This is the final draft of my screenplay for the creative fiction writing class I'm talking this semester. It's supposed to be a very short film. My first attempt at the medium - be kind...
1. EXT. EMPTY PARKING LOT – MORNING
A bright summer morning. A long, two-story building sits in the background, a large sign on one side reading “Ricos Auto Repair”. The pavement is heavily cracked and the yellow lines are faintly visible.
A white sedan with rust spots pulls up, parking near a small booth in the lot with large windows on three of its walls about fifty feet away from the larger building. The sign on top reads “Ricos Key Shop”
You know all the terrible shit that happens to someone just when things seem to be going right in life?
A man in his thirties steps out of the car, slightly overweight, wearing a blue polo, dark slacks and black leather dress shoes, carrying a small black gym bag. He walks slowly towards the booth, JINGLING keys in his hand as he approaches the locked door.
2. INT. DARKENED LIVING ROOM – EARLY MORNING
A pregnant woman (JEANETTE) is sitting partway up a wooden staircase, her hair disheveled, with hands hanging down between her knees.
Everything’s going great with your girl, you’re happy and all of that, then Boom! Disaster strikes, problems arise.
She watches the man in the blue polo standing near the front door, pulling on his shoes, her expression filled with distaste.
3. INT. BOOTH
We can see that the one windowless wall of the booth is covered with key blanks, there are thousands of them, old-looking machines sit beneath the wall of keys. A glass showcase filled with deadbolt locks and key chains separate the tiny work area from the even tinier customer area. The man, GREG, locks the door behind him.
I’m talking like Karma or Fate or something like that, but with more of a sinister edge.
A SEQUENCE OF SHOTS
showing Greg preparing to open up for business.
- From his bag he pulls out his lunch: a sandwich in a plastic baggy and a metal thermos
- He FLIPS the power switches on the breaker box.
- Pulls a thick, raggedy-looking paperback novel from his bag.
- Turns on the register.
- He pulls a large magnum revolver from his bag.
- Turns on the lights, which HUM loudly.
- He places the revolver casually beneath the register on a shelf.
- He unlocks the door again.
Like, if there's a god turning the cogs of the universe, then there’s someone else who exists just to throw a wrench into the machinery at just the right time to fuck our shit up.
Greg stands with hands on the showcase facing the parking lot beyond through the window.
4. EXT. PARKING LOT – WIDE SHOT
from up high, exposing his smallness against the vast emptiness of the sparsely populated parking lot.