"Dangerous Dames" contest entries 2013 [now 17 entries]

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  • #16
    Re: "Dangerous Dames" contest entries 2013

    Code:
    JACK
    
    
    EXT. TWO LANE HIGHWAY -- EVENING
    
    The sun, nearly set, is deep red, and casts long shadows on
    the road. One shadow belongs to a sign that reads "ENTERING
    JOHNSON HOLLER -- POPULATION 2,937."
    
    A raccoon is sitting on its haunches beside the signpost.
    
    A WHITE, '67 THUNDERBIRD whooshes by, its taillights
    disappearing into the dusk as the raccoon scoots for the
    underbrush.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              I should have known this wasn't
              going to be easy.
    
    
    EXT. HOG HEAVEN -- CONTINUOUS
    
    The '67 Thunderbird kicks up gravel as it crunches to a stop
    in front of the small, walk-up, drive-in. It diesels for a
    moment before the engine coughs to a stop and the lights go
    off.
    
    Fire flies flicker, competing with the flickering neon sign.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              The things you'll do for the love
              of a good woman...
                    (laughs sardonically)
              Or... whatever.
    
    JACK AVERY, 40s, big, unshaven, sunglasses, wearing jeans
    and a white t-shirt, slams the door as he steps out. He
    takes off his sunglasses and stares up at the Menu Board.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              Thelma Louise Avery, my beautiful
              "blushing" bride. She's getting me
              killed real soon -- and I'm just
              walking into it like a moron
              zombie.
    
    A TEENAGE WAITRESS, wearing an old-style, pink uniform,
    appears at the window.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              But even a condemned man has the
              right to one last meal. I just sort
              of hoped it would have been
              somewhere other than "Hog Heaven."
    
                          WAITRESS
              Hi.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Hi, how you doin'?
    
                             WAITRESS
              Pretty good.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              You got anything without barbecue
              pork?
    
    The Waitress thinks for a moment.
    
                          WAITRESS
              Well, we got the "Little Squealer."
              It's made with barbecue pork, but
              it's small, so it doesn't have as
              much.
    
    Jack squints at the Menu Board.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              I'm pretty hungry.
    
                          WAITRESS
              You'll probably want the "Big Boar"
              then.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Yeah... okay.
                    (pause)
              You don't have fries?
    
                          WAITRESS
              No, but we got "Deep Fried Spud
              Slices."
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Okay... And then something to
              drink?
    
                             WAITRESS
              Nehi.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Sounds alright.
    
    The Waitress clacks the buttons on the cash register and
    pulls the crank. The bell rings.
    
                          WAITRESS
              That'll be...
                    (she slaps her forehead)
              Well, shoot... what am I thinkin'?
    
    Jack doesn't say anything.
    
                          WAITRESS
              I could save you a dollar, and
              twenty cents by sellin' you the
              "Big Boar Combo Slab."
    
                             JACK AVERY
              Sounds good.
    
                          WAITRESS
              You want that "hog sized?"
    
    
    EXT. POLICE STATION -- NIGHT
    
    Jack leans against the Thunderbird, smoking a cigarette and
    staring up at the Police Station doors.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              Johnson Holler's finest. Bought
              and paid for by Sean Conner. A
              "recruiting center" for Conner's
              private work prison up the road
              euphemistically named "Conner's
              Colony."
    
    Jack throws down the cigarette butt.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              And Thelma's little brother just
              had to get himself liquored up in
              THIS town.
    
    Jack starts up the stairs.
    
                          JACK AVERY (V.O.)
              I didn't even know Thelma had a
              brother.
                    (pause)
              Wish that's all I didn't know about
              her.
    
    
    INT. POLICE STATION -- CONTINUOUS
    
    Jack stomps into the station. A DEPUTY, 40s, fat, big and
    oily, snores in a chair behind the counter.
    
    Jack stares at him for a moment, then bangs on the bell, and
    keeps banging on it even after the Deputy wakes up and moves
    to the counter.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Hey mouth breather. About time!
    
                          DEPUTY
              A**hole, you want me to shove that
              bell down your throat?
    
    Jack stops banging on it.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Don't cop an attitude with me, you
              pin-headed chunk of worm s**t.
    
