TRIAL BY SNAKE

COURT REPORTER:  The defendant in our next case is somewhat well known. A hero to our city who goes by the moniker Snake Charmer, he was once a tall, frail, and skinny boy with an interest in reptiles.  After accidentally finding the mysterious Cave of the Forgotten Gods, he was granted a big jug full of snakes by the demi-god Gelli-Ah.  With this jug, he became invincible, so long as the snakes in the jug remain alive.  

The COURT REPORTER turns lackadaisically to the camera, sighing.

COURT REPORTER: The plaintiff in this case is the very same demi-god Gelli-Ah.  She states that she gave the jug to Snake Charmer in good faith, telling him that one day the snakes in the magic jug would die and that its powers could then pass to another deserving soul.  She is accusing the defendant of purchasing additional snakes from various pet stores, and then using them to replace any dead snakes in the magic jug.  By doing so, Snake Charmer is retaining his power and near immortality far beyond what Gelli-Ah had originally intended.  But wait!  Our trial….BEGINS!

The crowd around the courtroom suddenly hushes, as the BAILIFF gets things moving.

BAILIFF:  All rise. The honorable judge and former ParaShootist Xander Citement is presiding.

XANDER CITEMENT walks into the courtroom, the tips of his hair frosted.  He looks out at the courtroom with confidence as if challenging any haters

XANDER CITEMENT:  Thanks.  Everybody can sit right the fuck down.  

The crowd murmurs in a way appropriate to what Judge XANDER CITEMENT has just said

XANDER CITEMENT: Okay now listen up.  As you can see, I ain’t one of those stuffy judges.  I do things my way.  And my way, my friends, is a way without limits or any of those boundaries enforced by social-norms.  So let me boil it down for you:  I might have the attitude of a Harley Davidson rider and the IQ of a smart businessman, but as far as y’all are concerned?  In this courtroom, I AM the law.  Hear ye, hear ye?

CROWD:  (all nodding) Hear ye.

XANDER CITEMENT: Great.  Then we fuckin’ understand each other.  Now like I said, sit the fuck down cause I got a case to judge.

The crowd sits. Betty Paulsen, court stenographer, looks up with a tear in her eye.

XANDER CITEMENT: So! Before we begin, the courtroom should know that when it’s lived like I’ve lived it, life itself is a drug!  No need for methamphetamines! (flashes sideways peace sign)

SNAKE CHARMER:  We appreciate your example, your honor.

XANDER CITEMENT: So you, Gelli-Ah...  (Looks at his papers) Says here something about… “snakes should be dead by now”?

GELLI-AH steps forward. Her beauty betrays her as someone not of this world.  Her hair is ribboned with eternity and omniscience, and it falls loosely to her shoulders.  She is wearing a smart black business suit that looks very expensive. She is nearly tattoo-free.


GELLI-AH: Yes. I am Demi-God Gelli-Ah, Eternal Witness and Mistress of Snakes.  It is truth that the snakes I gave him should no longer exist in the mortal realm. The snakes I provided within the jug were no more than the common garter variety. They were neither special nor enhanced. I know this, as all snakes are my children.  The common garter snake spirit is contained within its flesh shell for around 8 years.  But this is true only if - IF the snakes are well fed AND not crammed into a jug filled to the brim with other garter snakes.  The human calling himself Snake Charmer has had live snakes in his jug for nigh on 12 years! What are they eating?! Pray tell!  There is no room for snake sustenance in the jug!  This human attempts to cheat the very demi-god that granted him power! There WILL be a legal reckoning!

XANDER CITEMENT:  Yep.  Question for you, Gelli-Ah.  You give these snakes out before?

GELLI-AH:  Not these same snakes, but I’ve given out jugs with other snakes, yes.  Once every hundred years.

XANDER CITEMENT: And?

GELLI-AH: And the snakes are usually dead within a few months.  The longest previous stretch was six months, and the recipient froze them.  They were technically alive, if you can call such an existence life.

XANDER CITEMENT: So twelve years is like a new record or something?

GELLI-AH:  As I said. 

SNAKE CHARMER:  Your honor, if I may – 

XANDER CITEMENT: Hey! Trickle dick! Wait your turn!  I ain’t talkin’ to you yet!

SNAKE CHARMER: (flustered) Er…Yes, your honor. 

XANDER CITEMENT: So basically, Gelli-Ah, you’re upset because this guy here is keeping live snakes in the jug longer than you wanted him to?

GELLI-AH: That is correct.

XANDER CITEMENT: Right.  Just makin’ make sure we’re all on the same page here.  So...was there any written contract or anything?  You have it in writing that he can’t add new snakes?  Or maybe you worded it like, “these snakes”?  Something like that?
SNAKE CHARMER: There was no written contract, your honor.  She just said, and I quote --

Judge Xander Citement takes out a long-barreled revolver and shoots it at the floor, right between Snake Charmer’s feet.

XANDER CITEMENT: Said it wasn’t your turn yet, son!  Hang tight, we’re almost there. Back to you, snake cosmos lady – you got a written, notarized contract for this?

GELLI-AH:  No, your honor.

XANDER CITEMENT:  Right.  So now Gelli-Ah, if I can sum things up, basically you gave him your power with verbal conditions, and while he’s technically meeting those conditions, you ain’t happy with how he’s doin’ it.  That sound about right?

GELLI-AH: That is a simplification, but yes, it is accurate.

XANDER CITEMENT: Well hot fuck! I got one right!  Now you, Snake Charmer!  Talk to me on your thoughts.

SNAKE CHARMER: I didn’t do anything wrong, your honor.  I FIGHT injustice. I don’t create it!

GELLI-AH:  You do so at my pleasure!  At mine!  Return the jug to me!

XANDER CITEMENT: Woah Nellie!  Gelli-Ah, don’t go thinking I won’t bust your ass just cause you’re some kinda demi-whoozit.  It’s this snake guy’s chance to speak now and it’s your chance to take that trap and shut it!

GELLI-AH: (mumbles something indistinguishable)

XANDER CITEMENT:  What’s that?  You still wanna say something? Well I can’t hear you, snake lady!  You asking me out on a date or something? Don’t be shy, now!

