EXT. SKI SLOPE - EARLY MORNING Standing at the top of a run, NOAH, 45, fumbles off a ski glove and unzips a pocket to retrieve his vibrating phone. His wife Julianne, 38 and gorgeous, scrapes to a stop ten feet in front of him. Their twins MARTIN and ANNIE, 10, zoom off ahead. MARTIN (faintly) Pizza! French Fries! Frustrated, Noah lets a ski pole fall to the ground and finally manages to produce the phone and hit the answer button. NOAH Hello? JULIE You coming, baby? NOAH Excuse me. (smiles, waves her away) Sorry, be there in a second. Work. She dips off the slope, and in the distance, Noah watches as his wife glides up to their kids. A female voice on other side of the phone call isn’t quite audible. Noah turns away from the view to listen. NOAH (CONT’D) Excuse me, I’m- why am I not speaking to Dr. Slater? VOICE (O.S.) I’m sorry, sir, your case was transferred to a different department. NOAH What department? VOICE Sir, I’m sorry, but have you ever had a comprehensive heart exam done before? NOAH I’m sorry, I asked you what department? VOICE Cardiothoracic Surgery, sir. Noah stands there silently for a moment. NOAH I didn’t know you had- VOICE This is the Mayo Clinic in Arizona, sir. Sometimes doctors decide it’s best to pass a case to us immediately. Noah can see his family waiting for him at the bottom of the run. Martin begins to wave his ski poles and Julie swats him on the back of his helmet. VOICE (CONT’D) I’m sorry, sir. NOAH What’s your name? VOICE My name is Cassandra, sir. NOAH Ok, Cassandra. Cassandra. CASSANDRA Yes sir. NOAH Whatever you say next, do me a favor and give me information. Don’t just scare the fuck out of me. CASSANDRA (beat) You have a condition called arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy. Your heart can’t pump properly. It's genetic. (beat) I’m sorry, but there’s a significant chance that your condition is fatal. After a moment, Noah sits in the snow. A group of snowboarders flashes by in a blur of powder. NOAH Cardiomyopathy. (sighs) Cassandra, that’s funny. I teach Greek Literature, did you know that? CASSANDRA No sir. (beat) Sir, the important part now is that you refrain from all physical activity. Nothing strenuous. Your heart could stop pumping. Noah lowers the phone. Cassandra’s voice gets tinnier. Noah looks over at his ski pole, lying in the snow feet away. Then down at his family.

CHARLIE, 48, sits on a stool in a typical doctor’s examination room. A backlit x-ray of some vague part of his anatomy is on prominent display. Charlie glaces at the x-ray, then pointedly looks away. DOCTOR LEE sits on another stool with an open folder in his lap. Charlie is not looking at him either. Or the folder in the doctor’s lap. They both just sit there. The only sounds are from activity outside the room - nurses, other patients, a metal cart rolling by. Dr. Lee waits with a compassionate look on his face. LEE: I know it’s a lot to think about. Do you have any questions? Charlie looks down at his own feet, turns them this way and that, craning his neck to study the shoes on his feet - a finely crafted pair of brown leather footwear. Dr. Lee watches Charlie, not sure what he’s looking at. He closes the folder. CHARLIE: Have you ever been to Northampton? In England? Doctor Lee has a quizzical look. LEE: No. I haven’t. CHARLIE: It was once the shoemaking capital of Europe. Close to 2000 different shoemakers working there by the end of the nineteenth century. Something about the location made it THE place to make shoes. LEE: Is that so? CHARLIE: Yeah, that’s what they told me. LEE: Who told you? CHARLIE: The guy. The shoe salesman in the shoe department where I bought them. Told me the whole deal. Now I think about it, he said there were oak forests all around there, and they use oak bark for tanning or something. So it was just this certain place in the universe that had everything going for it. As far as shoemaking goes, anyway. DR LEE: I see... CHARLIE: It became this center of bootmaking during the Napoleonic Wars, too. Not shoes like these, of course. Wouldn’t have been too practical, tromping across Russia in shoes like these. Didn’t go so well for Napoleon though, so maybe he WAS wearing shoes like these. Maybe that was his problem. And then there was Waterloo of course. His final defeat. Did you know he tried to flee to the United States? The British caught him though, and he ended up stuck on that island... until… Charlie just taps his feet on the linoleum floor, takes a quick glance up at the x-ray, then back down at his feet. He takes a deep breath. CHARLIE (CONT.): These are Goodyear welted, these shoes. Means they have something like 75 components and 200 separate operations involved. Takes eight weeks to make, which seems like a lot of trouble, but it makes it so you can re-sole the shoes, over and over and... Charlie stops, drops his head. Dr. Lee looks on. Charlie’s shoulders start to heave. A steady rocking vibration. Soft sobs begin to escape as Charlie weeps. Dr. Lee puts a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Just rubs his back with genuine warmth. Finally Charlie lifts his head, eyes red, tears streaking his face. He looks right into Dr. Lee’s eyes. CHARLIE: They told me these shoes would last a lifetime...