    The Deputy pushes a button and smiles wide. Several teeth
    are missing.
    
                          DEPUTY
              Allow me to predict your future,
              Mister... uh...
    
                            JACK AVERY
              ...Avery.
    
                            DEPUTY
              Mr. Avery--
    
                          JACK AVERY
              --Just call me Jack.
    
    The Deputy crosses his arms.
    
                          DEPUTY
              Mr. Jack... Mr. Jack Avery.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              You got it, Pally. You're not quite
              as stupid as you look.
    
    The Deputy grits his teeth.
    
                          DEPUTY
              Your future is rather bleak, Mr.
              Avery. Behind me...
    
    The Deputy points to a door behind his desk.
    
                          DEPUTY
              ...Behind me is a door that leads
              to a holding cell. We no longer
              have what you would call a proper
              jail--
    
                           JACK AVERY
              --You've given this spiel before,
              haven't you?
    
                            DEPUTY
              Shut up!
    
    Jack holds out his hands protectively.
    
                           JACK AVERY
              Whoa!  Say it, don't spray it!
    
                          DEPUTY
              This holding cell will be your...
              "domicile" for the night--
    
                          JACK AVERY
              --Wow! How many syllables was that?
    
                          DEPUTY
              This holding cell is rather
              primitive and, unfortunately, we
              have to employ rather primitive
              methods for restraining our...
              "guests" until it is time to
              transfer them to the Colony.
    
    On cue the door opens and BUBBA, seven feet and 350 pounds
    of muscle, ducks under the doorway and into the station.
    
    He eyes Jack and then the Deputy.
    
                          BUBBA
              You want me, Boss?
    
                          DEPUTY
              We have a "client" here, Bubba.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Well, actually... Bubba, I think I
              can find a motel for the night. If
              it's all the same to you and your
              fine Deputy friend here.
    
                          DEPUTY
              Let's just say that Bubba provides
              the restraint. He rather likes his
              job but, unfortunately, he can
              sometimes be a little too
              "exuberant" with our guests.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Would it help if I said I was damn
              sorry for all the cussing and name
              calling and what not?
    
                          DEPUTY
              It wouldn't even help if you shut
              your big trap right now.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Well... because, you know, I've got
              what's called "selective" Tourettes
              Syndrome and can't help what I say
              sometimes.
    
                          DEPUTY
              Selective Tourettes--
    
                          JACK AVERY
              --Yeah, selective... Get's
              triggered every time I'm near an
              a**hole.
    
    Bubba grabs Jack's arm and drags him toward the holding
    cell.
    
    
    INT. JAIL CELL -- MORNING
    
    The Deputy and two CONNER'S COLONY GOONS step through the
    door.
    
    The Deputy comes to a halt when he sees Jack sitting at the
    chair watching TV. Bubba is lying on the floor his hands
    cuffed behind his back.
    
    Jack puts his finger to his lips.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Shhh... Bubba's done tuckered out.
              You dont want to wake him.
    
    The Deputy draws his pistol, takes a step or two back.
    
                          DEPUTY
              What the hell?
    
                          JACK AVERY
              Bubba and me came to an equitable
              agreement about how this...
              "domicile," I believe you called
              it, is shared.
    
                          DEPUTY
              Get up.
    
    Jack stands.
    
                          JACK AVERY
              He lies there quietly and I don't
              kick his ass.
    
    [end scriptment]
    Last edited by dpaterso; 04-28-2013, 03:17 AM.
    Check out the entries in the Logline Throwdown thread in Writing Exercises forum

    Comment


    • #17
      Re: "Dangerous Dames" contest entries 2013

      Code:
      OBSESSED
      
      
      INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
      
      A large room filled with electronic debris.
      
      Coils and cables, metal parts and robotic pieces, piled so
      high they've formed passageways.
      
      IN A WINDOW
      
      set high above, there's a CRASH OF LIGHTNING.
      
      DOWN BELOW
      
      in the maze of clutter, we see a
      
      FLASH OF BLUE LIGHT
      
      A SMALL MAN in a welder's mask, crouched over a metal
      whetstone and the circuit board placed on it.
      
