin’! A few yards behind Travis sits a small battered farm house, a sign nailed to the door reading FORCED SALE. A hard-edged man wearing faded overalls, PA (30s), pulls bundles of clothing from a broken-down jalopy, passing them to an older boy who’s loading them into a newer FORD MODEL-T. Both men are wearing face masks. TRAVIS: Pa’s gettin’ pissed, so I gotta hurry this up. Have a nice time in heaven. We coulda been good friends, I reckon. We used to have a dog when I was real little, but- Travis is YANKED into the air and deposited on his feet with a THUD. PA: In the car. Now! Travis pulls up his face mask and runs to the car. Pa looks down at the small pile of dirt and SPITS. He bends down, grabbing a LARGE SHOVEL lying in the dirt next to the pile. Pa yells something unintelligible to the older boy who starts up the Model-T. As Pa clamors into the car, the wind picks up, eating away at the PILE OF DIRT. As the car pulls away, turning onto a long dirt road away from the farm, the pile gets smaller and smaller until the outline of a FINGER emerges. That finger turns into FINGERS, which turn into a CLENCHED FIST, the sleeve of a black suit barely visible in the dirt. The car disappears in the distance as the wind howls, the black cloud closer. A piece of PAPER, clenched in the dead man’s hand, starts flapping as it’s exposed to the wind, the only word visible, EVICTION, boldly proclaimed in red.

Scene 8 (Day 2) Playing catch up Speaking to gravestone EXT. SMALL TOWN ON MEXICAN BORDER-DAY The sun bakes the earth. Red sand covers everything. A shack type house stands in the middle of nowhere. Metal roof, desert treasure (hubcaps, glass bottles, etc.) hanging everywhere. Chickens and roosters strut around. A Latina woman stands in the doorway, watching. Her full length multicolored skirt blows in the breeze. She fans herself with a piece of cardboard and puffs on a handmade cigarillo. A man stands before a makeshift gravesite across the yard. Dust coats the wooden tombstone. A single cross is carved into the wood. The freshly dug earth has settled a bit. This grave has been here a while. This is RONALDO, 30's, unshaven, hardened by life. His eyes are closed, his lips move silently. After a minute he makes the sign of the cross and kisses his fingers. His face awash in intense grief. He nervously toys with the brim of his gambler hat as he squints at the grave. RONALDO: (rusty with emotion) Thissss.....this is not right. You should not be lying in there. He begins to pace slowly. His worn leather boots kick up dust. RONALDO: I should have been here. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE. He beats his hat against his dust colored chinos as he struggles for words. RONALDO: I told you to stay away from Tajo and his worthless friends. Nothing but dogs. I told you. But you, so headstrong. So much like me. You don't listen. And now, our mother knows too much grief. Your wife must suffer without you. No…no…..NO. He wipes his face with a crumbled handkerchief. RONALDO: I'm sorry, hermanito (means little brother). I have failed you. I've have failed our mother. I have failed our family. But I will fix it. I promise you that. His pace quickens as his emotions escalate. His long sleeve shirt is damp with sweat. RONALDO: Tajo will pay for taking your life. His pace quickens as his grief becomes anger. He stops and gestures to the grave as he speaks. RONALDO: This is wrong, but I will make it right. I will hunt down EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM. I will show them pain, my brother. I will bring grief to their mothers and their wives. They will know how we suffer. I promise you, Alejandro, my brother, my friend. You will rest in peace, hermanito. I will fight for you now. Ronaldo screams at the sky: RONALDO: I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU NOW!!!

