Taggered

A prolific young filmmaker named Robbie Comeau is running an informal screenplay contest with some of his fellow writers. Looking to film a screenplay, but with only the first scene set in stone, he asked some of us for our ideas on where to take the rest of the script.

So, the first half of the first page is Robbie's work, and the rest is mine. I thought his idea, though dark and rather twisted, had flashes of genius and visual interest, so I continued in that vein.

How to describe this work? Think "Type I Diabetes meets Alfred Hitchcock" and you're almost there. :)

WARNING: This gets rather dark, so if you're not into nasty psychological pieces, you might want to go to the right sidebar and click on "Comedy" instead.

TAGGERED
by Kyle Patrick Johnson
Represented by: Registered with:
Canton Literary Management (CLM) Writers Guild of America,
Contact: Eric Canton West, Inc.
(866) 429-3118 Registration #1394569
ECanton@Prodigy.net
www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com
FADE IN:
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
An assortment of kitchen knives, big and small, gleaming,
spread across the counter top.
Each knife has a price tag tied to it.
WRIGHT, 40’s, stands in front looking in the mirror.
His baggy eyes and bed-headed hair shows that he’s half
awake.
He looks down, scans the knives from left to right.
He notices a small plastic shaver and picks it up.
He tests its weight, watches the light play on the thin steel
edge.
Then, confident, quick, no hesitation, slides the shaver to
his Adam’s apple.
He applies pressure, slides the razor blade across his throat
slowly. Thick dark blood pours down his neck.
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, into an opened
door bedroom to see WRIGHT, sleeping in his bed, writhing...
BEDROOM
PUSH IN on Wright’s face: he looks uncomfortable as his
nightmare continues...
He suddenly wakes up, sits up in sudden panic.
WRIGHT’S POV
The room goes hazy, fuzzy, fades out...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright stares at his haggard reflection in the mirror. He
reaches one hand to his mouth, pulls his cheeks up into a
hideous, cheerless smile.
He lets go of his face. His cheeks flop back down into jowls.
He looks down at the counter...
No knives. No shaver.
He looks down at his feet.
A price tag tied to his left big toe.
IN THE MIRROR
Wright’s downturned face... but his eyes flick up at the
mirror, menacing, dark, eery, creepy...
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway. SOUNDS of
glass breaking, the bathroom mirror smashing.
BEDROOM
Wright gasps for air in his sleep.
PUSH IN on his face: his eyes pop open, pupils dilated to
bursting.
He sits up in bed.
WRIGHT’S POV
The room goes fuzzy, woozy, again...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright stares himself down in the mirror, unblinking.
The knives are on the counter, price-tagged and shiny new.
Wright’s hand moves for a large cleaver, as if beyond his
control.
He fights his own hand, forces it back to his side with his
other hand.
His eyes never leave the mirror.
An intense struggle, inside his head, inside his body.
A THIRD HAND sneaks in FROM OFF CAMERA, a wrinkled, elderly
hand.
The Third Hand picks up the shaver from the shower stall,
carries it over, places it gently in Wright’s shaking hand.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Drink some juice, all right? Just
drink it. Man! Why you got to be
so... so... man!
2.
Wright’s eyes shiver in place, oscillate... he’s trying to
look down at the third hand.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Oh, now you don’t want to?
Sounds of a struggle, sounds of overpowering, sounds of
gagging and gurgling.
Wright tears his eyes away from the mirror, looks down.
The third hand has disappeared.
But the shaver is in Wright’s hand. His eyes flick back to
the mirror, a new desperation, a new purpose.
He raises the shaver to his Adam’s apple.
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, turn the other
way, away from Wright’s bedroom, into another open door...
SECOND BEDROOM
An ELDERLY COUPLE sleeps in a wide bed, plush comforter
almost to their noses.
PUSH IN on ELDERLY MAN’S face, wrinkled...
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s our only kid. Is being normal
too much to ask, really? Man!
PUSH IN on ELDERLY WOMAN’S face, faded, worn...
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s just diseased, and there’s
nothing to be done.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Well, he came outta you. I ain’t
gonna pay for fixing him.
PULL BACK to an upper corner of the room. Elderly Couple
looks smaller and smaller and non-threatening.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s diseased, and... son, Wright,
are you there? Wright?... I thought
I heard something.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Sneaky retard. Man!
3.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
There’s nothing wrong with his--
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Cost a fortune. Man!
PAN TO HALLWAY. Wright’s boxer shorts and legs disappear,
crawling down the hall.
WE MOVE TO FOLLOW Wright down the hallway, as he army-crawls
to the...
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Wright, using every last bit of energy that he doesn’t have,
struggles across the floor to the refrigerator...
The looming refrigerator...
Wright reaches a trembling hand to the door, his hand slips
off the handle.
He swallows hard, breathes deep, sweats, trembles all over.
He reaches up again for the handle, the effort like climbing
Kilimanjaro.
The refrigerator door cracks open, opens wide.
The white-hot light inside the fridge momentarily blinds
Wright, but he fights through the light to grab something,
something hidden in the white light...
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Sell the hunting cabin? You crazy?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
You can’t put a price tag on
Wright’s health.
