EXT. WAR TORN CITY - 2115 FRANK (30's), embattled and frantic, runs like mad down a recently bombed city street. His loose-fitting armor shifts with every stride. He ducks behind a fragment of a cement wall. Huddled tight, he peeks over the edge of the wall. DOWN THE STREET a WHIRLING STORM OF METAL tears at vehicles and blasts anything that even appears to move. Frank shifts his helmet, drops a visor. VISOR gives his a digital reading of his surroundings. FRANK: Honey, this isn't the time. Just helps me with this -- A fragmented voice comes through his helmet. HONEY: Fine, but you're not getting out of this one. He punches some buttons on a keypad located on his wrist. AUTOMATED VOICE: Beverage. A panel slides exposing a straw that pokes him in the cheek. HONEY: Oh, another drink? Frank forces the panel back manually. FRANK: Sure. That's what I'm doing out here in year whatever it is. Enjoying a sweet cocktail on the exotic sands of... A huge blast destroys half of the wall Frank is hiding behind. He runs. Punches buttons repeatedly. Panels open. The Whirling Metal Beast turns toward him. FRANK (cont): Just DO SOMETHING! He dives behind another barrier just out of the way of a blast. HONEY: What's all that noise? FRANK: PRESS THE RED BUTTON NEXT TO THE CHAMBER! Frank slams his fist into the arm pad. Another panel slides open from his forearm. A small rocket rises. His view screen tints everything red. AUTOMATED VOICE: ARMED. FRANK: Alright. He leans out and spies the machine coming toward him. FRANK: Fire! Nothing happens. The Machine speed in his direction. FRANK: Fire damn it! HONEY: I pressed it, but nothing is happening here. Hey, did you ever fix that loose handle on the toilet? FRANK: NOT THE TIME! Press it again. He aims the rocket on the descending Machine, beating the living crud out of the keypad. Several panels open exposing all kinds of weapons. AUTOMATED VOICE: Entering self destruct mode. Five...four... FRANK: No, no! He scrambles to undress. The machine is just bout on him. HONEY: Got it! I think. AUTOMATED VOICE: Two...one. The metal beast jumps onto Frank just as a BLUE FLASH engulfs them all. The Suit EXPLODES is a fiery blast. Frank is nowhere to be seen. The Machine is gone. Total annihilation. INT. WAREHOUSE - 2015 Honey (late 20') stands at a control panel in front of a large time machine. The machine lights up like a lightning storm. She leans toward the viewing window. Frank suddenly appears with a flash inside the chamber. HONEY: I did it! Frank looks up to her and shakes his head. FRANK: Too late. Another FLASH and the Metal Beast is in the chamber too. Honey jumps back as the Machine explodes through the chamber door. It locks on to Honey and tears her apart.

Just realized I never put (V.O.) or (O.S.) with Honey's dialogue. Hopefully you all get that it's through Frank's headset.

Scene 11 EXT. TROPICAL BEACH - NOON A bearded and long haired man is sitting next to a pile of wood by some palm trees, trying to light a fire. As he is only wearing a pair of old and sun-stained shorts, we can see that he is extremely thin but his tanned loose skin proves that he used to have a much more ample figure. The waves gently caress the sand while the sun shines on a cloudless sky. Some brushing sounds make him look up. He barely has time to react as he sees a coconut falling on his direction. The coconut misses his head by less than an inch and falls heavily on his hand. The man screams in pain and jumps up and down the beach while shaking off the pain. The man turns and addresses the centre of the island. MAN: REALLY? A COCONUT? Is that the best you can do? COME ON! After all this time I expected better from you! The man resumes his work on the fire. The pain in his hand does not allow him, though. MAN: I gotta say, the lightning bolt from last month was inspired, I'll give you that, but this? You are losing your touch. The man keeps working. He suddenly gets up and starts pacing back and forth across the beach. MAN: I mean, you have tried your worst and I am still here, and it burns you go on the inside, doesn't it? You sent me storms and I braved them. You sent me hunger and I learned to fish. You sent me cold and I made FIRE! You faded my pictures... The man's voice breaks down. MAN: (Tearfully) You faded my pictures... thinking I would forget... (composes himself) but I didn't. It's been three years and I have not forgotten them. The man walks slowly to the clearing where he is preparing his fire. MAN: There will be a boat, there will be a plane... and I will flag them... somehow... and I will leave you. The man runs towards the coconut, grabs it and throws it far into the brush. MAN: I WILL LEAVE YOU, YOU STUPID ISLAND! The man sits down again. MAN: (Muttering to himself) Bitch! He continues his efforts to light the fire. The pain in his hand makes him work slower than usual. MAN: Tropical paradise, my ass! The man concentrates on his pain and on his efforts to light the fire, not noticing the boat that silently sails out of view in the horizon.