GELLI-AH: (quietly) No, your honor.  I will remain silent. For now.

XANDER CITEMENT: Good.  That’s great news, glad to hear it.  So go on, Snake Charmer.  Tell us your side of this thing.

SNAKE CHARMER: Thank you, your honor. Well, as most of you know, I met Gelli-Ah in the Cave of Forgotten Gods and our relationship was friendly at first.  If you’ve read my autobiography, you know that it was…VERY friendly at first.  I think it’s safe to say that we found each other in that cave. It was… well, whatever she might say now…apparently I impressed her enough in that cave that she thought I should be bestowed the snake jug.  And as she herself admitted, no contract was signed or even presented.  I read now from page 32 of my Autobiography, where I recount what happened. 

(Snake Charmer pulls out his Autobiography Charmed, I’m Sure, and begins reading)

SNAKE CHARMER: “And as we lay there, naked, a faint green glow from an unknown source broke through the surrounding darkness, lighting her up. By god, she was beautiful.  Gelli-Ah turned to me, still sweaty from our passion, and I watched as a jug slowly materialized in her hand.  Breathlessly, she whispered, “Mortal, so long as the snakes inside this jug remain alive, you shall have powers of no mortal man.  You shall be immortal.  But I warn you:  the snakes in the jug do not share your powers. On the day that the last snake in the jug dies, so too will you.  Use your time and your powers wisely to serve justice and protect the weak.  This is my blessing.  It is also my curse.”

(Snake Charmer closes the book)

XANDER CITEMENT:  Shit, son!

SNAKE CHARMER:  Yeah.  I know.  I had really mixed feelings about it.  I mean, of course I wanted to protect people; I was really happy about that part of it.  And the immortality thing was – is –  awesome too.  But at the same time, she was also basically giving me a death sentence!  I die when the snakes die?!  Like, the very first thing I did when I got home was Google how longs snakes live!

XANDER CITEMENT:  Google.  Shit.

SNAKE CHARMER:  Right.  So I figure, there has to be some sort of workaround.  I don’t want to die just cause of some dead snakes in a jug…  And finally it came to me!  Pet stores have tons of snakes!  It was worth a shot, right?  Your honor, I won’t deceive you.  I openly ADMIT that I’m replacing the snakes.  I admit it!  Every day!  I try to be careful with them, but yeah, they are tightly packed in this thing and they drop like flies.  But if I hadn’t been replacing them, I would have been dead a long, long time ago.  I wouldn’t have been around to overthrow the Mongoose’s reign of terror or to stop Honey Badger’s psychic drug ring!  Yes, maybe the spirit of the agreement was for the lifespan of the original snakes, but that was never stated explicitly, and - 

XANDER CITEMENT:  and you didn’t want to die.  I think we’re all clear on your motives, Snake boy.

GELLI-AH: Your honor, I…

XANDER CITEMENT:  Yeah, Gelli?

GELLI-AH:  May I approach the bench?

XANDER CITEMENT:  You may if you bring me one of those candies I saw in your purse.  
(GELLI-AH grabs a butterscotch candy and approaches XANDER CITEMENT and speaks to him in a whisper)

GELLI-AH: Your honor, I must speak to you confidentially.  Snake Charmer must not know of our conversation, else all might be lost.

XANDER CITEMENT: I’ll allow it.

GELLI-AH: When the snakes in the jug have all finally died, Snake Charmer will not also perish.  Rather, letting the last snake die is a vital part of the learning process – it forces him to accept the powerlessness of one’s own mortality.  And so this jug, this jug full of snakes, is simply the first test. When all the snakes have died, Snake Charmer will remain alive, though he will have lost his powers.  That is, until he passes the second test.

XANDER CITEMENT:  The second test? Well keep talkin’, lady.  You’ve got me curious!

GELLI-AH:  Yes.  For this test, while mortal and physically weakened, he must protect someone from danger.  He must learn that his strongest strength is that of his character. Further, he must do all of this while carrying a jug filled with dead snakes.

XANDER CITEMENT:  What a mind fuck!

GELLI-AH: As you say.  

XANDER CITEMENT: Yeah.  So you got any more of them jugs, or what?  Cause this courtroom ain't feedin' my thrill need, and it's time I get back to gettin' busy with some Parashootin'.  Maybe this time...maybe this time I get Parashootin' with a jug full of snakes.

GELLI-AH: Interesting.

A Dime To Kill

Scene – Rain is pouring down on THE CITY during the twilight hours.  Make no mistake, THE CITY is an almost tangible character is this piece, one with its own arc, feelings, and needs.  It is mysterious, with residents of all shapes, sizes, and colors – some good citizens, some not-so-good.  Also, like all cities, THE CITY has a sewer system and some street lights and tall buildings.  THE CITY speaks to the audience, its voice overlaid with a cacophony of car horns, crowd noise, and dog barking.

THE CITY:  Why hello there!  How are you doing?  Me?  I’m okay, I guess.  Getting older… I’ve seen a lot, but I should tell you that today was strange, even for me.  I mean, there are days and there are days, you know?  Take it from me; I’m a city.  I’ve lived them all.  Yes, I’ve certainly seen my share of excitement, as you scum crawl through me and dirty up my streets, but today, a course of events happened that I’d like to share with you.  It all started with DYLAN FEATHERS, an unlikely hero.  Watch, will you, as I share my story….

A taxi in THE CITY splashes through a puddle, stopping suddenly in front of a run-down convenience store.  DYLAN FEATHERS steps out.  He is tall and thin and wearing a brown trench coat with a matching fedora. He holds his hat to his head as he rushes through the rain and into the convenience store. The store is empty, save for a CASHIER in his late twenties. Dylan heads straight towards him.

DYLAN:  I need to speak to Marco.

CASHIER:  No can do, buddy.  Sorry.  He left for the day.  He might be in tomorrow though.

Annoyed, DYLAN pushes past the CASHIER and walks into the back room.  He sees MARCO sitting on a faded brown couch.  MARCO is wearing a stained wife beater and crouched over a coffee table with a rolled up dollar bill. MARCO looks up and sees DYLAN.