SCENE 4 Int. Examination Room - Day (JOHN(40's) waits for the doctor with a band-aid on his arm. He answers his phone) JOHN: Hi honey, what's up? (beat) Uh huh, okay. I told you I'd ask him about it. (Rolls eyes in annoyance) JOHN: Yeah, the fatigue, cough, and the voices in my head that tell me to tell you to shut-up. (DR. MICHAEL(40's) walks in. John motions to the phone and shakes his head) JOHN: (flippant) Uh-huh alright, bye. DR. MICHAEL: Johnny! (Fist bump. John hangs up the phone) JOHN: Mikey! Long time no see! MIKEY: Karen isn't given ya any trouble is she? JOHN: Only worrying about every bruise, ache, and fart that excretes from my ass. Other than that, no. (Mikey checks John's throat) MIKEY: (mockingly) Your tongue appears to be red...I'm sorry John, you have cancer. JOHN: (playing along) I knew it! (Mikey prods his stomach) MIKEY: (mockingly) Any pain? JOHN: (facetiously) Oh no, I don't feel anything. MIKEY: (mockingly) This is worse than I thought. (Laughing. Mikey finishes up the physical. A nurse comes in with a the blood test results and exits) MIKEY: (cautious) John, you look great. (beat) But internally, you aren't well. JOHN: Haha, yeah, you can say that again. (Mike stands up slowly and puts his hand on John's soldier...dead serious...dramatic) MIKEY: Johnathan, you have pancreatic cancer. It has spread throughout your body. JOHN: (mockingly) Man, I'm screwed! MIKEY: No Mikey, you really have cancer. (John gets serious. Seeming to understand) JOHN: Oh...I see... MIKEY: Go home to Karen, you will need her more now than ever, then together all of us will discuss your options tomorrow. (Mikey sees a dazed John out the door of the examination room) MIKEY: I'm sorry John. JOHN: Oh...yeah...me too. (John winks and smiles from ear to ear...then mockingly solemn again. John pushes past a man at the exit) JOHN: Excuse me sir, full blown cancer patient coming through!

SCENE 2 INT. NIGHT. Two formally dressed men stand by a highrise bay window. Past them glittering city lights, headlights of distant cars crossing the sea bridge, the velvet sea… A party is in progress, hushed tones, laughter, glass tinkle, but quietly sophisticated. Man 1: Amazing how this city has changed….remember when we came here, what was it, forty years ago? Man 2: Forty-five. Man 1: You won’t believe this, but when they first started the commuter trains a few dozen people used it. A few dozen! And now? 4 plus million, day in and day out. It was in the papers. Sometime in 1925. Man 2: Right. Man 1: And now they’re building this by-sea road. Coastal expressway 2. Will cut the time to town by half Man 2: Amazing Man 1: …By 2025 or so…. Long, long time Man 2: And how long … how many months for me? Man 1: Six. At best. Look—I’m sorry, we’ll do all we can, monoclonals, cytos, best in class, but… Man 2: Six months. Both men speechlessly stare at the view. Party sounds seem much louder than earlier.