      He touches a FLARING soldering iron to the circuit board,
      redirecting blue circuits.
      
      A CRASH OF LIGHTNING
      
      and he straightens, finished. He lifts his helmet.
      
      BILLY
      
      Pale grimy face, heavy beard. But it's the eyes that hold
      your attention.
      
      Filled with some unimaginable sadness.
      
      He lifts the circuit board he'd been soldering, holds it
      up as THUNDER CRASHES.
      
      
      INT. CLUTTERED HALLWAY - NIGHT
      
      A hallway filled with the innards of gutted computers,
      their frames tossed aside.
      
      Billy marches into
      
      A CIRCULAR BEDROOM
      
      On a table in the center is
      
      A BOX
      
      with the top open. Billy lowers the circuit board into it,
      shuts the lid.
      
      Checks some cables.
      
      Presses a button and the Box sputters to life.
      
      Billy looks down, notices
      
      THE HAIR ON HIS FOREARMS
      
      rising and bending towards the Box.
      
      His knees go weak suddenly, and he collapses, clutching
      the Box as its light flares.
      
      HIS HAND
      
      jerks forward, switches off the box.
      
      He falls back, chest heaving, staring in horror at the
      Box.
      
      
      INT. CLUTTERED HALLWAY - NIGHT
      
      Billy stands before a door that looks out of place amid
      the clutter.
      
      Bleached white wood, scrubbed clean.
      
      He opens the door and steps into a
      
      SMALL LIVING ROOM
      
      It couldn't be more different than the rest of Billy's
      house.
      
      Neat. Meticulous.
      
      A small double bed with a baby's crib beside it.
      
      Billy shuts the door behind him.
      
      Walks past the bed and sits on a couch.
      
      On a beautiful glass coffee table is
      
      A PHOTO ALBUM
      
      Spotless. Not an inch of dust on it.
      
      He flips it open.
      
      The first photo is faded, old: a young group of kids, the
      light extra bright on SALLY, a small blond girl in the
      forefront.
      
      In the background is a SMALL BOY.
      
      Not part of the picture, but in it. Staring at Sally.
      
      The next picture is of older kids. There's Sally, smiling
      wide, part of a JV basketball team. And again, in the
      background, the same BOY of similar age, staring, eyes
      wide.
      
      The resemblance to Billy is clear. The same sad eyes.
      
      Billy flips through the album, and every picture has Sally
      in it. Growing older.
      
      -- Wearing a college backpack as she bends down to tie her
      shoelaces.
      
      -- Surrounded by friends, mouth open in laughter.
      
      -- Through a dark bedroom window, riding a shadowy man
      beneath her.
      
      -- Getting on a train (late 20's). Her white scarf floats
      behind her, caught at the perfect moment. Behind her,
      Billy's hand extends into the frame, stretches towards her
      scarf.
      
      
      EXT. HILL NEAR THE FOREST - NIGHT
      
      Billy rubs his hands, frail body shivering as his breath
      steams.
      
      He pulls a packet of papers from his pocket.
      
      Flips through:
      
      -- A map with a route marked in black.
      
      -- A photo of an unaware Sally walking alone. Behind her,
      an enormous cinema marquee.
      
      Billy lowers the picture and we see the marquee across the
      street. It says
      
      "..Wilder presents..."
      
      but just exactly what he's presenting is lost to age and
      rust.
      
      Billy looks up and down the street.
      
      Looks behind him at the small forest.
      
      THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS
      
      and Billy spins, trips and falls.
      
      Crouches, listening to the sound of high heel shoes.
      
      Getting closer.
      
      He peers over the hill and into
      
      THE STREET BELOW
      
      Sally walks. A tight blue dress underneath a low cut
      jacket. Coming home from some party.
      
      She shivers, pulls the jacket close.
      
      AT THE TOP OF THE HILL
      
      Billy pulls out the Box. Removes a METALLIC HELMET from
      his backpack and puts it on.
      
      He switches on the Box.
      
      Blue lights flicker to life.
      
      The hairs on his arms rise. He watches, fascinated, eyes
      drooping.
      
      He JERKS out of the stupor, SLAPS a button on his HELMET.
      