EXT. GRAVEYARD - AFTERNOON ALISSA, 27, on her lunch-break, sick and tired, drags a folding chair over the pebbled pathway. She stops in front of a simple gravestone that reads, “John Carmichael (Juno)” One of her legs appears to be relatively wooden. With practised effort, she unfolds the chair. And sits on it. ALISSA Hi, John. There is of course no response. Though this seems to hurt Alissa. ALISSA (CONT’D) I’m sorry about the other night. Again no response. ALISSA (CONT’D) I don’t know why he wanted to come here. He’s a bit kinky. The wind rustles in the leaves. ALISSA (CONT’D) You’re right. He’s a lot kinky. And why your grave? I think he didn’t like you. And he knew that I...well. He knew that we were friends. The wind picks up. It begins to whistle. ALISSA (CONT’D) I know! I know! It wasn’t the sex! You don’t care who I sleep with! Or where! (voice breaking) You’ve never cared! Why didn’t you care? Why?? Why didn’t you tell me to stop doing this to myself? To stop letting these dirtbags into my body and my life...raping my peace of mind? Why couldn’t you...before it was too late? The wind is quieter. It gently ruffles her hair. Alissa looks to her left. As if he’s standing right next to her. ALISSA (CONT’D) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I said what I said. We were never....just friends. We were always more than that. I never felt sorry for you. I felt sorry for me. The wind gently wipes her tears away. She smiles. The autumn wind blows leaves in a circle around her. Alissa closes her eyes as if enjoying a warm embrace. And suddenly opens them. She looks at the gravestone. ALISSA (CONT’D) John, I think I’m in love with you. Pin-drop silence. The wind is gone. Dead air. Nothing. ALISSA (CONT’D) John? ERIC (O.S.) He’s dead! His voice is harsh, squawking. Alissa turns. ERIC’s about the same age as her. Just as tragic, though less put together. He’s sweeping the graveyard. ERIC (CONT’D) When are you going to figure it out? ALISSA How long have you been standing there? ERIC After the sex. Before ‘John, I think I’m in love with you’. The sobs catch in Alissa’s throat. She gets up as quickly as she can - remember the wooden leg. She folds her chair. ERIC (CONT’D) Alissa... She doesn’t respond. ERIC (CONT’D) Alissa, I’m sorry... She’s gone, the way she came, dragging her chair over pebbles and stones.

That was Scene 3 for me btw.

Scene 2 EXT. MACHPELAH CEMETERY (QUEENS, NY) - DAY Archie, large suitcase in hand, stiffens his resolve and approaches a large monument. The monument has a statue of a weeping woman kneeling in front of a marble bust. Under the bust is a crest. Below the crest, the name Houdini. Below Houdini, the name Weiss. Archie sets down the suitcase, opens it. He takes out a magician's table and sets it up. He puts a top hat on it. ARCHIE: Don't worry, no rabbit. I wouldn't perform something so mundane before the master. He reaches into the hat and pulls out a framed photograph. ARCHIE: Once upon a time, there was a little boy who was not good at making friends. One day... He glides his open hand in front of the picture frame and the photo changes from one of a little boy to the same boy slightly older dressed as a magician with some props. ARCHIE: ...the boy discovered that people liked him when he performed illusions. He tosses the picture frame into the air and it disappears in a flash and puff of smoke. He pulls from the hat a narrow beam of finished wood or metal that's taller than he is. ARCHIE: But "The Amazing Archie" soon realized that he wasn't very amazing -- yet. He continues to pull out more pieces and assembles them into a phone booth-size cabinet with no walls or top. ARCHIE: So he studied night and day. And he practiced. And, most of all, he learned everything he could about the great Harry Houdini. From the suitcase, he takes drapes and hangs them on the sides of the cabinet. ARCHIE: And he learned that the great Houdini had many secrets. And some secrets he took to his grave. He pulls away the drapes and -- in place of the empty cabinet -- there's something like an X-ray machine, but more advanced. ARCHIE: But there are ways of examining anything and getting it to reveal its secrets. As Arthur C. Clarke said -- 47 years after your death -- "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

