"Popsicle" freeflow writing exercise

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  • #31
    Re: "Popsicle" freeflow writing exercise

    Originally posted by Mark Twain Weck View Post
    CLOSE ON a RED POPSICLE melting on the sidewalk.
    Kind of saw that one coming.
    STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I'm a wannabe, take whatever I write with a huge grain of salt.

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    • #32
      Re: Results - Bring Me The Head contest

      Originally posted by Centos View Post
      Okay, for what it's worth, here's my idea.
      Okay ... so I'll see if I can come up with another idea. The exercises are kind of the same as the 5 thing list anyhow. Give me a couple days. Then fire me if I can't come up with something.
      STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I'm a wannabe, take whatever I write with a huge grain of salt.

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      • #33
        Re: Results - Bring Me The Head contest

        Another one. Sorry.

        Code:
        EXT. CITY STREET -- DAY
        
        CLOSE ON a RED POPSICLE sitting on the sidewalk.
        
        We PULL BACK to an impeccably dressed man, FESTUS MONROE,
        50s, who is screaming at a KID fleeing on a HOVERBOARD.
        
                              FESTUS
                  That was my last one! The last
                  Popsicle with a stick made from
                  white birch! From the last grove of
                  white birch trees. It was not meant
                  to be eaten, you stupid ...
        
        He gingergly leans down and tries to scoop the melting
        Popsicle up in this hands.
        
        It's no use, the Popsicle has melted and all that remains is
        the stick, stained red except for the final 2 inches.
        
                              FESTUS
                        (looking up into the sky)
                  Why me?
        
        Festus cradles the Popsicle stick while vainly trying to
        hold it all in.
        
                              FESTUS
                  Why? Why? Why? WHY! 
                        (whimpering)
                  The last one. The VERY last one. 
                        (hatred animates him as
                         he stares daggers up the
                         street)
                  And he just ATE it!
        
        A RASPING CACKLE behind him.
        
        Festus turns to see a TATTERED BLACK ROBE, with a SKELETAL
        FACE staring at him from the recesses of the HOOD.
        
                              FESTUS
                        (turning quickly)
                  Beg your pardon.
        
                              HOOD
                  So sad.
        
        Festus is anxious to move on, he doesn't want to wait. He
        steps away.
        
                              HOOD
                  What a shame. So valuable. And the
                  last one?
        
                              FESTUS
                        (turning back)
                  Yes. It was my life and he just --
        
                              HOOD
                  -- Stole your pride and joy. Gutted
                  you?
        
                              FESTUS
                  Exactly. Gutted.
        
                              HOOD
                  What's the use? There will never be
                  another one?
        
                              FESTUS
                  The last of the white birch stick
                  Popsicles. Torn from me and ... and
                  ... EATEN!
        
                              HOOD
                  How horrible!
        
                              FESTUS
                  Yes.
        
                              HOOD
                  But what if I told you ... no,
                  you'd never believe me.
        
                              FESTUS
                  What?
        
                              HOOD
                  That I can find you a pristine 12
                  pack of original, white birch
                  stick, red Popsicles?
        
                              FESTUS
                  You're toying with me?
        
                              HOOD
                  No. Not at all.
        
        He points to a small COLD BOX sitting on the sidewalk.
        Festus hadn't noticed it before.
        
                              HOOD
                  On dry ice.
                        (he picks up the box)
                  Here, let me open it. Notice the
                  original packaging. Pristine.
                        (he hisses slightly on
                         the "s" in pristine)
        
        Festus doesn't notice, he's enraptured.
        
                              FESTUS
                  They're beautiful!
                        (pause)
                  How much?
        
                              HOOD
                  Oh, there's no cost ... just one
                  small condition ...
        
                              FESTUS
                  No cost? Condition?
        
                              HOOD
                  We just need you to sign this
                  contract ... an injury waiver of
                  sorts. Please ignore the small
                  print.
        
                              FESTUS
                  You're serious? Really? That's it?
        
                              HOOD
                        (a gurgling "chuckle")
                  My boss likes to grant small wishes
                  ... 
        
        He presents Festus with an odd-looking FOUNTAIN PEN.
        There's a sharp point on the non-writing end.
        
        Festus inspects it carefully.
        
                              FESTUS
                  I've read about these kinds of
                  pens. Don't they need ink?
        
                              HOOD
                        (slaps his forehead with
                         his palm)
                  Oh, how forgetful of me. Not again. 
        
        He picks up the small cold box. Shakes his head. Holds out
        his hand for the pen.
        
                              HOOD
                  I so wish we could have concluded
                  this bargain. I feel so silly. And
                  I've done this before ...
        
        Festus is crestfallen. He stares mournfully at the box  as
        Hood closes the lid.
        
        Hood turns, takes a step. Turns back.
        
                              HOOD
                        (slapping his forehead
                         with his palm again)
                  Wait. I did do this before. I
                  remember now. The other person used
                  the sharp end of the pen to poke
                  himself and then he was able to use
                  a little of his own blood to sign
                  the contract.
        
        Festus brightens.
        
                              FESTUS
                  I could do that!
        
                              HOOD
                  Really? Would you?
        
        The pen and contract are handed to Festus. He pokes himself.
        
                              FESTUS
                  Ow! ... That's incredibly sharp.
        
                              HOOD
                  Is it now?
        
        Festus quickly signs his name. Looks at the box expectantly.
        
        Hood hands it to him. Smiles a crooked smile.
        
                              HOOD
                  Be careful, these melt easily.
        
                              FESTUS
                  This dry ice should keep it well
                  frozen until ...
        
        A HOVERCAR suddenly veers off the street, passes through
        Hood but slams Festus into a building's granite wall. He's
        bent in all sorts of unnatural angles.
        
        Hood cackles.
        
                              HOOD
                  Collectors. They're SO easy. 
        
        He fades out.
        
        EXT. CITY STREET -- LATER
        
        Twelve RED POPSICLES -- with white birch sticks -- lie
        melting on the sidewalk.
        STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I'm a wannabe, take whatever I write with a huge grain of salt.

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