Scene 5 Neil is speeding down a Midwestern farm road in an old pickup truck, looking increasingly agitated. It now becomes clear why – there is a tornado in the distance and its moving in his direction. NEIL: You've got to be the slowest truck in the whole county. I can go faster on a unicycle. Suddenly the engine gives out a popping sound, and the truck starts to lose its speed. Neil pulls to the side of the road. There isn't a person, car or house in sight. Just endless miles of corn. NEIL: No way. NO WAY! Neil looks behind and the tornado is continuing on course, getting closer. NEIL: Come on, come on, COME ON. Start up! Neil turns the key but there is nothing more than another popping sound. He gets out, runs to the front of the truck, and opens the hood. He quickly looks at the engine. Nothing appears to be smoking or leaking. NEIL: You hunk of junk! What are you, getting old? Tired? I knew I should have traded you in years ago. Why not, I'll never know. Neil kicks the side of the truck. Then he starts to punch the truck. Softly at first, then harder. As if on cue, the engine makes another popping sound. Neil walks over to the engine. NEIL: You are the laziest, ugliest, most decrepit truck I know. A lawn mower does a better job than you do. You should be embarrassed of yourself. He punches the side of the truck again. He looks back. The tornado is not far off, and is now whipping up stalks of corn and dust. NEIL: Is this how it ends? You rust bucket. Thanks for letting me down. Neil kicks the tire, then collapses on the ground and starts to cry. Suddenly the engine makes a burbling sound. Neil opens his eyes. NEIL: If you start up, I promise I'll never sell or junk you. I'll give you a new paint job. I'll wax your body once a week. Please. Please. I'm begging you. Neil gets back into the truck. He tries to start the engine. It sounds more promising then before, but still doesn't start. NEIL: OK. OK. I'll vacuum you every week too. Please. Neil tries to start the engine again. No response. NEIL: OK. I love you. Neil tries again, and the engine starts up strongly. He kisses the dashboard. The tornado is now hundreds of feet away. Neil quickly puts the car into gear and speeds away. END

Feedback 6 Interesting story. Is he imagining it, or is it really a living island. The ending is bittersweet. Maybe if he smashed the coconut instead of throwing it he could have had more angry dialogue! Minor point but I didnt understand the line: "...and it burns you go on the inside, doesn’t it?" Good concept and a self-contained story.