Scene 9 Lisa, very pregnant, slowly walks down the rows of tombstones at the grassy cemetery marked by American Flags until she arrives at the one she dreads to approach. She pauses and takes a deep breath looking down at Ted’s headstone. It reads above his name “USMC Beloved Brother and Warrior” with an American Flag engraved on it. Lisa: Ted, I brought you daisies, your favorite She kneels down with difficulty and places the flowers on the stone Trying to force a smile her voice begins to tremble and she tries to appear upbeat Lisa, Father Bishop did such a great job delivering your service, and he has helped me so much, since… since… well you know Lisa tries hard to maintain her breath and fights back the tears Lisa, you see Ted honey I just love you and miss you so much.. I go over and over in my mind of our last conversation. I have thought of a million ways of how I should have told you about the baby. I hope you forgive me up there, the news was supposed to be a surprise when you came home, but.. She continues to hold back the tears but some escape Lisa, he’s a boy you know.. Theodore junior, he’s going to be so handsome just like his daddy. Father Bishop sent people from church to help get his room ready. Gasping and choking back tears she begins to sob Lisa, oh Ted it hurts so much that you won’t be here for his first steps, to throw him his first ball, his first date, his wife, children, our grandchildren ….his whole life Getting angry she grabs one of the little American flags that are held up by plastic sticks by his grave. She begins to wave it around Lisa, Sometimes I am just so angry, she looks up to the sky, Please God forgive me she pleads Lisa, I get so angry because you Ted, you put everything before us, you didn’t have to serve another term. Your unit needed you, you said, your country needed you, you said. She begins shouting Your wife needed you for Christ sake, me your wife.. and now your son needs you! Look at you, look where you’re at, She throws the flag on his grave This is where your unit, your country got you! She turns and walks off