Wright pauses, as if to catch his breath, rests.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Oh, is that what you’re calling it
now?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
His health?
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s diseased, remember?
4.
Wright withdraws his hand, a tiny child-sized purple juicebox
in his palm.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy his
juice with my food stamps.
Wright, a trembling hand, jams a plastic straw into the juicebox
on the third try.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
(resigned)
He’ll need his juice.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Now can I go to sleep? Man!
Wright slurps the juice, purple streaks run down his wobbly
chin.
He sits back against the open refrigerator, closes his eyes,
visibly regains energy.
His trembling stops, he relaxes... dozes off...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright stares into the mirror...
Price tags hang from his body like branches from a willow
tree. He is covered in strings and tags.
He raises his arms, his body shaped like a “T”. Price tags
dangle from his arms like a fringed cowboy suit.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
You know how much you cost me, boy?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He couldn’t move out on his own.
Wright mouths the word: “Yes.”
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s a... a... sponge. Man!
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright mouths the word: “No.”
Wright looks down at the counter, the bare knives laid out,
the small shaver next to them.
5.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright picks up the shaver.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright saws at the price tags all over his body. The razor
seems dull, won’t cut through a single one.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright hacks at the tags, the strings, his eyes grow more and
more desperate as he stares into the mirror, anguished...
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright screams, throws the shaver at the mirror.
WRIGHT
No!
Wright whips the largest kitchen knife up to his Adam’s
apple.
His eyes, enraged, cornered...
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, to the...
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Wright wakes up. He’s cramped and freezing cold, leaning back
into the open fridge.
He stands up, tosses the juice-box into a garbage can full of
other empty purple juice-boxes.
He rubs his frozen back.
He looks inside the fridge, the bulb burned out. It’s empty.
Not a thing inside it.
Wright walks down the hallway, still stretching and rubbing.
INT. SECOND BEDROOM - NIGHT
Wright stands in the open doorway for a moment, staring in at
the Elderly Couple in bed.
6.
He tip-toes across the room, around the other side of the
bed.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Next thing you know, the kid’ll
want an allowance for doing
nothing.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
That’s not the worst idea.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Man! What would he do with money?
On the other side of the bed, Wright bends down, out of
sight, stands up again with a wooden box in both hands,
carries it out, quiet as a mouse.
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright looks into the mirror, his quiet eyes drained of will.
The wooden box sits on the counter, two feet wide.
Wright’s eyes slowly track down the mirror, come to rest on
the wooden box.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Probably just buy candy. Come on,
he’s worthless.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
It might teach him responsibility.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Are you kidding... Man!
Wright’s hands caress the wooden box.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
It’s time Wright learned about the
world.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Then make him get a job.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
That’s moving too fast.
Wright cracks the wooden box, opens it slowly, dark inside.
7.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
If he ain’t gonna earn it, he ain’t
gonna get it. He’s got nothing to
spend it on. Serious. What would he
do with money?
Inside the wooden box: a brand new set of kitchen knives,
price tags still on them.
Wright lays the knives out on the counter, one by one, each
one placed perfectly straight, parallel to each other, long
rows of gleaming new stainless steel.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
What would he do with money?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright closes the wooden box.
He runs his hand across the variety of knives, almost
playful, but not playful, almost carefree, but not carefree.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
What would he do with money?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright’s eyes flick up at the mirror. He mouths: “No.”
The Third Hand sneaks INTO CAMERA, picks up the shaver, puts
it gently into Wright’s hand.
Wright tests the shaver’s weight, watches the light play on
the steel.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
What would he do?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Then, confident, quick, no hesitation, slides the shaver to
his Adam’s apple.
He applies pressure, slides the razor blade across his throat
slowly. Thick dark blood pours down his neck.
His dark eyes, haunted, stare at his eyes, not at his neck.
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, into...
8.
INT. SECOND BEDROOM - NIGHT
WE CIRCLE the bed, look at it from a new angle, from the far
side of the room...
A thick red streak runs vertically down the comforter, as if
from the neck of Elderly Man.
PUSH IN on Elderly Man. He’s grayer than before, as if his
blood is all drained from his body.
The sheets around him are stained red.
SINK THE CAMERA to the floor: a credit card, bloodstained red
along one edge.
FADE OUT.
THE END
9.