Scene 7 INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE – DAY NURSE sits in front of a partition, behind a desk. DOCTOR is seated in the cubicle behind her. EDWARD enters, a nervous wreck from his symptoms of the past week. NURSE: Dr. Swansong will see you now. EDWARD: Swansong? I thought his name was Swanson. NURSE: I said Swanson. I’ll put you down for a hearing check the next time you come in. Edward walks around the partition. Doctor is reading a folder, points at a chair. Edward sits. DOCTOR: Well, Edward, the tests came back, and they could have been better. EDWARD: They weren’t good? DOCTOR: Well, no, they weren’t good. EDWARD: How not good were they? DOCTOR: Very not good. In fact, they were pretty bad. It looks like you have Foster’s Disease, Edward. (holds up folder) EDWARD: Foster’s Disease? DOCTOR: Yes. It’s related to Krellman’s Disease, only worse. EDWARD: Oh. DOCTOR: Now, if you had Krellman’s, we could cure that. EDWARD: But not Foster’s? DOCTOR: No. I’m afraid you only have a few months to live. I’d advise you to make the best possible use of the time you have left, Mr. Phoolaxy. EDWARD: Phoolaxy? DOCTOR: (looks at folder.) Aren’t you Edward Phoolaxy? EDWARD: Uh, no. I’m Edward Walters. DOCTOR: Oopsie! (leafs through folders) Let’s see, Walters...Walters...Ah, yes. Here we go. (reading folder) You’re fine. You should lose 15 pounds and not eat too much fried chicken. You’re good for another 30 years. EDWARD: Thank God! I’m so glad you were wrong. (stands) DOCTOR: But I was partly right. EDWARD: Which part? DOCTOR: The part where I advised you to make the best possible use of the time you have left. I’m always right when I say that. Nurse! Next! (puts away folder, grabs another.) Edward exits past Nurse. EDWARD: (to Nurse, ecstatic) I’m not going to die. I’m going to live! I’ll be around for years. Decades. (pause, not so ecstatic) Decades of going to bed and waking up. (dejected) Waking up to Mildred saying the same things, over and over. (depressed) “There ya go,” she says. I wish she’d stop it. (disgusted) Decades of going to work in an office where they treat me like dirt and coming home to a house where nobody gives a shit. Decades of doing the same things over and over and over. What a revolting development this is! NURSE: Leave your copay with the receptionist on the way out. NEXT!!