Nick enters his bathroom. He's 29 and shaped like your grandmothers television set. Bulky. A micro-fridge with legs. He steps onto a digital scale. It BEEPS. 234.6 NICK: What? No that's not right. I mean it's late in the day yeah. I already had breakfast, lunch, and my 3 o'clock taco plate. So you know, I take that into account. But still, that seems awfully high. Nick steps off the scale and sheds his coat. He steps back on. BEEP. 234.4 NICK: Are you kidding me? That's a goose-down jacket. Goose feathers! That's a thick, full-layered bird. You can't just disregard that. Nick takes off his shoes. Steps back on. BEEP. 234.3 NICK: Okay. Those are STEEL-TOED shoes. Do you know what that means? It means there is METAL inside! Solid. Steel. Made in the heartland. By guys named Chuck and Ralph and Giuseppe. Real American Men. Men with no necks and no future! They probably can't spell "google" but they sure as shit know how to make a SOLID GOD-DAMN SHOE! I could crush in a Triceratops skull with these bad mamas. This is like what Tony Stark wears, and you're telling me they only weigh a tenth of a pound?! Nick places the shoes on the scale. BEEP. 1.3 NICK: You see! So I have to be at least 233. That is a fact! This is science alright? You can't argue with science. We have these mathematical principles. If I have six apples and you take away five, I only have one apple left. That's it! One apple. I wanted to make a cobbler but I can't because you took away five apples! These are universal rules. You have to follow the rules. You can't just do whatever the fuck you want! Nick strips down. Everything. He takes a deep breath and steps on. BEEP. 234.2 NICK: You disloyal piece of shit. Nick groans and rolls his head back. He is about step off when...BEEP. He looks down. 234.1 NICK: Yes. That's the flavor baby. Come on. Nick leans to his left, slowly lifting his right heel. BEEP. 234.0 NICK: That's it! Give it to me! One more tenth between friends. He shifts all his weight to the left side, balancing on one foot now. BEEP. 233.9 NICK: Yeah bitch! How you like DEM APPLES? CRACK!! The two left sensors underneath the scale BREAK. Plastic shrapnel skitters across the bathroom tile. Nick stumbles off as the scale flips upside down. The screen shatters. Nick carefully turns it right side up. BEEP. BEEP. "ERROR" Then it starts flashing numbers. Like something from the Matrix. Nick watches closely. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Until... 214.1 Nick grabs his fitness planner and writes in the number.

Good scene Johnny. Prefect example of the exercise. I like the bartering at the end. Great way to give the truck a chance to be more than just a rust bucket, but a gap of metal with "feelings."

Good scene Johnny. Prefect example of the exercise. I like the bartering at the end. Great way to give the truck a chance to be more than just a rust bucket, but a gap of metal with "feelings."

Scene 1 EXT/INT. SAN FRANCISCO APARTMENT COMPLEX – NIGHT – TRACKING to follow AKIKO (late 20s) through the glass sliding door from her fire escape into her bedroom. The bedroom has just enough lit from a HELLO KITTY night light to illuminate the silhouettes of lumpy furniture. Akiko trips over a rectangular lump, yelps as she falls to her knees, and bangs around in the darkness until she feels her way to a lamp on the bedside table. Seated on the floor, she leans her back against the side of the bed and pulls her knees up to her chest, the left of which is skinned and beading blood. She stares at an empty cat bed at the glass slider. AKIKO: So now you’ve stooped to bodily harm, have you? She narrows her eyes at the cat bed. AKIKO: Well much like my favorite sushi restaurant, the topic’s closed. Locked down. Boarded up. Condemned. Do. Not. Enter. She pokes at her skinned knee and grimaces. AKIKO: I can feel you staring at me. Stop it. Just knock it off with the guilt trips, okay? You’re not the only one the misses her. (pause) All those midnight snuggles, that little motor humming you to sleep, whisker kisses at six A - M… Akiko blows on her knee and an eyelet of blood falls down the steep mountain of her leg. AKIKO: We’re not getting another cat. It’s too soon. How can you even be okay with another cat laying all over you, batting her toys around the house, clawing at her scratching post? She wipes her nose with her sleeve. AKIKO: I am not being selfish! I know forty-one percent of shelter cats are euthanized each year. It’s terrible, but…Look, I’m not saying we’ll never adopt another cat, I’m just saying it’s too soon. Maybe in another couple months? I mean, I know it’s already been six months, but that’s not all that long. You have to think of it from Kiki’s point of view: how betrayed would she feel if the moment she’s gone some foreign furball is gettin’ all up in her mixed grill? Akiko buries her head between her knees. AKIKO: (quietly) Sometimes I still call her name out of habit; sometimes right after I wake up a “Here, Kiki mow” hovers in my throat, and then – and then I remember, and I have to swallow it back down it again. How would some new cat feel if I called them by the wrong name, huh? How would they feel if I didn’t—couldn’t—love them enough? She points an angry finger at the cat bed. AKIKO: That would be all your fault! Looking all lonely and pathetic over there every single morning and every single night. I can’t even turn on my own damn light without your incessant nagging. You’re lucky she loved you so much or I’d haul you into a box at the top of my closet and keep you there! Akiko crawls across the floor to the cat bed and raises her fist to it but stops short of punching it. She curls into a fetal position and rests her head on the cat bed like a pillow. A tear rolls over her cheek and soaks into the fabric of the cat bed. AKIKO: Here, Kiki mow…