MARCO:  Hey!  Dylan!  I was just about to call you!  I was!

DYLAN:  That’s great, Marco. You must have my money then.

MARCO:  Well, about that… 

DYLAN:  Don’t you do this to me, Marco.  I said two weeks. You think I’m just some punk who is asking you? Because I am fucking telling you --

MARCO:  No!  I mean I’ve got it - it’s here!  It’s just…it’s not exactly like you asked.

Sweating and jittering, MARCO gets up, heads to a safe, and begins to unlock it.  DYLAN takes out his holstered revolver and points it at MARCO.

DYLAN:  Don’t pull any shit, Marco.  I’m warning you.

MARCO:  Easy, Dylan!  I won’t!  I swear it! We had a deal! 

MARCO opens the safe and pulls out four stacks of 100 dollar bills.  DYLAN closes his eyes and shakes his head.

DYLAN:  This isn’t what we agreed upon, Marco.  I’m disappointed.

MARCO:  I know - I know it isn’t.  But it’s more!  It’s an extra two thousand dollars!  I mean…money’s money, right?  Count it!  It’s yours!

DYLAN: I said “dimes.” I was very clear.

MARCO:  I know you did, but…it just…it sounded like a joke, you know?  I mean, who wants $20,000 in dimes?  Nobody, right? 

DYLAN:  I wasn’t joking, Marco.

MARCO:  But you can’t just go to a bank and ask for 200,000 dimes, Dylan!  You’ve got to know that!

DYLAN:  That wasn’t my problem, Marco.  That was your problem.  But now you’ve made it mine.

With an annoyed look, DYLAN shoots MARCO in the head and picks up the money.  The CASHIER rushes in to see what happened.  Sighing, DYLAN shoots the CASHIER in the head too. He then leaves the convenience store and hails another cab.

THE CITY: *wink*

CUT TO the darkened interior of Dylan’s apartment.  The door opens, silhouetting DYLAN for a moment before he steps inside.  He flips on the light and we see barrels and crates scattered throughout the apartment, each filled to the brim with dimes.  DYLAN, still wet and ruffled from the rain, walks over to his kitchen counter.  He sorts his mail, quickly tossing aside the junk mail and focusing on the items he’d been waiting for.  He tears through each one rapidly - the envelopes all contain dimes he’s purchased or ordered.  He gives each a quick glance before swiping them off his counter in frustration.  There is an unexpected knock at the door, and DYLAN looks up sharply.  Carefully, he walks to the side of the door and pulls out his revolver.

DYLAN:  Yes?  Who is it?

A deep voice with an Eastern European accent speaks through the door:

MR. POE:  Hello, Mr. Feathers.  My name is Mr. Poe and I would like the chance to speak with you.  I believe we have a mutual interest.

DYLAN:  Sorry, buddy. You’re going to have to speak more plainly than that.

MR. POE:  The dimes, Mr. Feathers.  I’m here about the dimes.  Now please - open the door.  We have much to discuss.

DYLAN (to himself):  Fuck!

DYLAN opens the door and MR. POE walks in calmly.  He is tall, appears well-groomed, and has a dark, pointy beak. DYLAN ushers him to the couch with his revolver and Mr. Poe sits down, unconcerned with the fact that revolver is pointed at him.

MR. POE:  So nice to meet you at last, Mr. Feathers.  I’ve been hearing some very interesting things about you.

DYLAN: Right.  You mysteriously know all about me.  Now tell me what you want or get the fuck out of my house.

MR. POE:  Aha!  As promised:  a man of action!  Very well, I’ll get right to the point.  Where to begin…how about I start with dimes?

DYLAN:  Perfect.

MR. POE:  Yes.  The dimes…the dimes.  While we don’t have information on earlier years, in 1890 the US minted over 11 million, 300 thousand dimes.  That’s certainly a lot of dimes, Mr. Feathers, but that was 125 years ago.  They’ve minted millions – often billions – of dimes every year since, and in 2014 they minted over 2 billion, 300 million dimes.  What you have here, in your apartment (MR. POE gestures absently to the barrels and barrels of dimes), while impressive to the outside observer, is a grain of sand on a beach.   It is an exercise in futility.   

DYLAN:  Mmm hmmm.

MR. POE:  You doubt me?

DYLAN: If what I’m doing is so futile, then why are you even here?  Why would you bother if it’s as hopeless as you say?

MR. POE:  Ah, a more astute question than I gave you credit for, Mr. Feathers!  Yes, why would I be here if I honestly doubted that you will never find the dime we both seek?  I’ll answer your question with a question of my own. Why would you continue to search for the dime when you know full well you would need to be the luckiest duck alive to find it?

DYLAN:  …

MR. POE:  Yes.  That is why I’m here.  Because while you haven’t found the dime, you did manage to find something else that my employer seeks.  And we’re prepared to pay you handsomely for it, Mr. Feathers  - pay you enough so that you never need work again. 

DYLAN:  I don’t even know what you’re talking about.

MR. POE:  Oh, we both know that isn’t true.  But I can state it bluntly if you wish. I’m talking about Gladstone Gander, the luckiest duck that ever lived.  We know you have him.  And with the luck he carries, anything is possible.  Even finding Scrooge’s Number One 1875 US Dime.

DYLAN: But…I told no one…I was so careful.

MR. POE:  Of course you were.  But you can’t keep secrets from us, Mr. Feathers.  Try as you might. For example, I know you ate pancakes yesterday.

DYLAN:  Well I don’t know how you found out about him, but he’s not for sale!

MR. POE:  Oh yes he is. Yes, he most certainly is.  It will be much smoother for you this way.  Smarter.  Safer. The woman I work for -

DYLAN (interrupting and lifting his revolver):  The woman you work for isn’t my mommy, Mr. Poe, so I don’t have to do what she says.  Don’t you threaten me, you fuck.  I don’t need smoother, smarter, or safer.  I’ve got Gladstone Gander, remember?