DAY TWO: Write a scene of someone talking to a gravestone It is a spring day. Breezy and sunny, but with some cloud cover starting to obscure the sun. A middle-aged woman, ANA, is standing at a gravestone. She does not look sad. She does, however, seem generally uncomfortable with where she is, almost as though she just has something major against graveyards in general. She fidgets in her light jacket and keeps looking around like she expects the zombie apocalypse to start in that exact graveyard while she’s trying to pay her respects. ANA: God, I hated your guts when you were alive. I don’t even know why I’m here right now. I would have gladly burned your house to the ground, given the opportunity. It just seemed like, socially, the right thing to do. People already know I hate you. Might as well have some tact in that hatred. Plus, you’re dead. So I’m expected to be mature and just drop it. It’s hard though. A breeze picks up as she speaks. She wraps herself tighter in the jacket. Just a little past Ana, we zoom in on a young mother and her small son visiting a grave. She also doesn’t seem too overtly emotional, save for a few times when she wipes her face of tears. Her son puts something small on the grave. Zooming in further, we see that it is a small fire truck figure with “FDNY” emblazoned on the side. He stands and salutes. The camera snaps back to focus on Ana from the grave’s POV. She just shakes her head at the sweet scene to her left, then pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and scrutinizes the grave. ANA: I told them that I didn’t want your headstone to say “Rest in Peace.” There was nothing peaceful about you. Everything was wrong. Down to the simplest decision of what pizza toppings to get. You’re dead now, but I do distinctly remember having a full-out argument with you regarding the merits about anchovies and pepperoni. I mentioned I was allergic and you just sat there and debated with me about it like I was somehow lying just to get under your skin. You were also quite selfish. That may be what initially attracted me to you though. A siren blares in the distance. In the background, a routine traffic stop starts just outside of the cemetery gates. Ana watches for a while. She takes a picture of it with her phone. ANA: Pig. I bet that guy didn’t do anything. Why did you get buried in a neighborhood where the cops are jerks? This is so like you. You used to get on my nerves so bad. It just…well, I don’t know anymore. I just got so used to not liking you that I forget completely what made me first realize it. It just seemed to develop so organically over time. I was going to get a divorce, but lesbians are still considered a political marriage, so I figured we should stay together just to prove pundits wrong. Never again. If I get married again – and I am still not sure if you spoiled me off of that or if I can’t wait to get the sour taste out of my mouth about the whole institution – I’m making sure they know that divorce is a possibility if we’re too miserable. She gets to the end of the cigarette. She puts it out on the headstone, leaving the butt on top of it. She lights another one, smoking a little more slowly and deliberately now. ANA: Now that you’re dead, I can quit smoking. It was the one thing that I could really control. I can’t believe we had kids. They must hate both of us by now. They’re all teenagey now, so of course they hate everyone, but they must have been miserable with us being passive aggressively angry at each other all the time. We must have done something to them. That may be why they don’t visit you a lot. Not to say they’d visit me a lot if I died. I know I was hard to deal with, what with the crazy. I do thank you for getting me through those hard times in the beginning. I guess I could only expect that for so long. I think we just got into a groove. My therapist says that I needed to come here to get closure. We didn’t have an abusive relationship; we just realized too late in the relationship that we weren’t good for each other. It should have been an affair and the end. I did learn when to call something like it is. So there’s something. A small droplet of water falls on Ana’s cheek. She quickly wipes it away and looks up at the sky. She pats her hair a little bit, a subconscious nervous tick. This time, she stomps out a half-done cigarette. ANA: I may have hated you, but I do still try to remember the fun parts. The few times we got along later on and the times at the beginning. Like running home in rain or watching movies at home on the couch. Or just quietly reading a book when talking to each other always meant a fight. Keeping that in mind is the only reason why I’m here right now. And my therapist. I guess there is a certain silence that I can’t get used to. I’m not sure what genre of music replaces constant nagging, but I’ll find it. It’s starting to rain, so I’m going to make this quick. Basically, I’m thankful for the beginning and the few things that we enjoyed later. And I’m sorry that we didn’t decide to just end it to save our sanity. Maybe you’d still be here and you could make someone else happy. I think I mainly hate you right now because you didn’t tell anyone and you didn’t leave a note, so I don’t know why you did it. Even seven years later, it still doesn’t make sense to me. Plus, I needed that prescription. I had to refill it with my shrink. You didn’t even leave me a day’s dosage. But I hope that you have what you wanted, whatever that was. I’m not going to cry about this right now. It’ll probably happen later. Right now, I’m still mad at you. But I’ll see you later to talk again. I miss when you used to listen. Ana lingers at the gravestone for a moment longer. There is a slight slant to how she’s holding herself where the bitterness is starting to slip a little and she, for the first time, looks genuinely sad that her partner is gone. She then gets herself together, lights another cigarette, and walks away from the gravestone. From the POV of the gravestone again, we see her walk across the cemetery, careful not to step on any graves, get into her car, and drive away.

SCENE NINE EXT. GRAVEYARD - NIGHT RICK, late 40’s, walks up to a gravestone. His head hangs as he walks. He carries flowers in his hand. Rick takes a long look at the gravestone and then sits beside it. On the gravestone is a picture of a young man. The nameplate reads “ERIC CAZARES”. Tears begin to fall from Rick’s face. RICK I’m sorry, brother. GRAVESTONE Sorry for what? Rick jumps up and focuses on the gravestone. RICK Eric? Was that you? The picture from the gravestone comes to life. The face is able to blink and its mouth moves as he talks. ERIC Yes, of course it’s me! Where am I? Am I- Eric pauses for a second. ERIC (CONT’D) Are you crying? Rick wipes the tears away from his face as if he wasn’t. RICK What? No. ERIC And why do you have flowers? Rick tries to hide the flowers behind his back. ERIC (CONT’D) Gay. RICK How is this possible? ERIC I have no idea. You have to get me out of here... RICK Do what? ERIC Get a shovel and start digging. I’m still alive. RICK You can’t be. And this can’t be real. ERIC Do you hear my voice? RICK Yeah... ERIC Then it’s fucking real! Now go get a shovel and take me with you. RICK Right. Rick begins to walk away. ERIC Rick. Rick turns around. ERIC (CONT’D) Don’t ever bring me flowers again. Rick smiles and runs to his car.