Feedback 1 This stranded man feeling like the island is out to get him and becoming more and more enraged by it was a really creative response to the prompt. I also thought the addition of the faded pictures was a stroke of genius. It kicked me in the gut when I got to that part. I'm not so sure you needed the "Tropical paradise, my ass" line because you've already shown more effectively in earlier dialogue what this man has endured (i.e. "you sent me hunger and I learned to fish"), but I did like the twist at the end with him being so caught up in his failed fire that he missed his chance at being rescued.

Feedback 2 This scene was pretty funny! I really enjoyed your physical description of Nick (even though that's not really the point of the Dialogue Challenge) and I thought the Tony Stark pop culture reference and the steel rant as a whole was hilarious. I could certainly relate to excusing my number on the scale because of "heavy" clothing. I wasn't expecting the scale to actually break at the end though!

Johnny I had him kicking the coconut at one point, but felt it may have been a bit too comical. But he is really shipwrecked in the island. About your minor point, I must have read the scene more than 10 times at least and I still missed that. This is the one time I could not read it aloud (that is the secret). In any case, it's supposed to be "and it burns you up on the inside, doesn't it?" Good catch. Thanks for the feedback.

Malone Glad you liked it. I added the "tropical paradise" line to show that this guy always needs to have the final word... even when he is on his own. And I thought it might relieve the tension a bit... at least until the final conclusion that the island won in the end. Thanks for your feedback.

Feedback 13 Malone This was a very intense scene, basically a study of grief. I really liked the way the anger and the pain builds up. I was just a bit confused if Akiko is only lashing out at her cat's bed or if she is actually having a conversation with it. But nevertheless, the scene works: lovely imagery, good solid dialogues and the ending... gut wrenching. Very well done.

You had me at "shaped like your grandmothers television set". Hilarious.

FEEDBACK 1! Wow!! This is amazing, the visuals just pop in the mind. I especially liked the ending! This is cool! I loved Frank! i didnt get some part of it though like the chamber thing, it was confusing when FRANK mentioned it. But! its really very cool! i loved it!

FEEDBACK 2 Oh God!Reading everyone's stuff is making me feel so unskilled here. This was perfect! i lived it, i am not good at giving feedbacks as I'm still rough at the art of storytelling itself, s sorry if you expected more.. But the end was so awesome, comical yet sad, the dialogues are realistic. One can hear his voice and tone while reading!

Thanks, Alice. Glad you enjoyed the scene. The line about the chamber should have been directed more to Honey to make it more specific. Part of the problem with writing and posting and not editing. Also, he didn't have to yell it. Oh well, that's why we write then rewrite, right?

