i'm brand new to this board, and i don't know if you all will think it rude of me to instantly post a script in progress, but...if it offends anyone..i am sorry. i'm just curious to see what people think about this. thanks!

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INT. OFFICE OF AN APARTMENT COMPLEX

Bill sits across from Mr. Fremont. Bill is a skinny awkward 26-year-old man who seems out of place in his own skin. He is wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt. Right now he appears to be quite under the weather. Mr. Fremont is wearing clean, professional business attire, not a jacket or anything...just nice clothes.

FREMONT: I'm sorry Bill but I just can't afford to keep waiting for this check you say is coming.

BILL: Mr. Fremont, please...you have to understand...

FREMONT: Bill, you've been living here for 5 months without paying rent.

BILL: Mr. Fremont, I know how bad this must seem but...as soon as my book gets published I'm going to...

FREMONT: I'm sorry Bill, but I can't. You've got until Friday to move your belongings.



EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX

Bill walks down the stairs carrying a rather large box full of random items: picture frames, TV remotes, coffee mugs, etc. He carries it to his Chevette where the passenger side door is already open. He places the box carefully in the seat. His car is already filled almost entirely with boxes of his belongings.

He walks to the driver's side door, opens it. He then looks up at the apartment complex with an almost mournful stare. He shakes his head and sits down in his car. He turns the key in the ignition, presses the gas, and drives away.


EXT. BILL'S CHEVETTE

Camera: looking in the windshield at Bill and his stuff.

BILL (V.O.) Where did this downward spiral begin? My descent into this abyss of futility. When was it set into motion? I've known my whole life that I am nothing but a human being. But perhaps being human is harder than most people will ever realize. It seems the life that I once aspired to rise to was nothing but a myth. Not even a believable myth at that. Something more on the level of the Life cereal kid being killed by Pop Rocks and Coke. ...I can still remember the reasons why I wanted to rise above this existence.


INT. BILL'S HOUSE

Bill (as a teenager) is sitting on the couch. The TV is on, playing an old rerun of "The Twilight Zone" at a quiet volume. Bill is holding an open notebook in his lap, scribbling away like a madman. His father, a man of the same stature as Bill only more muscular, though some of his musculature has faded with age.

FATHER: What the hell are you doing?

BILL: I’m writing.

FATHER: The grass is not mowing itself Bill.

BILL: It’s 1:00 in the afternoon! It’s too hot out. I’ll do it a bit later.

FATHER: Writing is not going to get you anywhere in this world Bill. Only hard work will get you anywhere. My dad worked his ass off so that us kids could have the best, and I’ve tried my damnedest to do the same for you kids. I’d appreciate it if you showed some gratitude every once in a while.

BILL: Dad, I always do what you ask me to do.

FATHER: But how many times do I have to ask? You’re always scribbling something away in those damn notebooks. Nothing will ever come of this foolishness Bill.

BILL: Maybe it just makes me happy.

FATHER: Maybe you should stop being such a damn smartass.

His father stomps out of the room, angrily. Bill sighs and continues scribbling. His mother and sister walk in the room.

SISTER: Bill! Bill! Lookit!

BILL: I’m busy, why can’t everyone just leave me alone.

MOM: Be nice to your sister!

SISTER: Have you seen my car yet Bill?

BILL: Car? How'd you get a car? You're only 16.

SISTER: Mom and dad bought it for me. We picked it up yesterday. You were gone somewhere.

BILL: What? I've never gotten anything like that.

MOM: If you’d get a damn job you could buy your own stuff. I’m sick of you slacking off, scribbling in your notebook, never getting anything done.

BILL: I do plenty of stuff to help out…

MOM: That’s enough. I’m sick of your attitude. We’re all sick of your attitude. You’re lucky we haven’t kicked you out of the house yet.

BILL (V.O.) A week later…they kicked me out of the house. I was only eighteen.


INT. BILL’S CAR – NIGHT

Bill is doing his best to find a comfortable position to sleep in his car.

BILL (V.O.) They never believed in me. I’ve always envied people whose families were so supportive of them, no matter what they wanted to do with their life. Or is there a such thing as a happy family like that? Maybe it was just a concept they used for TV sitcoms. An optimist’s surrealistic reflection of our flawed reality.

During the monologue, headlights shine upon the back of his car. As soon as the monologue is over, a flashlight taps on the window. It belongs to a police officer.
Bill rolls down his window.

OFFICER: What are we doing here?

BILL: I’m just trying to sleep, officer.

OFFICER: You can’t sleep here. This is a highway. You can only sleep in designated rest areas.

BILL: And where is the nearest designated rest area, pray tell?

OFFICER: You’ve still got a good 50 miles north to get there.

BILL: Well…um…thanks, I suppose.

OFFICER: I need to see your license and registration before I can let you go.

Bill reaches for the glove box, which is rather difficult given the amount of boxes in the car.

OFFICER: So uh, whatcha got in all these boxes?

BILL: All of my earthly belongings.

Bill hands the officer his license and registration. The officer proceeds to examine them.

OFFICER: You moving?

BILL: Yeah, I’m going somewhere new.

OFFICER: Where might that be?

BILL: I’m not sure yet.

The officer hands the license and registration back to Bill, who puts it back in the glove box.

OFFICER: Well, keep out of trouble then. Don’t let me catch you out here sleeping again.

BILL: Thanks, officer.

Bill turns his key in the ignition and starts driving again.
Camera: similar view to earlier: looking in the front windshield at Bill and his stuff, only this time he appears to be very fatigued.

BILL (V.O.) That police officer almost made me believe for a moment that maybe, just maybe, humanity wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was. Then the weariness began to settle in once again, and I began to resent him for making me find a designated rest area. This was a microcosm of life as I knew it: those above tell the rest of us what to do, where to go, how to do it.

Bill’s eyes begin fluttering open and closed. He appears to be having a serious issue with keeping his eyes open.

INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT

Bill and his girlfriend Emilia are sitting on the couch of his apartment, watching a movie. The movie sounds muffled, and it’s impossible to tell what exactly they are watching.

BILL: I got fired today.

EMILIA (turns) What? What are you talking about?

BILL: I guess I didn’t actually get “fired”…I got “laid off”. They don’t need my position anymore. They can outsource it to India for $3 an hour now or something.

EMILIA: So what does that mean?

BILL: We can’t get married. I can’t support us. It’s going to be difficult to support myself now.

EMILIA: We’ve always said we’d work the bad stuff out though. No matter what came, we’d face it together.

BILL: That always sounded good. But I never thought that the bottom of my life could fall out like this.

EMILIA: It can’t possibly be that bad, I’m still here. We can work through this.

The room is silent except for the muffled TV for a few minutes.

BILL: You’re right. I’ll find another job. We can figure this out.

EMILIA: What about your book? Aren’t you almost done writing it?

BILL: I’ve been done with it.

EMILIA: Then why don’t you send it to some publishers? See what they think? Maybe you won’t have to find another job.

BILL: So you’re saying you actually believe in my abilities as a writer?

EMILIA: Of course I do Bill.

BILL: God, I’m so lucky to have you.

They kiss...then continue to watch the movie.

BILL (V.O.) That was only 5 months ago.


EXT. HIGHWAY – NIGHT

Bill has fallen asleep at the wheel of his Chevette. The car begins drifting into the left lane. He wakes up as he hears the thumpthumpthump of the reflectors in the road, but he panics, having just woken up, and overcompensates…driving his car into the guardrail, down a small hill and into a tree.