      His eyes clear and the hair on his forearms drop.
      He kneels, gasping.
      
      Listens to the high heels as they fade away, until they're
      almost gone.
      
      He twists a volume knob on the Box, and the blue light
      suddenly flares.
      
      In the distance, the footsteps stop.
      
      Billy looks into
      
      THE STREET BELOW
      
      where Sally has stopped. She turns, slowly, looks up at
      him.
      
      And smiles a smile of such happiness, of such sudden and
      immediate intimacy, that it's disturbing.
      
      She walks up the hill.
      
      Reaches the top as Billy stumbles away.
      
      Falls on his back.
      
      The Box against his chest.
      
                          SALLY
                     (whisper)
                Who is that?
      
      She steps closer, shields her eyes as though some great
      light blinds her.
      
      Billy gets up.
      
                          BILLY
                It's... it's just me. Billy.
      
      She moves closer.
      
      He drops the Box when she touches his hands.
      
      Forgets it when she moves up his arms.
      
      When she touches his neck.
      
      Her eyes shimmer, her smile heartbreaking.
      
      She leans close and inhales deep, lips tracing across
      Billy's cheek as he flinches.
      
                          SALLY
                     (whisper)
                What are you, Billy?
      
                          BILLY
                I'm nobody.
      
      Her hand moves down his waist, the other circles his neck
      as she pulls him close, as she kisses him.
      
      Deep. Passionate. The kind of kiss you give when you've
      loved someone forever. The kind of kiss you spend your
      life dreaming about. The one that means something
      impossibly perfect is happening.
      
      Billy shudders, eyes tearing, the kiss going on, and on,
      and on.
      
      She sighs into his mouth as he pulls her close, as he
      traces her with his hands.
      
      It's everything he's ever wanted.
      
      She pulls back suddenly. Takes his hand and puts it to her
      chest.
      
                          SALLY
                     (whisper)
                Can you feel my heart?
      
      And we hear the beat now, rising.
      
      Until it's too loud, and too fast.
      
      Nothing ever beat that fast.
      
      Billy's eyes widen.
      
      Her cheeks flush with passion, her lips parted and the
      darkest of red.
      
      And for a second
      
      HER HEART SKIPS
      
      and then beats.
      
      SKIPS AGAIN
      
      And the blush in her cheeks becomes a stain as the vessels
      in her face burst.
      
      She's still smiling when her heart explodes.
      
      When she falls.
      
      When Billy catches her.
      
      Dead now.
      
      But still beautiful.
      
      He reaches to close her eyes, then changes his mind. Looks
      into them as he strokes her hair.
      
      As he takes off his helmet, tosses it beside him.
      
      Where it beeps an alarm.
      
      He leans down and kisses Sally's blue lips.
      
      And in the side of his neck, his jugular inflates as his
      heartbeat rises.
      
      As the hairs on his neck slowly rise.
      
      FADE OUT
      Check out the entries in the Logline Throwdown thread in Writing Exercises forum

      Comment


      • #18
        Re: "Dangerous Dames" contest entries 2013

        Code:
        TECH NOIR
        
        
        BLACK SCREEN:
        
        White text: Once upon a time. In 1985.
        
        We pan down from the darkness of the rafters. A multitude of
        lights swish and swivel, spraying the hits of the rainbow
        
        
        OVER A CROWDED DANCE FLOOR
        
        Where pastels mix with zebra stripes; writhing as one living,
        breathing mass amidst a haze of dry ice and hairspray.
        
        Emblazoned in neon across the back of the bar: TECH NOIR.
        
        Barmen nod to the pulse of synth-based pop as they pour
        ridiculously priced cocktails without an ounce of shame.
        
        God, I miss the 80s.
        
        
        A PONYTAILED MAN
        
        30s, squeezes through a sea of revellers. His forehead matted
        with sweaty hair. His face serious; strained. Like he
        desperately needs to s**t.
        
        Barges past an unsuspecting blonde. She's about to scold him
        when she looks at her white blouse. It's smeared with blood.
        
        She stares in disbelief as Ponytail ploughs on. Clutching his
        stomach as he melts into a new wave of partygoers.
        