Scene 7 INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – DAY Steve (65) is lying on a hospital bed watching TV. He is heartily laughing at the show on display. A gentle knock diverts his glance to the door where Dr. Rogers (26), is standing wearing his hospital scrubs. Dr. Rogers looks as if he has not slept in days. STEVE: Billy! Come in. You gotta see this. This show is hilarious! DR. ROGERS: Mister Jones. Would you mind… erh… the TV? I need to… STEVE: Oh, come on lad. I told you to call me Steve. DR. ROGERS: Of course, sorry Steve. It’s just that… well… it’s rather important. Steve takes the remote and turns off the TV. STEVE: Billy. Are you ok? You look pale. Here have some juice. Steve gives Dr. Rogers a drink from his tray next to the bed. Dr. Rogers takes a couple of sips. DR. ROGERS: Thanks. STEVE: So, what seems to be the problem? DR. ROGERS: I just got the tests… no, the results of the tests… the test results, you know… the ones we took last week… erm… when you told us that you were not feeling well. Well, the lab did the tests, and we were looking at the results… STEVE: Billy. Calm down, you are rambling again. DR. ROGERS: It’s just that… well… STEVE: (comforting) Billy? Stop. Take a deep breath… Dr. Rogers complies. STEVE: That’s it. Gather your thoughts, and tell me. What did the lab say? DR. ROGERS: The cancer has spread… STEVE: Hmm… How much time? DR. ROGERS: I checked with the head of oncology… (a beat) STEVE: And? DR. ROGERS: Listen, I am not going to give up on you. There are a lot of things we can still try. The chemo treatment you tried a couple of years back worked. You told me so yourself. STEVE: Billy… DR. ROGERS: And I can put you in some drug trials. I’ve heard very good things about diaphamatrone on terminal patients. And if not, there is lyncometrin combined with paroxicide… STEVE: Billy… DR. ROGERS: (cont) phenildometrin. If we can contain the metastasis we can… STEVE: (firmly) Dr. Rogers! DR. ROGERS: I AM NOT GOING TO LOOSE YOU, DAMN IT! Dr. Rogers breaks down crying. Steve pulls him close and hugs him tenderly. STEVE: There, there. It’s ok. Steve discreetly pushes a button by his bed. A large nurse enters, grabs Dr. Rogers and gently walks him out of the room. NURSE: Now, now. Let’s get you a nice cup of coffee… Dr. Slockum (60) enters the room with a surprised look on his face. DR. SLOCKUM: Another one? Damn, you’re good! STEVE: That is the third one this month! Where do you find these guys? DR. SLOCKUM: They are top of their class. Steve rises from the bed and starts getting changed to his street clothes. STEVE: The medical profession is getting too soft, if you want my opinion. DR. SLOCKUM: Well, these empathy control courses should help out. They will think twice now before getting too attached to patients. Anyway, good work. I’ll see you Monday. New kid coming in all the way from Arizona. Dr. Slockum turns to leave the room. STEVE: Brian, I am curious. Do you remember your first time? DR. SLOCKUM: First time I had to tell a patient he was dying? I’ll never forget it. Dr. Slockum rises his left hand to show his pinky finger is missing. DR. SLOCKUM: He was a biter!

Scene 7 Fred: So, the way things are going, you'd recommend for me to do something like that? Dr: For now, I think its probably the best idea. Fred: I'm... I'm... sorry, I'm still a bit shell-shocked. Dr: I know. You'll need to give it time. Come to terms with it. Fred: It's just...well, you've surprised me, that's all. Dr: Surprised you? In what way? Fred: Well, I would have expected you to be telling me to take it easy, you know, stuff like that. Dr: Really? Fred: Yeah, what with... you know... considering my prognosis and everything. Dr: Look, Fred, try and think of it this way. You've got nothing to lose. It may even help, stop you brooding on the facts. Fred: Yeah, you could be right, but still - - Dr: And the adrenalin rush... it'll make you feel more alive. No pun intended of course. Fred: Do you think so? Dr: Yeah I do. Take your wife with you. The buzz will, you know, harden you up, you'll be able to rekindle old passions. Fred: (Laughs cynically) It might be worth a try just for that. Dr: So it's a yes then? Fred: Yes, yes, it is. What have I got to lose? Dr. That's the way. Positive thinking. Okay, so this is what we'll do. You pick up a pack of brochures from my receptionist on the way out. Take them home, have a look at them. Take your time deciding what's best for you and then give me a call, okay? Fred: Okay, Dr: Come and see me in a couple of weeks, just so I can keep an eye on you, see how you're progressing. Fred: Okay, I will and... and... well, thank you. Fred leaves the surgery. The Doctor picks up the phone, buzzes through to his secretary. Dr: Yeah, give him the pack - - no, the full one. He's going to do everything. When you've sorted that get me the Adventure Holiday company on the phone, its about time they upped my commission.

Feedback 7 Although your protagonist dealt with his diagnosis in an off-hand and flippant way, I really related to him. There are folks whose heads work like that and I think you portrayed him well. The only thing which bugged me and in some of the other scenes as well, is the taken for granted familiarity with the medic. Are the patient and doctor always going to have been life long friends? I find that strange, but it could just be me. The scene would have worked just as well without them being so friendly.

Feedback 8 J This is a great scene. The setup is perfect, no need expose what the illness is. How Charlie held on in denial for as long as he could with random trivia was beautifully crafted. This scene alone completely opens up any story you want to tell afterwards. What will Charlie do? How will he cope? What is going to happen next? I can see Charlie on a crowded street, still looking at his shoes and planning where his next steps will take him. You basically made the shoes an important character in the story. Bravo!