Mr. Poe, looking mildly startled, stands and begins chanting under his breath. An unseen force immediately pulls the revolver from Dylan’s hand and sends it crashing into the refrigerator. Starting to panic, Dylan runs to his room.  Swearing under his breath, he grabs a rosewood box from underneath his bed and then immediately dashes back to his living room.  He arrives just in time to watch the room burst into flames.  Mr. Poe, untouched by the fire, begins walking towards Dylan as he starts chanting again.

DYLAN:  Duck, duck, dead, mother fucker!

Dylan tears open the rosewood box, revealing the decomposing severed head of Gladstone Gander. It truly looks lucky.  Mr. Poe’s eyes widen with fear, but he continues chanting and walking towards Dylan.  But, as he does, he steps on a roll of dimes that had been left on the ground.  He tries to maintain his balance while waving his arms frantically.

MR. POE:  Whoah-whoah-whoah!!!

Mr. Poe fails at balance, whooshing into the air and crying out as he does so.

MR. POE:  My perfect balaaaaaance!!!

Mr. Poe slams the back of his head into the table, which flips it up into the air.  It comes down right on his neck, and while he is not decapitated, he is FOR SURE almost decapitated, as his head kind of flops around on his neck like a phone receiver off its blood-spurting hook.

THE CITY:  Ooch!  As a city without a head, I can only empathize! And to think: all of this happened over the search of one measly dime!  But then, if you think about it, a dime that is measly to one person could be invaluable to another!  Why, if everyone here in the theater donated just one dime to me, THE CITY, why, it sure would go a long way to fixing things up.  Image a city with better roads, better jobs, and better schools, a city determined to better itself?  Just one dime a week, and you’d help pay the salary of maybe Paul Rickerson, who helps make sure your water’s clean.  Or Jan Meyers, who helps make sure the buses run on time.  So help us, won’t you?  Donate your dimes for a better tomorrow.

THURSDAY

THE CITY: The dime is mine, Feathers!  I swear by my God-damned roads, jobs, and schools, that you will never, ever lay one fucking wing Uncle Scrooge’s dime!  Not before I’m a smoldering heap of rubble and ruin!

DYLAN:  I wish it didn’t have to be this way, THE CITY, but it sure seem like it do.

But The Stars Shined On

Cold open on a meteor hurtling through space.  The meteor is dark and huge – the size of a small planet.  As the camera zooms in closer, we start to hear a faint chorus of screaming that grows louder and louder as the camera zooms closer, until the sound becomes an overwhelming cacophony of discord and terror.  Soon, we realize that the meteor is in fact a piece of Earth, somehow burned and charred and broken free from its orbit. While the screaming proves that some have survived, they obviously don’t seem too happy about it.  The screaming is abruptly silenced and the title appears in a somber yellow cursive font:

But The Stars Shined On

The slow and deliberate voice of Charles Turnkey provides a voiceover as the opening credits begin

CHARLES

What a fuckin’ day.  (Sighs) There’s maybe a million of us left now. Maybe.  But nobody with any real hope.  We all know we’re dead.  We know, it just hasn’t finished happening yet.  There ain’t no future, no reason to keep living.  Everyone, everything we’ve ever loved is gone or destroyed.  So we, the unlucky survivors, commiserate together through however our bodies choose to process this.  I chose to scream.

The camera finally zooms close enough to find Charles Turnkey.  He’s loosely holding a flashlight which is accidentally highlighting his face. It’s covered in ash and blood and his eyes are wide and without focus.  The contrast of their blue and white with his sooty-red face is alarming.  Charles is screaming and shaking, pausing his screaming only long enough to gasp another breath.  Charles continues to narrate as his screaming fades into the background.

CHARLES

As I stand here, choking on my own screams, my mind searches for sanctuary.

The image shifts dramatically to a vast green field.  Charles Turnkey is riding on a golden horse.  His clothes remain in tatters, and his face is still bloody and ash-covered.  He rides in complete stillness, his mouth stuck open in a silent scream.  Behind him, on another horse, rides a little girl with blond curls wearing a spotless white dress.

GIRL

Daddy?  Daddy?  Where shall we ride today, Daddy?

Charles Turnkey does not respond. His face is still frozen in silent terror.

GIRL

Oh, do let’s go someplace else!  I would love to see the tulips!  They should be in bloom by now! You did always say that tulips were your favourite, Daddy!

Charles Turnkey remains silent and paralyzed with fear

GIRL

Oh thank you, Daddy! 

Suddenly the scene quick zooms away from the field and then zooms away from Charles’ wide eyes.  We are back on the broken shard of Earth.  Charles Turnkey is trying to scream, but his voice is raw and jagged. Charles narrates.

CHARLES

But I couldn’t scream forever.   Even that had to end.

His scream finally dying, Charles begins sobbing and falls to his knees.  His eyes wide with shock, he takes in his surroundings.  He is surrounded by death.  In the distance he faintly hears the screams of the suffering.  Everything appears to be smoldering or burning.  With days, maybe even just hours before all life on Earth is extinguished, it definitely looks like Charles will never find love again.

CHARLES

Hello?  Hello?  Who else is out here? Hello?!

Charles rises to his feet, continuing to call out in hopes of finding other survivors.  He wades through corpse after broken corpse, and his tennis shoes soon gleam a dark, wet red, sopping with the blood of the lucky dead.  A few scattered screams and cries for help can be heard in the distance, but they all weaken and fade out before Charles can reach them.  Charles again narrates:

CHARLES

Hell.  Don’t know why I was looking for people anyway.  Woulda been a disservice to save anybody even if I knew how.  Guess I was just lonely.  Everybody dies alone, I know that, but I didn’t want to be the last person to die alone.  Can’t get what you want sometimes, I guess.

Exhausted and defeated, Charles sits down to let death take him. There’s just no way he’s ever going to find romantic happiness now.  His eyes close and we are transported back to the green field seen earlier.  The girl and Charles continue to ride their glorious horses.

GIRL

Daddy, when you die, there will be no one left to remember me.

CHARLES

I’m sorry, darlin’.

GIRL

I don’t want to be forgotten.

CHARLES

I know, honey, I know.  And I promise, I’ll remember you as long as my heart’s still beatin’.  Longer even.

GIRL

Daddy?  Stay just a little while longer? Stay so I don’t fade away?