        
        HE EMERGES AT THE FIRE EXIT
        
        And drives through into
        
        
        A BACK ALLEY
        
        Where a couple rut workman-like against the wall. Her legs
        hang listlessly by his waist. Either she's smacked off her
        t*ts or he's one dead f**k.
        
        
        BACK IN THE CLUB
        
        The gaping fire doors catch the attention of a bespectacled
        BLOND GUY, 30s. He bee lines for them.
        
        
        THE HORNY COUPLE
        
        Are oblivious to Ponytail as he scampers down the alley,
        footsteps slapping off the narrow walls.
        
        
        IN THE CLUB
        
        A bald, black bouncer pulls the fire doors shut as the blond
        guy breezes past, pushing them back open. Louis Gosset Jr
        isn't amused and yanks him by the shoulder.
        
        As he spins, Blondie karate chops Louis' carotid artery,
        dropping him like a used teabag.
        
        Doesn't give the unconscious bouncer a second look as he
        
        
        STEPS INTO THE ALLEY
        
        Where the couple maintain their laboured sex. He looks both
        ways before jogging in Ponytail's direction. His footsteps
        also echoing into the night.
        
        
        A VAN IS WEDGED
        
        In the mouth of the alley, blocking access. Blondie pulls out
        a gun and approaches. Pulls on the rear door - it's locked.
        Tentatively dabs the exhaust, then grips firmly. It's cold.
        
        He turns back to the alley - empty - save for an industrial
        rubbish bin. Peers above it to a smashed first-floor window.
        
        
        IN A DARKENED STORAGE ROOM
        
        Moonlight permeates a shattered window, highlighting a bloody
        trail snaking across the floor to a figure desperately trying
        to drag itself between cardboard boxes.
        
        Glass crunching underfoot stops him in his tracks.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Hello Martyn.
        
        Ponytail sighs and rolls over, clasping his midriff.
        
                               PONYTAIL
                  Terry.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  How've you been?
        
        Ponytail takes his hand off his gut, showing his blood-
        drenched t-shirt and bullet wound.
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  Better. You?
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Not bad. C**t next door isn't
                  picking up after his Alsatian.
                  I almost stood in its s**t. I'm
                  gonna ram his bloody nose in it.
        
                             PONYTAIL
                  The dog?
        
                            BLONDIE
                  F**k would I do that for? It's a
                  dog! No, the c**t.
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  Fair enough.
        
        A brief pause.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  You know why I'm here.
        
                             PONYTAIL
                  I do.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Don't suppose you've got it with
                  you, have you?
        
        Ponytail pats his jeans pocket and shrugs.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  That was a tad wishful, wasn't it?
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  Would it have made any difference?
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Would've made my life easier.
        
                             PONYTAIL
                  Sorry.
        
        Blondie waves him away like it's no big deal.
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  We can split it. Three ways it's
                  still a lot. We can split it and we
                  can leave all this behind.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  That's not the point, is it?
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  Then I never did get the point.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Never mind.
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  I'm so tired...
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Where's the briefcase, Martyn? You
                  know, about yay big, stuffed with
                  half a mill of our boss's dough.
        
        Ponytail looks away. Blondie tucks the gun behind his back
        and returns with a sick blade, angling it to catch fragments
        of moonlight.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  What was it Einstein said? Put your
                  hand on a hot grill for a minute
                  and it feels like an hour? Tonight
                  can last forever, Martyn. If you
                  make it.
        
        Ponytail meets his gaze. Unflinching.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  Old school. Respect. Least tell me
                  why you did it.
        
                             PONYTAIL
                  Jessica.
        
        Blondie's shoulders sag - did he just say that? Ponytail
        feels the sting.
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  I love her.
        
                            BLONDIE
                  If there was one bird who was off
                  limits...
        
        Ponytail understands the disdain but still:
        
                            PONYTAIL
                  I love her.
        
        Blondie studies him again. And, with regret...
        
                            BLONDIE
                  You know the drill.
        
                            PONYTAIL
                      (swallows hard)
                  Yeah.
        