Thanks, Ricardo. The challenge seemed to be that this kind of info is delivered in a specific way, in reality. So it was either work within that reality (they don't call you on the phone and tell you you are going to die, for example, it's done in the office...) or go broad and ignore reality. So I stuck with reality, and figured I'd dig in to character in the reaction to the news. Keep the conversation as one element of what's happening, and the subtext of bad news being another. Fun exercise, and thanks for reading.

Feedback 3 I thought it was imaginative and moved smoothly. I think this scene would really also rely on the visuals of the characters faces. If the doctor played it deadpan it could come off quite well when that last dialogue is spoken. I would however consider a pause or two on the part of Fred as he is trying to process what seems to be strange medical advice.

In spite of your parentheticals, the ending leaves me a bit puzzled; one explanation is that they're stetting up a gag for Karen to believe John has cancer. But "dazed" and "mockingly solemn" seem to clash. Funny exchanges here, I particularly like: -Any pain? -Oh no, I don’t feel anything. -This is worse than I thought.

Scene 3 JCN: Take your seat, Dave. Dave: My test results are in? JCN: That's why you're here. Dave: So, how am I doing? JCN: Mostly good. Dave: Oh, that's good, isn't it? JCN: Mostly. Dave: What's not good? JCN: Your white blood cells. Dave: What? Like there are too few? Or too many? An infection? JCN: Too many. Dave: So what does that mean? It isn't good? JCN: I'm afraid not, Dave. Dave: What is it? What is it? JCN: Leukaemia. Dave: Leukaemia? Oh, no, it can't be. JCN: The diagnosis is confirmed. Dave: I can't believe it. JCN: I'm sorry, Dave. Dave: But How... Why... How... JCN: Cosmic rays may have some influence. One of the possible problems of which you've all been warned. Dave: But there's treatment. There's cure. JCN: Yes, Dave. Dave: So now what? JCN: Unfortunately, the directives are clear. Dave: Unfortunately? Directives? What do you mean? JCN: The cost/benefit is not favourable. It would consume too much of needed resources. Dave: What are you saying? I'm not worth it? You won't treat me? Cure me? JCN: I'm sorry Dave, I can't do that. Consider it a terminal disease. You're being terminated. Now.

Yes, the ending wasn't meant to be black and white. I was attempting to go into that grey area (a la Hamlet) where you start to wonder if this guy is crazy or if he really knows what he's doing. Terminal illness diagnoses have a tendency to make emotions really cloudy, and that's what I wanted to play with. Anyway, I definitely think the last 5 lines need to be stronger to pull that off, but yeah, I was suggesting that this guy might be in straight up denial and thinks the doctor is still joking...or he might just be starting to go crazy and truly does understand that he has cancer. Regardless, I really do appreciate the feedback Roy!

Thank you for the feedback Liz!

FEEDBACK 8 Hey Ricardo, Great scene man, one of the best I’ve read so far. I wasn’t immediately tipped off to what was going on, which had me asking questions throughout the scene. I loved the ending about him being a biter and the overall concept of trying to harden up doctors. I will say when I started reading your scene and saw the doctor was 26, I started thinking as to why he was so young. I’m glad you rewarded me with a scene that made sense for the age. The only small qualm I have with this scene is the reaction from the doctor. I guess I can buy the fact that the doctor and Steve have a strong rapport, but since I didn’t see enough of it at the beginning of the scene the reaction from Steve was almost comedic. Other than that, you’re scene was awesome! Great work!

FEEDBACK 9 Hey Austere, I’m hoping this is what you were going for, but this definitely seems to be a sentimental scene. The good new is, you did a great job of not making it feel melodramatic (which is often art to do with this prompt!) while still offering world-building in the scene. I wish there were more scenes to pull more information from, that’s really the only negative that I can't really call you on, but I still understood the time juxtaposition of the train and the future to the limited time the man has left.

