Author note:
Hey guys. This is a little short film I wrote that I haven’t gotten a chance to film yet. Figured I may as well share it for the paid subs. It’s written more like a shooting script, as I have no plans to sell it, so this format works best for me. I may film it this coming winter, if a particular actor friend is available. Could be something fun to do after the madness of the Iris Collective book release starts to calm down. Anyway, hope you like it. :)
AN ALARM clock is sounding.
1 INT. APARTMENT - BEDROOM - BEFORE SUNRISE
Open into a dark bedroom. The silhouette of a man, THE PASSENGER, laying in bed. A cat sleeps at his feet. The only light is the red numbers of an old alarm clock facing us from the other side of the bed where The Passenger sleeps. The Passenger groans and reaches out from under the covers, slamming his hand onto the alarm clock to turn it off.
CUT TO:
2 BLACK SCREEN
TITLE appears.
CUT TO:
3 EXT. APARTMENT - MORNING
We see a hand with keys locking the front door.
TOP OF EXTERIOR STAIRS
The Passenger quickly moves down the stairs toward a car parked near the bottom. STEVEN, the driver, is lounging in the driver’s seat with the window down. He is playing on his phone.
GROUND LEVEL - BESIDE THE STAIRCASE
The Passenger approaches the car and speaks to the driver.
THE PASSENGER
Steven?
Steven sits up straight and puts his phone into a holder on his dash.
STEVEN
Yep.
CLOSER - THE SIDE OF THE CAR
The Passenger gets into the car, and we follow it as it drives off.
4 INT. BACKSEAT OF CAR - IN TRAFFIC
We see The Passenger looking impatient.
THE PASSENGER
Can we speed it up? I can’t afford
to be late.
STEVEN (O.S.)
Can’t control the traffic, man.
The passenger scoffs.
THE PASSENGER
Perfect.
The passenger looks at his phone for a moment, typing a quick message on it.
THE PASSENGER
I think someone broke into my
apartment last night.
The passenger looks up from his phone, making eye contact with the viewer.
THE PASSENGER
Nothing was gone, mind you.
THE DRIVER’S SEAT
Steven bobs his head to a song on the radio, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
THE PASSENGER (O.S.)
Don’t worry about him. He can’t
hear us.