Jonathan - Many thanks for the feedback and for taking the time to read - Johnny

Scene 11, but who's counting? INT. HOUSE IN COLONNA - DAY GIUSEPPE, 80, carrying a hammer, searches his house, opening closets, looking under beds and behind boxes. ? GIUSEPPE: (singing gaily) Come out-a, come out-a, wherever you are! He continues looking. GIUSEPPE: Where she's-a hidin'? He pauses, rolls his eyes up at the ceiling, then brandishes a finger. GIUSEPPE: Da ward-a-robe! I'll betcha she's inna da ward-a-robe! He rushes upstairs into a vacant bedroom and tiptoes to a large wardrobe. Listens at the door, then knocks on it. GIUSEPPE: Surprise, surprise! I know you're inna dere! He opens the door and smiles. We can't see into the wardrobe. He parts the clothing, looking into the very back. GIUSEPPE: I see you! Dis where you been-a hidin' alla dissa time! I knew I'd-a find you! Lemme getta good look at-a you. He turns on an overhead light. GIUSEPPE: Come out here, I dare you! No? You can't face-a me, eh? You should look ashamed. Look at me. Look at me! He reaches into the wardrobe again and tugs at something or someone before taking his hands back out. GIUSEPPE: Dat's-a better. Oh, dat-a face. Dat-a face what make-a so many men lose-a deyr brains! Den you go an' lose-a yours. He shakes his finger at the occupant. GIUSEPPE: It was alla you fault. You letta dat-a no-good bastard seduce-a you, lead-a you down da path to da garden. Shakes his head sadly. GIUSEPPE: Whadda he do? Turn-a you head witta his silver tongue? His serpent's-a tongue! An' you, you fool, you hadda get into bed witta him. Whore! Idiot! He brandishes the hammer. GIUSEPPE: Now I'm a-gonna smasha you face. I'm a-gonna put-a you inna da fire. When I die, nobody's gonna know I was-a so stupid to trust-a you. I'll bury you so deep, nobody ever find-a you. He reaches rapidly into the closet. GIUSEPPE: Okay, time for you to come out an' face-a da music. Giuseppe pulls out a dusty, life-size bronze bust of Benito Mussolini.

INT. Brad's Messy Apartment Two ice cubes drop in rapid succession, coming to a stop with a satisfying clink. The scotch cork's nuzzle reminds you of when you were younger. An index finger popped against the inside of your cheek. The tumbler glass is filled almost to the brim. BRAD (overweight, unkempt and on the wrong side of thirty) goes dead-weight in front his desk. It's well past noon, and he's still in his bathrobe. From the bubbled-up condensation circles and piled-up take-out menus, we know that it's just another surface to pile shit on. It's cheap, too--one of those chintzy particle board jobs you can get from IKEA. In the center is a beat up old DELL, flanked by framed photos of GINA on either side. Even her pictures look disappointed in him. The computer chair groaned from the excessive weight. He takes a sip, winces and gets his fingers into position above the keyboard. BRAD: Okay-oohhkay. What. Do. We. Have. Here. He fingers the keys gingerly--afraid he might break it. He hadn't this thing much since college. Even then, it was exclusively for porn. BRAD: Gee-Mail-Dot-Com. Enter. The screen flickers, and an hourglass starts to spin in front of him. DELL: [LOADING]. He adjusts himself impatiently in his chair, nodding his head, popping his fingers. Making them hiss. A beat, and he logs himself in. BRAD: 5,000 E-Mails. Well I guess we'll just start with the most recent, eh? MOM (V.O.): Brad. Just checking in. I know it's hard since Gina left. But things will get better. Love, Mom. BRAD (Reading as he hunts and pecks): Couldn't. Be. Better. She. Eats. Children. You know? Sent. That. Check. Yet? He looks at GINA's scowling picture. BRAD: One down, eh Cook? This grown up stuff isn't so hard after all. I might need a drink to celebrate. Upon hearing this, COOKIE, a brown dachshund, groans under a pile of dirty laundry. BRAD: And Enter. He jams his finger down with a triumphant click, but nothing happens. BRAD: And....Enter. DELL: [Loading....Please Wait] He takes another drink. Larger this time. He tickles the keys impatiently. Then jams the ENTER key repeatedly. DELL: [UPDATING VIRUS DEFINITIONS. PLEASE WAIT.] BRAD: No. Cancel, Goddammit it. Cancel. CANCEL. He circles the mouse around. It danced across the screen, leaving broken ghost trails in its wake. DELL: [DEFRAGMENTING...1% COMPLETE] BRAD: I'll defrag you. Escape. Escape. Jesus christ. He stops. He closes his eyes and looks to the sky. You can almost see him count to ten, then back down to one. BRAD: Get a grip, Brad. This is what she was talking about. You're not like that, though. You're relaxed. Relax-a-mundo. You're good, man. You're good. Like a fucking hindu cow. Just give it a moment. He opens his eyes. Takes a breath. And pounds away like a madman. BRAD: WORK, GODDAMMIT. JUST ONE GODDAMNED THING. AND-- DELL: [Invalid Command. Shutting Down.] He pounds on the table, exasperated, and one of the pictures falls onto its face. He picks it up, and there she is. Glowering at him. The camel's back was officially broken. BRAD: SON OF A BITCH, PIECE OF SHIT, CHEATING, MOTHER FUCKER. He swipes the laptop from the desk and launches it at the far wall. It shatters into pieces, which drop to the floor. He leans far back in his chair, the bolts pleading for mercy. He straightens himself out, and shrugs. BRAD: Should've bought a Mac. He shotguns what's left in the tumbler, and the ice smacks him in the face. It takes him by surprise, and he drops back. Too far. Bolts snap and the chair buckles. He kicks in the air, nailing one side of the desk. He falls to the ground, beaten. A half-assed snow angel over filthy carpeting.. BRAD: I need a drink. The side of the desk groans, the desktop falls and he's showered with years' worth of clutter. COOKIE rolls over, faking dead over some Chinese food menus.