CHARLES

Ok.  Alright.  Little while longer, darlin’.

GIRL

Thank you, Daddy.

Charles opens his eyes and slowly gets up. The blood is starting to dry on his face.  He staggers off looking for something - anything - with a sign of life.  A multitude of fires light his way in the darkness, though the heavy black smoke casts a haze on everything nearby.  After what seems like forever, he hears a weak coughing.  Slowly, painfully, he drags himself towards it.

CHARLES

Somebody there?

ASHLEY

(Urgently) Here!  I’m over here!  Oh, thank God, there’s somebody else.  Please, I can’t move! I think my legs are broken.

Charles suddenly sees Ashley, lying in a heap of broken stone. Her face is beautiful, and somehow clean and untouched by the surrounding ruin. Her eyes, clear and wide, find Charles and seem to beg for his help. 

ASHLEY

Please!  Please, you’ve got to help me!

As he approaches, Charles realizes that the immense stone over her legs is the only thing stopping her from bleeding out. He closes his eyes and sighs.  True love couldn’t be this fleeting, could it? 

CHARLES

I’m sorry – I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do.  If I free your legs, you’ll die.  The stone on your legs is the only thing keeping your insides from falling out. 

ASHLEY

Oh no, oh no….  I just…It doesn’t matter.  God!  God….  Just…Just do it.  Take it off.  I don’t want to live.  Not here.  Not anymore.  Everything is dead, everything is pain and there’s just so much darkness now and there used to be so much light.  Take it…

Charles takes off the stone

ASHLEY

AAAAAAGGGH!  (dies)

Charles looks at her, his merciless eyes forcing him to look at what he is done.  Her beautiful but lifeless face is frozen in the pain and agony of her death.   Charles looks closer, noticing something.

CHARLES

WTF are those fairy wings?!!?!

Titania appears, holding an iPad.

TITANIA

No.  THESE are fairy wings!

Who At The Door?

Billy:  The winter harvest is dread, and the harvest is sure to be fruitful

Gale:  Souls and fear, fear and souls.  Blood, blood, rivers of blood.

Billy:  Yes, Gale.  And I offer you this decapitation proclamation:  Death approaches at various speeds, but always too fast. 

Gale: I agree.  When will Death arrive?  No one knows, but he only visits once.

Billy:  The unwelcome guest that bears the gift of nothingness, flavored with regret.

Gale:  I enjoy our conversations, Billy.

(doorbell rings)

Billy:  As do I.  But say no more - I heard the doorbell!

Gale:  The doorbell rang just as we were talking of death approaching?  What if it’s Death, Billy?!  Don’t open that door!

Billy:  Well…let me just take a little look out the peephole.

(Billy looks through the hole)

Gale:  Well who is it?

Billy: Nobody.  No one.  Somebody just put a coupon for pizza on our porch.

Gale:  Did you see anybody walking away?

Billy:  No.  Death is the unseen visitor.

Gale:  Oh I don’t want to start that again.  Can we talk about someone other than Death?

Billy:  I thought you said that you enjoy our conversations…

Gale:  I do, but when the doorbell rang right after we were talking about Death, I got kinda creeped out.

Billy:  Fine.  If you think death is too near to-

(doorbell rings)

Gale:  Oh my God, Billy!

Billy:  Oh come on, Gale.  It’s probably just more pizza coupons.

(Billy looks through keyhole as Gale tenses with fear)

Billy:  Ah ha!  What did I tell you?  More pizza coupons.  Man, those guys are hitting the neighborhood hard today!

Gale:  I guess so.  Anyway, what were you saying? It wasn’t about Death, was it?

(doorbell rings and Billy looks again)

Billy:  (somewhat scared) Pizza coupon again.  This is getting weird. 

Gale: I think it’s Death, Billy.

Billy:  So what then?  It’s death?  Death is coming to our house and –

(doorbell rings)

Billy:  Fucking doorbell!  - and leaving pizza coupons just to mess with us?

Gale:  Would that really be so weird, Billy?

Billy:  Yeah it would, Gale.  I can’t exactly picture death just walking around pranking people with coupons.

Gale:  So you’re an expert on death? 

Billy:  It’s a concept!  It’s not a person.  We were just personifying it to seem edgy!

Gale:  I wasn’t.  Death is real and Death is a person.  I’ve been capitalizing the D the whole time.  I’ve met him!  That’s why it creeps me out with all these pizza coupons!

Billy:  You have?  You…what did he look like?

Gale:  Scary.

(doorbell rings)

Billy:  What if it’s not a prank, Gale?

Gale:  What do you mean?

Billy:  What if Death is telling us to order pizza?  What if we need to order pizza to live?!

Gale:  But Billy, what if Death is telling us that ordering a pizza will kill us?

Later:

Gale:  I’m not eating this pizza, Billy, and I don’t want you to either.  I don’t want you to die!

Billy:  And I don’t want you to die either!  Eat the pizza!

Death:  I’m not gonna say what you should do, but I’m glad you used the coupons.

11:34

Tagline: It’s 11:34. Hope you’ve said your prayers!

Scene: 5^th grade classroom. Math class is in session. Hunter Sterlington, a 10 year-old boy with an odd angel-shaped birthmark on his forehead, is working with his solar-powered calculator, as Hunter, even at 10, is environmentally conscious. His shirt has an upside-down tree on it.

Hunter: So if I have 1000 apples and I buy 100 pears, 30 oranges, and 4 cherries, I’ll have a total of –

(Suddenly, a bully throws a spit-wad at Hunter, causing him to drop his calculator. Hunter picks the calculator up upside down, but as he does he slows and his mouth opens in a silent scream. The film freezes as the camera rotates from Hunter’s eyes to the upside down calculator. The readout on his calculator quite plainly reads “hELL.” He turns the camera right-side up and the number reads 1134)

Hunter: (whispering) 1134 is upside-down hell! 1134 is hell! So….?!

(Hunter’s eyes widen, growing larger and more beautiful as the realization hits him. We see the fear in his eyes and our heart just fucking breaks.)

Hunter: At 11:34, the devil! The devil and hell!

