The Earthling
TEASER
EXT. FOREST - NIGHT
The moon blazes autumn-bright. Whispy clouds like torn spots in a denim sky. Tall pine forest.
Dark, silent and still out among the pines and ferns. CRACKLE CRUNCH CRASH!
Silence and stillness shatter as SONNY DEKKER - a fifteen year old with thick glasses - comes careening through the woods dragging a semi-conscious companion draped over his shoulder. The hood of his companion's poncho conceals their face. Sonny's free arm flails wildly pushing branches out of their path. They leave a slight trail of smoke behind them
From the woods behind them, the distant sound of BIG DOGS barking.
As Sonny crashes through the woods, struggling to carry his comrade, we follow CLOSE behind him and see that the ass of his pants, as well as the back parts of his poncho and hooded sweatshirt have been burned away and the edges are still smoldering - hence the trail of smoke. His “tighty-whitey” UNDERPANTS are exposed in the back and a good amount of the hair on the back of his head is singed away in big moth-eaten patches.
The comrade is only wearing one converse all-star. CLOSE ON comrades blood-soaked socke
EXT. FOREST - NIGHT
A 1990's P.O.S. TERCEL sits in a clearing.
Sonny and comrade burst out of the woods into the clearing.
Unable to slow himself down he runs at nearly full speed into the side of the car.
KA-THUD!
Sonny sprawls out over the trunk lid, panting desperately, struggling with the weight of his comrade, filthy with mud and sweat, trailing whisps of smoke, underpants-ass to the moon.
SONNY
(panting) Jesus.
Sonny pries open the rear door of the Shitbox Tercel and, huffing and puffing, stuffs his comrade into the back seat.
Comrade moans in pain.
Sonny fishes an inhaler out of his hoodie pocket and takes a huge rip off it, trying to slow his breathing.
A tiny cinder of still-smoldering twill burns the back of his leg. Sonny spins around, swatting at it like a bee sting.
Peering over his shoulder in the dark, Sonny sees how thoroughly fucked his clothes are.
He feels around his tighty-whitey buns and the singed hair on the back of his legs with one hand.
SONNY (CONT’D)
Are you fucking serious?
Sound of barking dogs draws closer.
He goes to take another hit from the inhaler… Sound of people shouting from the woods. Flashlight beams swing wildly.
Sonny drops the inhaler.
SONNY (CONT’D) Fuck!
He looks for it on the ground but doesn't see it. No time. The flashlight beams are closing in.
Sonny jumps into the car, turns it over and starts down the hill toward the road.
INT. SHITBOX TERCEL - CONTINUOUS Sonny slams on the brakes.
Gravel crunches under tires.
SONNY IT'S A PRESCRIPTION.
IT HAS YOUR NAME ON IT.
EXT. FOREST - CONT.
Sonny leaps out of the car and goes running back up the hill, slipping and struggling over lose gravel and wet moss.
The flashlights, barking dogs and angry voices are drawing close - like really fucking close.
SONNY
Fucking idiot!
Sonny searches on his hands and knees for the inhaler. Dog barks from very close.
Sonny looks up - the flashlight beams are at the edge of the clearing backlighting the dark shapes of security guards and leashed dogs emerging from the woods.
He gropes around in a panic. Finally…
CLOSE ON: The inhaler - prescription label wrapped around its tank.
SONNY (CONT’D)
Ha!
DISTANT VOICE (O.S.)
He's over there!
Off Sonny - Kneeling in the gravel, look of terror. Flashlight beams track across the clearing. Closing in.
END TEASER