Feedback 7 Very good and well written. I think you will do well if we have a description focused competition! Really amusing dialogue which many of us can relate to so it felt very real and a nice ending too. By the way a weird coincidence, you refer to a Giuseppe character in your story which is the name of Jeff's main character further below?! Haha wonder if its the same person. Nice Italian name.

Thanks Alice. :)

SCENE 9 EXT. DAY. Traffic jam. It is raining buckets, typical monsoon weather. WOMAN is in hatchback maneuvers between a truck and bus, wipers on slow keep some sort of visibility. She idles in first , the traffic won’t let up that fraction of second it takes to change gears. WOMAN: You know, a lot rides on you, dear girl. (the engine seems to rev up just a bit in response) WOMAN: Yes, thank you so much. But then I always knew I could count on you. Always have. ( the roar of the engine, the clickety clack of the wipers) WOMAN: Remember that time when I left work at 1 in the night, their day, our night, so what do you do? But I knew…you know, I knew… (inches the car very slightly ahead, now bumper to bumper with the foul, smoke-emitting truck ) WOMAN: whatalech, sorry about that, some other time, okay? Yeah.. I knew you’d be good and race home purring. One in the night. (rain hammers on the roof) WOMAN: You’ve always always been Miss Reliable. Even when I was learning. Remember V and those 5 AM lessons? Ah the paved roads gleamed like bricks of gold… * For she walks in fields of gold…* (the buzz of the engine and the sound of the wipers) WOMAN: I know you won’t let me down today either. Must get to the presentation in time. You know how it is. (the car seems to move ahead of its own accord) WOMAN: Can’t have that credit stealer hog all the limelight, can we? He’d take credit for Newton’s laws if he could, the moron.All of them. (buzz of engine) WOMAN: Yeah, don’t have to put up with it. But I can play nice Miss as long as I have to. Why rock the boat? (Engine silent. Repeated attempts to start come to naught.) WOMAN: Oh hullo, hullo, what the hell is this? C’mon now, just this once….HELP, please? Pretty please? (tries again, no go.) WOMAN: Ok, got you loud and clear. Stand up. Ship out. (rain intensifies)