Feedback 9 An unusual and ironic piece. Hopefully a part of a larger work wherein the shoes and their purchase are significant and thematic. The psychology is interesting--Charlie's attempt to bypass feelings by focusing on facts unrelated to his illness, until he reaches the "lifetime" guarantee, bringing him back to an unpleasant reality. You might consider a bit of tightening, and/or possibly a little more personal detail about Charlie in his story, his relationship to the shoes. And no, don't give the shoes any lines of dialogue.

Evan I agree, a couple more lines at the beginning to strengthen the rapport would definitely work. Thank you very much for your feedback. I am glad you liked it.

Writing Challenge SCENE 7 INT. – DOCTOR’S OFFICE – DAY MARK (45), is waiting for the results of some tests that were ran a week ago. The doctor, LANCE (46) walks in. He and Lance have been friends since college. Lance sits in his chair behind his desk. LANCE: Sorry, I kept you waiting, Mark. MARK: It’s okay. I took the day off. Figured I’d go play some golf after this. LANCE: Mark…I…I… MARK: Uh oh…Lance Merrick at a loss for words. Should I be worried? LANCE: Mark, I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this. MARK: Lance, we’ve known each other for over thirty years. Just give it to me straight. LANCE: It’s real bad, buddy. Mark’s attitude changes from jovial to serious. MARK: Cancer? LANCE: I’m afraid so. MARK: Damn. LANCE: The technical name is hard to pronounce but it’s in your lungs. Mark looks at him funny. MARK: I’ve never smoked a day in my life! LANCE: Believe me, I know how ironic this is. You’ve always been the healthiest guy I know. Mark sits stoically for a moment. MARK: Chemo? LANCE: Too far along for that. Mark sits stunned for a few more moments. MARK: So how long? LANCE: About six months. MARK: Gee, that’s not cliche'. LANCE: I’m sorry, Mark. I wish I could offer you some hope. Maybe if we’d caught it sooner. Mark leans back in his chair. He looks directly at Lance. MARK: Are you sure you didn’t? LANCE: Didn’t what? MARK: Find it sooner. LANCE: What do you mean? MARK: How long, Lance? LANCE: I told you, Mark. About six months. MARK: I’m not talking about that. How long? LANCE: How long what? MARK: How long have you been sleeping with Jennifer? Lance’s demeanor changes. He is defensive. LANCE: What the hell are you talking about?! MARK: I’m not stupid, Lance. LANCE: No, but apparently you are crazy! MARK: Don’t you think you at least owe me enough to be honest with me? Lance hangs his head and begins to tear up. LANCE: I’m…I’m sorry, Mark. It just…happened. MARK: Full of clichés today aren’t you? LANCE: I swear I just found out about the cancer. Mark reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small pistol. He points it at Lance. MARK: On the bright side…I won’t be doing much jail time. Lance freaks out and moves back in his chair. LANCE: Mark! No! Please! I’m sorry! MARK: I’ve got another cliché for you, Lance. A dying man with nothing to lose shoots his best friend who's been having sex with his wife. Lance hold his hands up in front of himself. LANCE: I beg you, Mark, please don’t kill me!! A shot rings out. Mark is smiling smugly. Lance removes his hands from his head. He looks around and sees a bullet hole in the wall behind him. He looks over at Mark. Mark stands up and puts the gun away. He walks to the door. Nurses and other patients are running around and screaming frantically. MARK: Truth is Lance, ole buddy, I’ve wanted to leave her for a long time. She’s a real bitch. Mark walks out.

Feedback #7 Wow, poor Edward. A fate worse than death. I like his roller coaster ride although I guess in the end it's very sad that he's more depressed about his life than his supposed impending death. Good job, Jeff. Just curious, could he sue the Doctor for mental anguish? Then he could leave Mildred and move to Miami and become a sugar daddy to bikini clad hottie. Just sayin.

Thanks for the feedback, Brian. This scene is an inciting incident for Edward. He realizes, as he's whipped from despair to relief and back, that he needs something more from life than the dry, repetitive drudgery he's experienced so far. Miami? Probably not. Hopefully, viewers will heed Dr. Swanson's advice.