EXT. NORTH ROAD CEMETERY - DAY The council cemetery houses hundreds. Granite, limestone and marble headstones stretch out into the distance in neat rows. A few large monuments, angels, crosses, and columns dot the landscape. STUART SHARPE (32), unkempt and tired, pulls his red windcheater closely to his neck, staving off the wind blowing off the estuary. The sun shines brightly, but it is still a cold day. There are few people around, but he still checks. An elderly man stands alone in the distance, and a young couple walk away from a nearby grave arm in arm. She weeping, him strong. He checks his military issue watch. 11:58. He has timed it to be like this. Alone. As he starts out to Ben's grave, the nearby gravediggers knock off for lunch. He uses the angels and crosses as landmarks, finding his way to where he watched the mourners gather the day before. West from the weeping angel until you hit the 'Wright' column, then 50 metres north... He pulls up in front of the freshly dug grave, dark earth piled on top, flowers over the grave still bright. A child has left an Action Man figure propped up against the headstone. The headstone itself reads: Cpl. Ben Turner Father. Husband. Son. Soldier. Born 14th February, 1980 Taken 22nd May, 2014 He has a final look to check that he is alone before he kneels down and picks up the toy figure. SHARPE: I guess your boy left this. Proud of his daddy. He turns the figure around in his hands, familiar with its movements from his own childhood. He plays with the lever in the back of its head, moving the eyes from side to side, giving a little chuckle as he does... SHARPE: I use to have one of these. Did you have the one with the parachute? I think that is what made me wanna join the paras in the first place. Though I'm glad ours worked better than his, right? He smiles at the thought, but that quickly fades... SHARPE: Anyway, I just had to come and say sorry. It was nothing personal. Jonny wanted it done, and, well, he's the boss. He stares at the figure, and its blank eyes stare back... SHARPE: And it could have been worse. He wanted me to do it at the weekend, when you had your boy. I got a bollocking for putting it off. Sharpe looks up He is still alone but gets up to leave anyway. He goes to leave but turns back after a pace or two... SHARPE: I didn't want to do it. We had some good times, both in and out. But I had to. Cheers. He leaves, still clutching the Action Man...

SCENE 2 EXT. CEMETERY MELONCHOLY MAX: (a beat. He comes forward to stand by the headstone. He looks down at the arranged flowers, shaking his head in disapproval) Who would have thought I would come here...? I haven't told anyone, but...there are some things I need to say...that i should have done. (a long beat. He crouches down to stare intensely at the name on the headstone) I don't know if you can hear this...but I wish it had been me, who pressed that button. I wish it could have been me who had taken your life...watched every last ounce of poison, pass through your veins... And even if I could have killed you...it still wouldn't be enough. (a beat. Gets up) I know my wife would want me to forgive you...after what you did to her...but you can go to hell...if you haven't been taken there already. FADE OUT.

Scene 9 Write a scene of someone talking to a gravestone EXT. GRAVEYARD – NIGHT A YOUNG WOMAN walks through a graveyard by herself. It's night out and dark except for the moon that's out. She strolls through like she's in a park. She stops in front of one gravestone in particular. YOUNG WOMAN (to the gravestone): I can't really sleep. She gets out a flask and drinks from it. She pockets it. YOUNG WOMAN (CONT'D): I'm actually not sure when the last time I slept was. FLASHBACK INT. BEDROOM - DAY The young woman is a bit younger and in bed with a YOUNG MAN beside her. They both stir awake and smile when their faces meet. YOUNG MAN: Did you sleep well? YOUNG WOMAN: Best sleep I've had in years. They kiss. PRESENT EXT. GRAVEYARD – NIGHT The young woman is sitting in front of the gravestone and looking at it like it's the most beautiful thing in the world. YOUNG WOMAN: I hope you're having a great sleep though.