SCENE 5 INT. LISA'S KITCHEN--DAY Lisa (34) enters in pajamas, sets her phone gingerly on hte counter as she shakes out cereal into a bowl. She picks up her phone, checks for messages--nothing. LISA: It's still early. No biggie. She pours the milk, stuffs a spoonful into her mouth as her gaze turns to the PHOTO on the fridge--her and her husband KYLE at their wedding, beaming into the camera. LISA (to photo): Don't you start. I didn't do anything wrong. She looks over at the phone, checks it again--still nothing. LISA: It was just a date. It didn't mean anything. He's not even gonna call. She stirs her cereal halfheartedly, appetite gone. She stares defiantly at the photo. LISA: It's not like you get a say in this. If I want to go out with a guy, have a few drinks, what's it to you? She shoves a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, chews defiantly. LISA: You left, remember? You left me. She shakes her head, struggling to keep herself together. LISA: Don't give me that look. It's been two years. I went out one night, one time. She snatches the photo off the fridge, slams it face down onto the counter. LISA: What's wrong with wanting to be happy? How long do I have to cry over you before I get to move on without feeling guilty? She swallows, turns the photo back over. LISA (softer): That's what I would've wanted for you, if you'd been the one to go first. She pours her cereal into the sink, sticks the photo back up on the fridge. LISA: I had an awful time last night. There was nothing wrong with the guy, but he wasn't you. She brushes her fingers against the photo, sorrow washing across her face. LISA: I miss you. She brushes away a tear and exits.

Feedback 3 Well written. I could feel her pain and anger. I had expected that she would shove or kick the cat bed under her bed so that she wouldn't have to stare at it.

FEEDBACK 5 I really like how you constructed this scene. You managed to convey a lot of information about Brad's character through his email response to his mom, and it really summed up both how much he was trying to avoid his feelings and how angry he really was. I don't know how necessary Cookie was, since she didn't seem to add much to the scene and considering how Brad wasn't so good at taking care of himself, it made me wonder how he managed to look after a dog, but the argument with his computer worked wonderfully to bring out his true feelings about his relationship and snap him out of denial.

INT. OFFICE BUILDING – CUBICLES CHLOE (20s) is sitting cross-legged, looking a little rumpled – her hair is put up in a messy bun and her t-shirt and jogging shorts looking out of place for the office. CHLOE: Come on…. She reaches to her mouse. Her screen looks frozen; however, the corner of her excel says “Calculating (4 Processor(s)): 2%” She picks up her blackberry to check work emails while waiting for her computer to do something. There’s an email from Will: “Hey, where are you? I’m free for the next couple of hours.” She types back: “Stuck in the office”. She turns back to her computer. It still reads “Calculating (4 Processor(s)): 5%”. CHLOE: Seriously. Her blackberry pings letting her know she has a message. “Well – call me if you get out. I’m free for the next couple hours; Nat’s getting drinks with her friends.” She reaches to move her mouse around to double check to that it still works. Her computer is frozen. CHLOE: Are you fucking shitting me? She presses escape, and excel crashes. She raises her fist as if she were about to pound the table, but stops. CHLOE: You fucking piece of shit. She shoves the screen of her computer, anything to take her anger out on something. Chloe gets up and goes into one of the offices lining the building and looks outside – it’s bright and the roads are lined with cabs. She walks back to her computer which no longer shows the excel spreadsheet she was working on earlier. CHLOE: Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. She sits back down and re-opens excel.

FEEDBACK 10: clwang, I think we can all relate to Chloe’s situation. You can definitely feel her frustration. I like that she has a text conversation with Will. Some thoughts: Maybe to crank up the tension and frustration level, you could extend her text/email conversation with Will further into a possible phone conversation? Or more things go wrong in her office as she tries desperately to complete her Excel spreadsheet task. The power goes out? She might even share her frustrations with Will. Will could either commiserate with Chloe, offer some unhelpful advice (Will: “Have you tried turning it off and on?”), or try to calm her down. When she curses the computer, she may have to clarify to Will that she wasn’t cursing at him (on the phone).

Thanks!!