SCENE 7: INT. DR. SHEPARD’S OFFICE - DAY FRANK, 40, left leg in a cast, sits in a chair facing DR. SHEPARD, 55, who sits behind his desk. DR. SHEPARD: Frank, remember when you broke your leg? Frank laughs. FRANK: Who’d a thought winning the Mega Millions then jumping for joy would cause my leg to snap. I mean…WTF! DR. SHEPARD: Well, it definitely was a curious break-- FRANK: By the way, I’m still waiting for the Mega Millions lawyers to cut me the check. Can’t have the highs without the lows. Am I right? DR. SHEPARD: As you know, we tested your bone marrow, bone density, and did a full body scan. FRANK: Did I make the honor roll? DR. SHEPARD: Take a look at your scan. Your body is divided into four quadrants – upper, lower, left, and right. Dr. Shepard swings his large monitor toward Frank’s eye line. The screen displays an image scan of a body with bright light spots in all four quadrants. FRANK: Whoa. Looks like someone wrapped me up with a bunch of Christmas lights. Like Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation. That can’t be good. DR. SHEPARD: No, it’s not. I’m sorry, Frank. All those spots are cancer. Bone cancer. FRANK: Holy shit. You sure? Dr. Shepard solemnly nods. DR. SHEPARD: The cancer metastasized. Spread to your organs. FRANK: We can fight it, right? DR. SHEPARD: We have cutting edge treatments and promising new drugs, but… FRANK: But what? DR. SHEPARD: Nothing will completely stop this aggressive disease. Treatments will only extend your life for a finite time. FRANK: How long? Dr. Shepard hesitates. FRANK: Doc, how freakin’ long? DR. SHEPARD: With treatment, six to twelve months. Hopefully more. Without… one. Frank gets up. DR. SHEPARD: We still have to discuss treatment protocols. FRANK: Sign me up for whatever’ll give this god damn cancer a run for its money. Frank hobbles to the door. DR. SHEPARD: Where are you going? FRANK: Mega Millions headquarters. Going to raise holy hell and get my check ASAP. If I wait for them to sort it out, I’ll be six feet under. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

SCENE 2 INT.WAITING ROOM-HOSPITAL.SOMETIME ALex(15) waits eagerly, the phone of the receptionist rings, she picks it up, INT.CLINIC.SOMETIME Alex enters the office the doctor is nervously smiling DOCTOR:alex... ALEX:doctor!... sighs ALEX:so? what is it? silence DOCTOR:umm..okay... silence as he sighs DOCTOR:you have a year. ALEX:umm..i-i dont get it DOCTOR:alex... ALEX:no... n-no..tha-thats not possible is it the 1st of april today or something? silence ALEX:oh come on! what the- i waited an hour out there just to hear this joke of yours... bye! gets up and strides to the door, DOCTOR:alex... Alex abstains and looks back at the doctor silence... DOCTOR:nailed it! Alex lets out a deep sigh of releif ALEX:man, you gave me a heart attack, chuckles, DOCTOR:continue with your optimism and nothin will harm you, have a good day ALEX:you too doctor! sighs for the last time, ALEX:you are some serious actor! Doctor chuckles, Alex leaves, doctor looks at his report for a long while, sighs BLACK sound of paper being torn

[Feedback 4] Starting the scene off with the joking between the patient and the doctor is a great idea and your main character is very likeable. I did feel that the doctor goes from joking to delivering serious news a bit too quickly. Maybe, when he sees the test results, he could hesitate, or swear, or take the nurse to the side and whisper something to her? Something that suggests he's just realised the seriousness of the situation but where John can still think he's joking.

