BEAUTY IN DESTRUCTION Written by Eirik Knutsvik 19 Harrow View, HA1 1RE, London +44 (0) 75 8338 9946 me@eirikknutsvik.com EXT. STREAM - FOREST - EVENING A calm stream in a lush forest, ELENA (5), slender, eyes filled with life, plays barefoot in one of its pond. Her homemade toy boats of discarded bits of boards wage war in the waves created by her feet. Her focus changes: darkness covers the sky like a soft blanket - it’s time to go home. She cannot be late. EXT. FARMHOUSE - COUNTRYSIDE - EVENING Elena’s dress flutters against the headwind that carries the sound of kitchenware breaking. She pauses. CLOSE UP: She eyes the front door, in two minds as to what to do. There’s a final thump from within. The door shoots open, CLARE, her mother, just as slim, but with fresh blood oozing from a head wound, rushes towards her. Elena understands - takes her mother’s hand. EXT. FAR UP THE FOREST-DRESSED MOUNTAIN-SIDE - AN HOUR OR SO LATER - LATE EVENING Clare and Elena both fall to the ground, the dark-green grass brushing against their naked arms and feet. There’s a clearing in the trees, granting a beautiful view of the distant landscape. ELENA (Out of breath) Can we stop now? Are we safe? Clare, exhausted, can hold back tears no longer. They stream down her face, over the dried blood. She hugs her daughter as if her life depended on it. CLARE We’re safe, my little star, we’re safe. The birds should be at sleep by now, but they still sing. ELENA Will he find us? He always finds us. CLARE Not this time. (She motions for Elena to sit between her legs) I want to show you something. 2. Elena does, her back resting against her mother, who hugs her in return. They gaze onto the horizon. CLARE (CONT’D) Do you remember the last time we sat here, staring at the night sky with thousands of blinking lights? Do you remember how we never wanted it to end? SFX: Far into the distance, beyond the forest and lit windows, beyond the blue-gray mountains and the moon’s reflection in the sea, a great light illuminates the sky. Colours of all sorts pushes themselves from the impact, like the pedals of a rose as the morning sun touches it, spreading across the horizon. Clare whispers into her daughter’s ear: CLARE (CONT’D) Don’t be afraid, my little star. THE END
Enter the password to open this PDF file:
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-