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Avia S-199 in Israeli Air Force Service

One page

Through Fun Joel, I’ve learned of Michael Patrick Sullivan’s Red Right Hand blog. He’s another scribospherist.

He’s drawn my attention with his challenge to other screenwriters to post a one-page sample of work. So here’s mine. There used to be a GIF here, but the coded version looks so much nicer. (And if you pronounce GIF as “jiff”, I will slap you. Hard G, people! The G is for “Graphic”.)

This is part of the ten-page sample that so impressed Ian. Technically, it’s a bit more than a page. Sue me. The scene starts before this bit.

  • INT. BANDIT CAVERNS - DAY
  • OLD MAN
  • Damned cave canaries. Think they're dragons. Always pooping on one's finery. Rude is what they are, I say.
  • BREN
  • See! Cave canaries!
  • HAWTHORN
  • Are you a wizard?
  • OLD MAN
  • Wizard? Pah! If I were a wizard, would I be stuck in some infernal cave, suffering a plague of cave canaries?
  • (to Tesha)
  • No offense, miss, wizard-wise.
  • TESHA
  • Have you occupied this cell all the while?
  • OLD MAN
  • I saw the hooligans lock you up.
  • TESHA
  • Why did you never call to me?
  • OLD MAN
  • Didn't I? Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were snubbing me. Now, which one of you will let me out?
  • HAWTHORN
  • Bren?
  • OLD MAN
  • Don't bother the boy. I'm with him. I want to see you break it down.
  • Bren eagerly nods in agreement. Hawthorn resigns himself to try. He kicks the door - nothing. He shoulders it - it creaks, stays put. He takes a running start and throws his weight against it - a bigger creak, but it still doesn't budge.
  • A canary flies to the door and settles on a crossbar. The door groans and falls outward. Hawthorn leaps out of its way. He looks at the fallen door, grunts.
  • OLD MAN (CONT'D)
  • I think you must have loosened it.
  • Tesha giggles. The old man steps into the hallway. The canaries follow. Some fly ahead up the tunnel.
  • BREN
  • Do you have a name?
  • OLD MAN
  • Oh, I do, you know. But what is it?... No, that's not it exactly.... No.... Wait - my mommy always sewed a name tag in my clothes.
  • He reaches back for a tag at the back of his collar. The canary on his shoulder flies up to avoid his reach. The old man circles like a dog chasing its tail. He grabs the tag and tugs it far enough forward to read.
  • OLD MAN (CONT'D)
  • Aha! Handwash!
  • BREN
  • Welcome to our little band, Handwash.
  • OLD MAN
  • Thank you... Bren, was it? I never forget a name.

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