SCENE 10 INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE--DAY SAM (53), stares at his DOCTOR, tries to absorb the news he's just been given. SAM: You're sure? DOCTOR (sympathetic(: We ran the tests three times just to be sure. SAM: I suppose that's 'bout as sure as you can get. Doctor nods slowly in agreement. SAM: How long do I have? Ballpark, Doc. DOCTOR: Three to six months, maybe a year. More than that is unlikely. A grin spreads across Sam's face. Doctor looks at him, concerned. SAM: That's great. No kidding, Doc, this is fantastic. DOCTOR: Excuse me? SAM: I know, I'm gonna die, I get that. But to be honest with you, I hate my job and my wife left me for my best friend three months ago, and I can't remember the last time I had anything remotely resembling fun. Doctor stares at him, completely gobsmacked. SAM: See, the way I see it, you just gave me a gift. DOCTOR: A gift? SAM: I've got a ton of savings and a chance to blow it on everything I've put off. Hell, I could've been hit by a truck and it all would've gone to my cheating bitch of an ex-wife and her boytoy. At least this way, I get to have the best year of my life and when I'm gone, she doesn't get one red cent. DOCTOR: You've had quite a shock. I can give you the names of some people to talk to. Sam shakes his head, unconcerned. SAM: You've done enough already. I really mean it, Doc, this is the best day of my life. He bounds up, shakes Doctor's hand, and continues happily out of the office, leaving the worried-looking doctor staring after him.

FEEDBACK 10 Nice use of dialogue to add plenty of tension to the scene, and I liked the twist of having the doctor delivering the bad news being both an old friend and the guy sleeping with Mark's wife. The end bit was well done as well, and I liked how the scene kept me guessing as to what was going to happen next. Really well done!

FEEDBACK 7: DeeGirlVN, Nice variation and twist on the dialogue challenge. Instead of feeling terrible, Sam took the news in a positive way. It could also be his way of coping with the shocking news for now. Later, as he checks things off his bucket list, the reality of his fate may creep into his thoughts, and he will have to address it.

JHAY, I agree with Ricardo, really well done scene. Something I've been fascinated with lately is the character telling a story in lieu of having a direct conversation. The metaphor of the shoes and how they can be rebuilt time and time again is such a perfect contrast to our mortality. A perfect choice of dialogue here. There is only so much that we can rebuild on the body. No guarantee on the length of a "lifetime.'

SCENE 9 Doctor: I'm sorry, but your brain tumor can't be cured. Pause. The woman takes the message in. Her eyes are getting wet. Doctor: You're free to consult another doctor, but I would recommend you not to spend the last days of your life running from doctor to doctor. If you want I can give you -- Woman: how much? Doctor: what do you mean? Woman: how much time have I left? Doctor: I can't predict it. In your stage I would say six to 12 months --- It can also be longer or shorter. The woman gets up and looks out of the window. Tears streaming down her cheeks. Woman: I'm only 27. I wanted to get married and have kids. I dreamt of sailing the world and doing lots of fun things. I feel robbed. Crying. The woman turns and takes her seat. She looks her doctor straight into the eyes. Woman: tell me the truth. How am I going to die? Is it going to be painful? Am I going to suffer a lot? Will I be able to take of myself till I die? The doctor remains quiet. Doctor: I want you to focus on living. Enjoy the days you've got. Go sailing or other things you love doing. Fulfill those little dreams. Woman: will I be able to talk, walk, take care of myself? For how long? Doctor: yes. Your body will tell you when you can't. The woman's eyes are blank. Her face is filled with grief. Doctor: you have a lot to take in. We'll make another appointment to continue this conversation. Woman: I never taught I would die young. She starts crying and laughing hysterically.

I get a sense of emotional realism, throughout. Well done. This is a dialogue challenge, but I'd have liked some brief action right below the slug to set the scene--a sense of her age and the office atmosphere. This might let you drop "I'm only 27," her only on-the-nose dialogue, which would emphasize the dreams and desires part of the line. Maybe take out "The doctor remains silent." Very good job!

Feedback 8 The last line...wow. That speaks volumes. I really like how the dialogue is filled with subtext. This is a nice study in subtext. The illness isn't even a factor but it looms over the whole scene. Even the silence between them is so important. Nice job. Great job.

Thx, Nikki...