(Hunter’s eyes shoot to the clock. It is currently 8:30am. The teachers, in a scene to be included in the Blu-ray extras, previously decided that in the afternoon, kids are tired and are much less likely to pay attention during math. “Why not teach it early?” asked Mrs. Timple, an actress playing a rookie 2^nd grade teacher. In the year since this was implemented, higher test results have already indicated that when taught early in the day, children tend to retain much more of the math they learn. Fortunate for the kids, but extra fortunate because it gives Hunter 2 hours and 4 minutes before hell o’clock. He’ll need every goddamn minute.)

Mrs. Bolton: What was that, Hunter Sterlington? Did you say something?

Hunter: Mrs. Bolton! Look! Loooooooook…..(He shows Mrs. Bolton the upside-down calculator).

Mrs. Bolton: Why your calculator says “hell”!

Hunter: It does. Now let me turn it right-side up (he does so, gracefully and dexterously, his nimble fingers expertly moving the calculator back into right-side-upsville). 1134. Put a colon in the middle and it’s 11:34! Mrs. Bolton, the devil and hell are going to be here at 11:34!

Mrs. Bolton: Hunter Sterlington! No. The separation of church and state!

Hunter: Mrs. Bolton, excuse my harsh language, but that is horseshit. The devil doesn’t care about the constitution! He’s the devil! He cares about souls, Mrs. Bolton. Souls. Yours and mine and everybody else’s. He feeds on them like they’re greasy fried chicken legs. He licks at them with his forked tongue. “Mmmmm,” he says. “This soul tastes like teardrops on pillows!” Then he chomps at them ravenously, breaks them apart with his teeth, and digests them with his demon intestines like you taught us about in Health last week. And just like digested fried chicken, Mrs. Bolton, after each soul goes through his evil and twisted intestines, the devil takes a huge soul poop in the metaphorical toilet of Hell’s wasteland. But he’s never done, Mrs. Bolton. His hunger is eternal! And at 11:34, the devil and hell will march their way up to Nevaeh Elementary, and they will feast on a buffet of the innocent!

Mrs. Bolton: I see. But Hunter…? What if…what if we’re not so innocent?

Hunter: Mrs. Bolton? It’s okay. You can tell me.

(Hunter looks up at her, his eyes understanding. In that second – that instant – we understand that Hunter Sterlington has that rare magic seen in people where he can care about them and listen, truly listen, to what they are saying. Hunter has the kind of compassion that’s really…well there aren’t even words for it. If there was a word, it would have to be a mix of compassion and non-judgementalism. [compassanojudgalism?]).

Mrs. Bolton: (crying) I…I… sell heroin to my students!

Hunter: I know. I buy it back from them and throw it away.

Mrs. Bolton: Thank you.

Hunter: You can thank me by getting a gosh darned priest in here STAT. And Mrs. Bolton?

Mrs. Bolton: Uh-huh?

Hunter: Start praying.

Mrs. Bolton: I will. I will pray forever (starts saying the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, a language she spoke growing up because her Dad taught Latin).

(Hunter rushes off, quickly reaching his elementary school gym. Once there, he kicks the doors open with his boot)

Hunter: Boo-yah. This is where I will train the army of exorcist child soldiers

Whole Different Scene:

Hunter: Here they come, everybody! Ready…on my mark…..Now! Start dancing now! Do the Angel’s Kissyboo!

(The kids start doing this dance move, all to the terror of Satan’s army)

Sgt. Demon Firecles: No! They’re not supposed to know that dance! Quick! Cut off their legs!

(Although the Angel’s Kissyboo dance causes Satan’s Army unspeakable, paralyzing pain, one of the demons is able to cut off the legs of one of the children. With one less child dancing, the pain is slightly less intense, and other demons are able to summon the strength to cut the legs off of other children. This gets easier for them with each legless child. Hunter narrowly evades losing his legs as he backs up towards the door)

Hunter: Retreat!

Children: We…we can’t!

Hunter: Oh no! I forgot about your legs! (runs out of gym)

(As Hunter runs through the hallway, we see children and teachers fighting a losing battle because Hell’s wrath is eternal and undying)

Hunter: If only this had happened tomorrow! I’m THIS close to finishing my .38 caliber demon neutralizer!

(Hunter hides in the teacher’s lounge, which has so far been miraculously spared from the battle. Suddenly, a ghostly translucent man appears with a flat square hovering above his head. He’s got a greenish color around him)

Hunter: Be you angel or devil, spirit?!

Triumverant: There are more choices than those, human Hunter Sterling.

Hunter: Spirit, you’re going to have to explain yourself quickly. Legless children depend on it.

Triumverant: What if I told you that sure there were demons and angels, but that there was also a secret species of spirit.

Hunter: Unbelievable!

Triumverant: Believe it, human Hunta Sterla. Equate it to the fact of this: Your human society has within it secret societies, am I not correct? For example Skull and Bones, Illuminati, The Priory of Sion, etc.? These groups are known of vaguely, but most information is based on rumors?

Hunter: That’s true!

Triumverant: Well, human Huntel Sterlel, my spirit species is like your secret societies; Angels and demons know of us only in legend, yet we exist all the same. Through infiltration and whispers, we influence each spirit faction and guide them towards the ultimate purpose of the Triumverant.

Hunter: So then….you’re responsible for this big ol’ mess at my school!

Triumverant: Bingo. We hate schools.

Meanwhile:

Girl: My legs! Where are my legs?!

Demon: I have urinated on them and then eaten them, child.

Later:

Hunter Sterlington: Even if I could beat the demons, I’d still have to beat the Triumverant. And, if I can beat both the demons and the Triumverant, my soccer team will never win the championship without any legs!

Later:

Soccer Referee: Goal!

Piano Played

Bully: Hey Tad! Have fun at your piano lessons, you stupid prissy girl!

(Tad Newton looks at the Bully. For a moment they truly understand each other)

Later:

Male Piano Teacher: Tad, are you being bullied at school?

Tad: Forget about it.

Male Piano Teacher: No Tad… I never forget. Never…

Tad: Right. Ah yes. Bring it back to your days with the Vietcong. Strange how that’s coming up again. Hey, is that what my parents pay you for? Being a shell-shocked loser? Because I thought they were paying you to make me a maestro. My mistake.

