Its been suggested that those of us who made an attempt at this years Halloween contest but stumbled; contribute our stunted gympy efforts
Yeah what the hell
Yeah what the hell
Code:
KILLER ON THE ROAD EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAWN Macca wrappers lay sodden in the gutter. Rain flattened, sun faded, fourteen days of weather. The lawns are long, fourteen days growth. Its deserted, post zombie, end of the world, desolate. A lone mangy dog sniffs silently amongst accumulated debris. It turns and looks, then flees - from a faint noise. SQUEAK-SQUEAK Birds tweet. No motors run, no horns toot, no airplanes, no helicopters, not radios play. The SQUEAK-SQUEAK gets louder. A figure appears. He pushes a laden wheelbarrow. Grunting with effort. MULLER is tall, MAYBE good looking (once). His clothes are filthy, hair is lank and matted and he wears about a week's growth of salt and pepper beard. Even his glasses are dirty. A dribble of thick gooey saliva hangs from the corner of his mouth. A body lolls about in the wheelbarrow - no, there's an unconscious woman in the wheelbarrow, a nun. She groans. Her eyelids flutter. MULLER Shuddup Bitch! Muller shakes his head violently at the words, winces and squints. He trudges on. He reaches a corner and lowers the borrow. Eases the cramp from his fingers. He hears a noise and wheels around. A shambling figure edges closer, nervously, mumbling. A bald middle aged man. Muller shrieks! A banshee shriek, animal, not human. Surges forwards, hands clutch the air. Utter aggression. The newcomer runs away, trips, falls, rises, runs again. Gone. Muller circles the barrow. Once, twice, three times. Head jerking, looking, a gorilla strut, territorial. Sniffs the air. No new threats. He reaches his destination... EXT. AN ASYLUM - MORNING Several cars are outside. A Mercedes T-boned into a 4x4 Lexus. Blood smeared inside the cracked windscreen The woman on the wheel barrow shows increasing signs of consciousness. A slim pale hand moves to the side of her head, touching a bruise there. Muller sets down the barrow. Blinks, squints frowns, tries to formulate a plan. The woman opens her eyes... He pushes her aside in the wheelbarrow, grapes around for a while and pulls out a rubber mallet. THUD! She's unconscious, again. He drops the mallet on her. Briefly his gaze lingers on her full breasts, her grubby top is ripped and half open. His fingers slid down briefly, lingering... Licks his lips. MULLER No! No! ****ing No! Bad! Bad man! Stop! Stop! Dirty man! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Open palm he hits forehead, repeatedly: hard. He stops. He wheels the barrow to the ambulance entrance. Struggles against the incline. He stops, breathing heavily and unclenching his fists, trying to ease the cramp. Briefly he becomes lost in thought. Again his attention is drawn to the woman. Gaze hot and heavy. His breathing deepens. He licks his lips. He rubs his hands, He leans closer. His right hand falls to the front of his trousers - rubs... MULLER (CONT'D) No! No! NO!!!!! Bad! Bad! Wrong!!! Sorry lady, sorry. Mustn't, mustn't, mustn't! He hugs himself. Shakes, trembles. He stands and grabs the barrow again. INT. CLINIC - MOMENTS LATER Muller wheels the barrow in. Doors bang aside. With difficulty he pulls the woman's body from the barrow and dumps her on a gurney. He's strong enough, but his coordination is shot. For a long moment he just stares at her. A tear slips from one eye. It leaves a slick trail in the grime on his face. MULLER Sorry Lady, gotta, gotta. Need this, honest! He inspects the apparatus beside the gurney. Beside it are hand sketched pictures, simple, basic, laminated, smeared. He runs a filthy finger along the pictures. His lips mouth the few words. MULLER (CONT'D) Gotta do this. Using his teeth he tears open the woman's top, shredding the fabric. Again Confused he looks around. He hugs himself. Lost, afraid, conflicted. Fingers beat a tattoo on his other arm. He frets. His gaze falls on a knife, his fingers caress the blade. He mock strikes, the blade millimetres from her flesh. He grins and lines up again. MULLER (CONT'D) Huhzahhh! No no no no... **** **** ****! Hurls the knife away. He ties her feet together, then to the gurney. He labours over the simple buckles. Finally tilts the gurney. Head downwards, into a medical grade stainless steel trough. Then he looks for the knife. The edge caresses her throat. Suddenly he jerks it across and it bites through skins and flesh. Blood spurts out.
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