SCENE 10: INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY BOB, 51, sits in his recliner. Snacks and drinks surround him like a mini-utopia. He aims the remote at the television and cable box. Nothing happens. He clicks the remote again. Nothing. Shakes the remote. BOB: Criminy! You gobble up batteries like Sheila and the kids gobble up my paycheck. Bob puts new batteries into the remote. He aims it at his entertainment console… and… nothing. BOB: Work, damn you! Don’t be like Sheila, man. He bangs it on his armrest. The television finally turns on. BOB: Atta boy! The television shows an episode of the reality show "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills." BOB: Ugh. Why does she watch this garbage? Beverly Hills trolls. Get me to the game. Pronto. He clicks the remote. The television changes to a baseball game. Then jumps back to the Housewives show. Back and forth. Back and forth. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. BOB: What the hell? No, no, no. Don’t disappoint me like everyone else in this family. Come on! The TV set displays the ballgame. BOB: That’s more like it. Now, stay. The TV turns off. Bob frantically presses the remote. The TV turns on and off several times. BOB: Cheese and crackers! Schizoid piece of shit. Arrrgh! Bob shakes/strangles the remote and throws it down. He gets out of his recliner, stomps the remote into little pieces, and manually turns on the television set. When he returns to his chair, he SEES-- SAMMY, 12, Bob’s son, hiding behind the couch with a duplicate remote control aimed at the television. Sammy stifles laughs while JIMMY, 10, Bob’s other son, continues filming Bob with a camera phone. BOB: Sammy! Jimmy! You little shits! Think this is funny? “Daddy goes mental with a remote?” I’ll show you mental-- Sammy and Jimmy run out of the house. BOB: Better not post it on YouTube! Bob picks up the duplicate remote control and returns to his recliner. BOB: This is all Sheila’s fault. I should’ve gotten a vasectomy.

SCENE 10 Andy sits alone at the bar, several empty glasses in front of him. He looks at the bar stool next to him where a red coat is hanging. He blinks, trying to get rid of his double vision. ANDY: I like your dress. (beat) Fine. Don't take a compliment. The dress is actually pretty ugly. (beat) I'd like to see that dress on the floor if you know what I mean. Cuz it's an ugly dress. And also I'd like to see you naked. You'd be naked if the dress was on the floor. That's what that means. Andy picks up his drink and tries to drink from the straw but can't get it in his mouth. He pulls it out and throws it. ANDY: Stupid straw. Who needs you anyway? I don't need you. I don't need anybody. You don't need me. I'm not stupid. You're stupid. He puts his drink to his lips but it's empty. He tilts it back and the ice spills out on his face. ANDY: Stupid ice. I don't need you. He closes his eyes and opens them again, drunk... if that's not apparent. He looks at the coat on the barstool next to him. ANDY: You want to get out of here? He leans forward and falls off his stool onto the floor. A man grabs the coat and walks away. ANDY: I'll call you.

Feedback 8 First world problems! I can relate. Try adding something pressing to bring more tension into the scene. Is she working on something urgent? Is time a factor? She has the text message invite, maybe it should be the boss checking that the project is done because the clients are ready. Maybe Will should be THAT guy she's been trying to hookup with. Good work.

Dialogue 11 INT. LIVING ROOM Posh. Luxurious. DIANA (30s) and JERRY (40s) stand looking at an OSCAR STATUE set in the middle of a mantel. JERRY: it's so cute...isn't it? DIANA : Yes. Cute. She downs her wine. Then holds her glass out for more. JERRY: My, my. Someone likes the '75. I'll go to the cellar and get some more. Jerry takes her glass and leaves. Diana eyes the small golden statue. DIANA: You think you are special, don't you? Standing there all smug. She paces. DIANA: You could've represented a film about love and commitment and...and humanity. But, noooo.... You decide you want to honor a story about men in the ocean.....THE OCEAN. She gestures wildly. DIANA: So lame. DIANA: But what do I except from a little man....a little, golden man. She gets close and whispers harshly: DIANA: You should belong to me! (jabs her finger into her chest) To me. DIANA: Of all the films.... She crosses her arms in protest. DIANA: stupid....naked.....man. Jerry returns with a new bottle of wine. JERRY: Are you two getting better acquainted? Diana rolls her eyes as she drinks her wine.