        
        A TRENDY WINE BAR
        
        Where these newfangled mobile phones and red braces seem part
        of the dress code. Mock exposed brickwork abounds and the
        house lights bask everything in a midnight-blue hue.
        
        Among lively, and no doubt obnoxious conversations about the
        price of pork belly, is a woman sitting alone at the rear.
        
        JESSICA HARTMAN. A raven haired and elegant beauty in her mid-
        thirties. Her tight white shirt tucks into a pencil skirt and
        her long, bare legs run into black high heels.
        
        Penises everywhere, applaud.
        
        Twirling a near-empty wine glass and glancing out into the
        night, she's obviously waiting for someone.
        
        A GLASS COLLECTOR clears nearby tables. And as she checks her
        watch for what appears to be the umpteenth time:
        
                            MAN (O.S.)
                  Jess?
        
        She looks up at the glass collector - and with barely
        concealed derision returns to the window.
        
                            JESSICA
                  David.
        
        He's good looking, early 40s, with salt and pepper hair. And
        he regards Jessica with the eager eyes of a loyal beagle.
        
                            DAVID
                  It's good to see you. What are you
                  up to these days?
        
                            JESSICA
                  Waiting. Like you. Except not
                  tables.
        
                            DAVID
                      (laughs)
                  This is my place. I own it!
        
                            JESSICA
                  Congratulations.
        
        David takes that as an invite to plant himself opposite her,
        totally oblivious to her skin crawling as a result.
        
                            DAVID
                  You look good...really good.
        
        Even her sharp intake of breath isn't enough to break his
        loving gaze.
        
                            JESSICA
                  David--
        
                            DAVID
                  I miss you.
        
        Jessica looks at her watch and pulls a cigarette from her
        handbag. Flicks hair off her high cheekbones as she lights.
        
                            JESSICA
                  Don't do this.
        
        He leans forward, suddenly looking lost and hurt.
        
                            DAVID
                  What happened, Jess?
        
        She languidly inhales and exhales.
        
                            DAVID
                  One minute you couldn't get enough
                  of me, planning our future, and the
                  next I come home to an empty house.
                  What the hell happened?!
        
                            JESSICA
                  They invented home video.
        
                            DAVID
                  I gave you everything. You said I
                  was your shining star.
        
        Jessica rolls her eyes and checks her watch again.
        
                            JESSICA
                  Things change; I was young; life
                  goes on; it's not you, it's me -
                  what do you want me to say?
        
                             DAVID
                  I love you, David. I want you back.
                      (beat)
                  Let's go to my office. Just like we
                  used to. Spontaneous. Hot. Sleazy.
                      (holds up the empty
                       glasses)
                  Just give me two minutes.
        
        Another slow drag on her cigarette...
        
                            JESSICA
                  If you could last three I might
                  consider it.
        
                            DAVID
                  You can't fool me, Jess, I can see
                  it in your eyes.
        
                            JESSICA
                  Yes, quite. Now, putting reality
                  aside...
        
                            DAVID
                  We were good together! You remember
                  all those sweaty nights between the
                  sheets.
        
                            JESSICA
                  Not really, I was usually asleep.
        
        David's resolve finally wavers. He's annoyed. And thus looks
        like he's constipated.
        
                            DAVID
                  Then why are you here?
        
                            JESSICA
                  Like I said - waiting. But not for
                  much longer.
        
                            DAVID
                  For?
        
        Jessica stubs out her cigarette.
        
                            JESSICA
                  Look, we had fun, David, and things
                  have clearly worked out for you
                  since then.
        
        Another glance at her watch and she stands to leave.
        
                            DAVID
                  Yeah, they have. Two bars and a pad
                  in Torremolinos. I'm not waiting
                  around like I used to. I come
                  first.
        
                            JESSICA
                  There you go again, referring to
                  our sex life. Bye, David.
        
                            DAVID
                  Give me one good reason to walk out
                  of that door!
        
                            JESSICA
                  One? I've got half a million.
        
        David's crestfallen. And as she walks away:
        
                            JESSICA
                      (to herself)
                  I hope.
        
        [end scriptment]
        Last edited by dpaterso; 04-22-2013, 12:31 PM.
        Check out the entries in the Logline Throwdown thread in Writing Exercises forum

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