Male Piano Teacher: You know, I’m allowed to remember things during these lessons, Tad. I’m a Male Piano Teacher, but I’m a person too. I…I can’t help what I remember.

Tad: I know, I just-

Male Piano Teacher: -you’re just upset. You’re being bullied, I get it. Are they saying you’re a girl? Are they calling you a girl for taking piano lessons?

Tad: I do NOT want to talk about it, ok?

Male Piano Teacher: Listen, you’re not a girl for playing the piano, Tad.

Tad: …

Male Piano Teacher: You’re not. You’re a girl for not playing it well.

Tad: !!!! What…what do you mean?

Male Piano Teacher: Name me some famous piano players.

Tad: This is stupid.

Male Piano Teacher: Go on, do it.

Tad: Fine! I will do it! Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Joel

Male Piano Teacher: Dudes. Name me a famous girl piano player.

Tad: …I….I can’t!

Male Piano Teacher: Girls can’t play the piano, Tad. Well… they can, just not very well.

Tad: I never thought about it that way before.

Male Piano Teacher: There are a lot of things girls can’t do, Tad.

Tad: You’re right!

Male Piano Teacher: Now stop playing the piano like a girl.

(Tad plays a beautiful and heart-wrenching melody, as he comes into his manhood and maestro’s the shit out of the piano noun)

10 Years Later

(Tad is 27 and his trail-blazing fingers are running across the piano as if they are filled with octane and cigarettes. He is on stage by himself in a sold out square garden surrounded by devotees. He wears a crown made entirely out of piano keys. As he finishes his song, the crowd is stunned and there’s a beat of silence before they start clapping their hands off and cheering like they’ve witnessed whatever it is they most wanted to see in life – proving conclusively that Tad’s music means different things to different people)

Tad: Ladies and gentlemen!

(the crowd goes seriously wild)

Tad: Ladies and gentlemen! I have something to say!

(crowed LOVES that he has something to say)

Tad: Ladies and gentlemen! (Tad holds up his hand and the audience immediately quiets) THAT, is how you play the (swear)ing piano.

(Tad walks of stage, not looking back)

(1st of 4 Sequential Montages. We see Tad grow more famous and even wealthier. Shots of bigger sold out arenas, people getting Tad Newton tattoos where he’s giving a thumbs-up, but maybe his thumb looks like a piano key, newspaper headlines declaring Tad the Champ, and shots of Tad shaking the hand of a Presidents and Kings. Shots of Platinum records on the wall that have been arranged in the shape of a Grand Piano.)

(2nd Montage, appearing directly after 1st Montage. We see Tad start doing drugs and spiraling out of control, and then there are shots of him getting his act back together and becoming a better piano player and realistically, a better person as well. Shot of Tad throwing away his cigarettes and returning a case of energy drinks to the Safeway, and then a shot of Tad finishing the composition of an amazing piano symphony that, in an implied and unseen montage, he had started and had trouble finishing)

(3rd Montage, right after 2nd Montage. References other montages, but focuses mostly on how Tad’s family feels about his success. Shots of people who are likely related to Tad looking fondly at a picture of an art project that Tad may have made in elementary school.)

(4th Montage, right after 3rd Montage. Headlines of ANOTHER piano star growing famous, who is a WOMAN. Her name is Melody, and through a series of shots showing her fingers rocking keys, we know that somehow, despite her gender, she is the real deal. At this point, the montage would pause, and the audience would be given a quick survey and mini-pencil, with the question, “Girl Piano Player? Can you believe it?” and then a “Yes” and a “No” box for the audience check. When at least 75 surveys are completed [some people may need to take the survey more than once, depending on attendance and theater size], the montage song would end just as Melody would finish playing the song on the piano.)

(Camera cuts to a gigantic pink mansion. Tad is banging on the door furiously while wearing his piano vest. A butler named Derek opens the door.)

Tad: Where’s Melody?!

Derek: You’ll never find her!

Tad: But I must! Don’t you see?! I’ve got to make her love me! She’s the only one who comes close to understanding me, even though objectively I’m still a better piano player!

Derek: So this isn’t about the makeup bill?


Later:

Tad: Hey Melody! Look at this bumper sticker! It’s so funny!


Later:

Melody: That’s such a cool finger move you do in that piano song you play.

Tad: I call that move “Melody’s Twinkle.”

Melody: After….me?

Tad: Count on it.

Melody: I have a move too. It’s called… “I love you Tad Newton.”

Tad: ;-)


Thursday:

Melody: That sidewalk reminds me of my days in the Vietcong.

Tad: Melody?! You’re….you’re MALE PIANO TEACHER?!?!

Melody: Shit.

Warlock Computer

Thursday:

Ricky is alone in his room with a computer, which is rectangularly shaped. The very saddest warlock song is playing in the background.

Ricky: I’ve got to believe I’m doing the right thing. I will not be a warlock if they continue to racially segregate their schools. After 10 years of persuasion spells, I’ve finally come to realize that the League of Warlocks is never going to change. If they won’t change and I’m going to be a responsible 20-something, that means it’s up to me. I’m going to have to be Ricky the ex-warlock. But powers don’t just disappear. Hmmm…maybe if I transfer my powers…

(Ricky looks at his computer with those eyes of his.)

Ricky: That’s right, computer. I just might make you the most powerful computer ever. MAGIC!

(Ricky slowly puts on his warlock pants as he begins chanting an incantation. We are unable to make out all of the words he says, but we watch as Ricky cries blood tears and his sparkle blood drips onto the computer. The blood is like a delicious potion to the computer, and the computer laps it up greedily with a state-of-the-art circuit tongue. Looking at the circuit-tongue closely, it appears to be pierced and has a Pentagram stud. It did not originally have this)

Computer: (hard drive whirring)

Ricky: Oh no! I change my mind! Segregate the schools!

Computer: (same hard drive whirring)

Ricky dies because of the computer. Even though he had studied computers through books, it was not safe for him. The power and mystery of the computer’s hard drive, combined with the power and mystery of the Warlock Powers was simply too much. The computer kills Ricky. The computer now has warlock powers and a pentagram is etched into it by the serial number.

