Come Fly Away

A light-hearted love story between...

Well, if I tell you now, it'll ruin the story. Enjoy!

COME FLY AWAY by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: INT. COURTROOM - DAY Twelve JURY MEMBERS, a variety of races and IQs, listen to a venerable JUDGE (60) with stonefaced apathy. JUDGE ...are charged to agree upon a decision. Jury dismissed. Judge bangs the gavel. Jury Members file out a nearby door. A back row REPORTER turns to his BUDDY. REPORTER Oh, man. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in there. INT. JURY ROOM - DAY ZEEB, a full-bodied hairy black fly of Brooklyn lineage, struts his stuff on a closed door. SHAYA, a smaller Southern belle of a fruit fly, admires him from a window. The door opens. Zeeb zips away to the ceiling. Jury Members hand over their cell phone batteries to a hallway BAILIFF. Led inside by an Asian FOREMAN (40), they settle around a table, naked cell phones piled in the middle. Zeeb’s crazy compound eyes lock in on Shaya. He whistles. SHAYA Little old me? Zeeb makes a beeline for her, bounces against the windowglass with a BZZZZZ! Settles next to Shaya. ZEEB Hey. How you doin’? SHAYA I declare, you are forward. ZEEB I got ten more days to live, honey. I ain’t gonna spend ‘em in talk. Whaddya say, sugarlips? 2. SHAYA Kindly be a gentleman, then, and fetch me a snack. Foreman opens a box of doughnuts. ZEEB Look, crullers! My fav. Name’s Zeeb. SHAYA Shaya. I’d be delighted to taste your cruller. Zeeb breathes faster at the double entendre, pretends to bow. He plummets to the doughnut box, dodges reaching hands. Zeeb lands on an sticky-iced cruller. Foreman reaches for the cruller, sees Zeeb on it, makes an icky face, withdraws his hand. SHAYA Well, now. Looks like he passed with fly in crullers. Shaya looks at the camera, smiles, lets the punchline soak. She looks at her window reflection, preens. Zeeb shoots straight up, burdened with a giant crumb, eager to show his strength. He grunts. He’s never going to get to the window. Shaya snickers. SHAYA Come on, Zeeb, big boy. Show me how strong you are, show me muscles. Zeeb, spurred on by her honeysuckle voice, gives it his all. He careens into glass, drops the crumb. SHAYA Surely you don’t expect me to go all the way down there for a snack? Zeeb pants, exhausted. SHAYA You have nothing left for me, Zeeb? Shaya-ZEEB 3. BANG! Foreman karate chops a cell phone with a furious hand, snaps it into two pieces. Foreman displays eleven slips of paper with “Not Guilty” in one hand, one slip of “Guilty” in the other. SHAYA Manners, manners. These humans. Zeeb rubs his front legs together. ZEEB Down to business, eh, Shaya. Come here, babydoll. He puckers his lips. SHAYA You can’t even fetch me a morsel. You expect a reward? Gracious me. Zeeb’s blood pressure skyrockets. With a henpecked grunt, he lifts off again, heads down to the doughnuts. Foreman swats at him, his mood darker. Zeeb zooms in merry circles around Foreman’s hand, plays the matador, eyes his chance to get to the crullers. Zeeb dives in, grabs a tiny piece of icing, off again. Foreman, a mighty overhand straight-armed swat, crushes the rest of the doughnuts. SHAYA Who said the hand is quicker than the fly? Shaya looks at the camera, smirks again. She walks up the window, knows full well that Zeeb struggles to elevate to her. ZEEB Hold up, sugarlips. I’m carryin’, here. Have a heart, babe. Shaya gets to the top of the window, in shade, stops. Zeeb plunks down next to her. He smears icing onto his hairy lips. Puckers up. ZEEB Your snack’s ready, dollface. 4. Shaya, irresistible in her coyness, edges close to him. She breathes on him. He shudders in anticipation. SHAYA That’s my honeybear. She kisses him, licks icing off his lips. Wowza. ZEEB BANG! Another cell phone split in half. Foreman, boiling mad, face beet red, hand smarts from the blow. His slips of paper, now ten “Not Guilty” and two “Guilty”. Jury Members look at Foreman with sickened fright. ZEEB Oh, baby, you give me wings. SHAYA Flattery won’t get you where you want to go, big boy. Only the best are good enough for Shaya. ZEEB The best, babe? I am da best. Biggest, strongest, fastest. Fastest? SHAYA ZEEB Yeah. You wanna time me? SHAYA I don’t handle rides very well. Sometimes my little old tummy feels downright funny. ZEEB I’ll show you, really. Time me. Shaya, with a mournful head shake, flies to a large clock on the wall, lands on the second hand’s far tip. Tick, tock, tick, tock. She zooms around the clock face. SHAYA Let me see your style, Zeeb. Oop. Shaya holds in a vomitous urge. 5. Zeeb zooms across the room, bangs headfirst into the door. ZEEB (yells) How many was dat? SHAYA Four tocks. ZEEB Watch dis, lover! Zeeb zooms down towards the table, swoops under Foreman’s hand as it smashes down towards another unlucky cell. Shaya holds her breath. BANG! Zeeb flies out, unhurt. SHAYA Phew! Just my luck. Time flies when they’re halving phones. Shaya looks at the camera, simpers. Shaya flies back to the window on shaky legs. Zeeb joins her. Foreman looks down at his slips of paper, enraged. Wait a sec. He’s taken aback. He spreads the papers out on the table, one by one. Each one reads “Guilty”. Smiles all round. The Jury files out. ZEEB Come on, babe, let’s ditch this joint for a life outdoors, with kids, the whole works. I’m yours. SHAYA They gaze into each other’s eyes. Arm in arm, leg in leg, they fly into the window. They fly into the window. They fly into the window. They fly into the window. FADE OUT.