TWO THOUSAND YEARS LATER
Outside the ruins of Ricky’s house

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: (stoops over and tastes the dirt, pensively) There’s something buried underneath all this rubble, Mecha-Watson. Something with a taste I have not tasted before (Eats more dirt).

Mecha-Watson: I am thirrrrrr-sty!

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: (picks up some of the dirt with his hands, compacts it into a dirtball, and licks it) Yes… Yes. By George, this is where we need to dig! I’m sure of it, Mecha-Watson!

(Together, Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones and Mecha-Watson dig. Just as night is falling, they uncover what they have been searching for. The iconic silhouette of Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones removes his whip and walks towards the warlock computer. He stoops down and rests a hand on the computer and then tries to gnaw on it a bit. The computer immediately powers on, startling Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones.)

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: Quickly, Mecha-Watson! They’ll soon be here!

(Mecha-Watson quickly grabs the computer. Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones and Mecha-Watson are about to escape, when suddenly they are surrounded by a neo-militia armed with waterboard-guns. They are outnumbered 200 to one, meaning that there are exactly 400 neo-militia soldiers – 200 for Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones and another 200 for Mecha-Watson. One of these 400 soldiers, clearly the leader, emerges and saunters a bit. He is wearing a belt that is non-martial arts in nature.)

Ripple Crush: I’ve been following you for a long time, Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones. I’ve been following you since your first case, which we all know was extremely exciting with those mummies and I will not go into detail about it now. Anyway, I’ve certainly been following you long enough to know how long you’ve been looking for the warlock computer.

(Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones pupils possibly dilate mildly)

Ripple Crush: What’s this? Have I surprised the non-surprisable Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones? Yes, I’m afraid I know all about the warlock computer, Inspector Doctor Holmes Jones. And now, of course, you’ve led me straight to it, and I can confiscate it for myself.

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: (stops licking dirt out of anger) Maybe you know about the warlock computer, but I’m telling you, you obviously don’t understand it!

Ripple Crush: Nope. Where was I? Oh, I’m sorry, Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones - I’ve been rude. You should know exactly who it is that will kill you and your beloved Mecha-Watson. You’ve certainly earned that right. Allow me to introduce my name: It is Ripple Crush.

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: I already deduced your name.

Ripple Crush: You say that now.

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: I do. And, I must congratulate you. Our situation certainly seems dire.

Ripple Crush: It certainly is. I must say, Inspector Doctor Holmes Jones, I’m very impressed by your bravery. I’ll let it be known that your last moments on Earth were not cowardly ones.

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: My dear Mr. Ripple Crush, I’m afraid that’s where you and I must differ. You see, I feel quite strongly that these are not, in fact, my last moments.

Ripple Crush: Well I’m sorry to tell you that I --!!

(Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones solves the mystery of how to escape from 400 neo-militia)

Ripple Crush: (screaming to the empty night) Sherlock Indiana Holmes, Jones, I will have your head!!!

Scene: HOUSE OF SHERLOCK INDIANA HOLMES JONES

(Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones sits in antique leather chair, his hands cupped under his chin. He is staring at the Warlock Computer, which is still humming quietly. He is suddenly interrupted by the ring of his doorbell. He opens the door [no one stops him from doing so] only to find a large woman carrying a present with a big orange bow on it. The large woman may not be Ripple Crush in disguise).

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: Hello?

Rachelle America: Hello? Inspector Doctor Homes Jones? I’m sorry - A man paid me 80 pence dollars so that I would deliver this package to you.

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: This man! What did he look like?! Tell me everything you remember!

Rachelle America: Why I never saw him!

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: I therefore deduce that he contacted you via holo-mail and left the money on the doorstep.

Rachelle America: He did indeed! How did you ever figure that out! I hadn’t told a soul!

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: (shaking his finger teasingly) Ah, ah, ah! An Inspector/Doctor of archeology never reveals his secrets. However, I will tell you how I know where this orange-ish bow was purchased. If you lick this bow, you’ll notice a particular taste.

(Rachelle America’s eyes open very wide and, sticking out her tongue, she presses it against the bow and holds it there for a little while although certainly time is relative)

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: I’m sure you’ve now noticed taste of rust and earth. I can smell it from here with my great nose. As one might deduce, this orange bow is actually metal that was buried, oxidized, unburried, and finally twisted into a lovely bow. The sender must know that I’m an archeologist and inspector and thus would appreciate such fine craftsmanship. I mean look at it. It really is just a beautiful bow.

(Rachelle America removes her tongue from the bow and hands it to Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones)

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: And I mean if the bow is this pretty, the gift inside must be –!!

(Inside the box is Mecha-Watson’s grotesque and severed head)

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: Horror!!

(Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones drops the box and dashes away, not prancing. He runs to his room, where he slams the door and can be heard man-moaning in grief and terror. The camera follows Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones and somehow goes through the door [although it’s quite obviously a solid door and made of the mecha-oak] and we see Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones with his head cradled in his hands. Even grown men cry sometimes)

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: Oh, Mecha-Watson… How I wish that U2 could have solved the mystery of escaping from 400 neo militia. (Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones stops and thinks, arguing with himself over something mysterious) But then…but…maybe…what if I could…no, it’s too dangerous…but if I could then….but….but…so maybe if I…. of course I’d have to be careful…but….LET’S DO IT!

Another Thursday:

(Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones is found in his basement. He has a warlock cap over his deerstalker and fedora hats. At his feet is the warlock computer and guess what it’s in a pentagram)

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: Warlock Computer! I command you to bring Mecha-Watson back from the dead!

(a Status Bar suddenly appears on the monitor, and we watch as the task slowly completes. Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones eats some dirt, nervously. The camera suddenly cuts to Ripple Crush’s eyes opening just as suddenly. He is wearing face-paint and a bone through his nose, and guess what, he knows what Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones is doing)

Ripple Crush: Yes! Yes, Inspector Doctor Holmes Jones... Resurrect your friend! Everything is going according to my secret plan!

Later:

Sherlock Indiana Holmes Jones: Well I'm not piercing that! Gross!