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Flaming Fucking Wreck (A Screenplay that will NEVER be produced)

This is quite a stupid little project. It answers the question "What if I ignore all the conventions of modern storytelling and practicality?" And it does not answer that question well.

It began as a little exercise to feel the freedom of doing the wrong thing all the time. I didn't need to agonize over the details because they were supposed to be shit. It contains an unnecessary amount of character who make only one appearance and visual effects that could not properly be accomplished without a Multi-millon dollar budget.

It also indulges in a personal obsession of mine- breaking the forth wall. The character gaining awareness that he is not in control of his own story.

If you're reading this, I'm sorry.




1: INT- MARSHALL MARSHALL’S APARTMENT, MORNING

VO:

On a particularly foggy morning in the middle of June, an uneasy summer for the year of our lord Two Thousand And It doesn’t even vaguely matter when, Marshall Marshalls awoke to discover that his Finger Guns functioned as actual guns.

MARSHALL MARSHALLS sits up in bed, points a finger gun at the window and pulls the trigger. There is recoil and dramatic sound. The window shatters.

VO:

This discovery was met largely with dismay.

MARSHALL:

Well, fuck.

VO:

But soon, Marshall found himself considering what he might use this newfound power for.

(Maybe some ‘Harry-getting-his-wand’ dramatic up-light here)

MARSHALL:

What might I use this newfound power for?

VO:

He decided that he should probably eat some breakfast before making any large, life altering decisions.

MARSHALL:

Well, I should probably eat some breakfast before making any large, life altering decisions.

MARSHALL gets out of bed completely dressed, including beat up old shoes; Chuck Taylors, laced all the way up. His unseen socks have little happy duckies on them. He exits his bedroom directly into the kitchen where he pours himself a bowl of cereal using coffee for milk. He sits at the table to eat.

VO:

Marshall Marshalls considered himself an efficient, no-nonsense kind of man. So, he was, to put it lightly, massively pissed the fuck off. Not only was he suddenly saddled with a mysterious and frankly absurd power, also, his window was now broken. I mean, do you know how complicated it can be to get a window fixed? There are quotes to get, there’s the matter of figuring out how exactly you get those quotes and what a quote even is, researching to be done on local contractors, criminal records to run, an internet deep-dive to be had on the history of the modern window somehow culminating with articles about Brad Pitt’s dog, Petunia, and what she wore for Halloween last year. And then, what if it couldn’t be fixed at all? What if he’d have to replace the whole window. And what if that window were a non-standard size and he’d have to have the replacement special ordered. Do you know how expensive it is to have anything special ordered?

VO:

For a brief moment Marshall was overwhelmed by the naked existential dread at the black heart of the world; a cold churning sensation that tickled his nose with moist, scab covered fingers. What is the purpose of life? How can meaning exist in world without order? Why is it called a pair of pants when it is only ONE GARMENT?

VO:

Rather than have a tragic mental breakdown, Marshall Marshalls decided to brush his teeth.

During the above, MARSHALL pours himself a glass of orange juice and eats a bit of his coffee/cereal. He freezes during his existential crisis. He lifts a prepared toothbrush seemingly from his lap and brushes. He spits the toothpaste into the coffee/cereal bowl, takes a sip of orange juice, swishes, makes direct eye contact with the camera, and that motherfucker swallows the orange juice.

MARSHALL goes to stand from the chair and hesitates

VO:

But maybe, just maybe, Marshall had only imagined this unusual power. For god’s sake, of all things one could possibly wake up to, finger guns? Well, that just seems cinematically impractical and incredibly stupid. Maybe his window wasn’t broken at all. Could it be that he’d simply been caught in some post-dream hallucination? That his finger guns weren’t functional at all and he’d finally fallen victim to that ‘over-active imagination’ he’d heard so much about in television programs and feature films?

MARSHALL points his finger Gun at the kitchen window and fires. The window breaks.

VO:

No. Yep. Definitely real. Marshall Marshalls should probably call someone.

(?)

VO:

After covering his window-holes with cellophane and masking tape while sheepishly avoiding the suspicions of his neighbor and owner of several large colorful birds, Muriel, Marshall Marshalls grabbed a fistful of change from the jar, locked his front door, and headed towards the bus.


2: EXT- BUS STOP, BUS. STILL MORNING

VO:

The bus was ten minutes late.

MARSHALL sighs

VO:

Upon boarding the bus, Marshall Marshalls couldn’t help but notice the overpowering aroma of alcohol wafting from the general location of the bus-driver. His suspicion was confirmed by presence of an empty bottle of Taste Of Italy Cooking Sherry which had settled by the man’s feet. And that the driver was hiccupping uncontrollably.

MARSHALL shrugs, throws his fistful of change at the bus-change-collector-thing and wanders back to find a seat.

VO:

As he settled in for the ride to work, he listened to some endearingly obscure alternative rock while checking his phone.

VO:

Marshall Marshalls had received no new emails or text messages. His social media accounts were similarly without notifications.

MARSHALL frowns

VO:

But he did receive a voicemail.

MARSHALL smiles

VO:

Two of them, actually.

MARSHALL smiles wider

VO:

Neither of them were pleasant.

MARSHALL frowns

AUBREY:

(through the phone)

Why can’t you just answer your fucking phone? What the fuck is so hard about tapping a little green circle? Fuck. This is exactly the kind of shit tha-(sighs, mumbles away from the phone mic) Never mind. I’ll be at That Stupid Kitschy Coffee Place You Love at six PM this afternoon and I’d really like it we could sit down and talk for a couple minutes. Just fucking talk okay. I don’t need a lecture. This doesn’t have to be some barely civil hostage exchange, Marshall, I just want my key and honestl-

SFX:

BEEP. END OF MESSAGE. NEXT UNHEARD MESSAGE

JARED:

Hello, this is Jared Croston from First Federal Bank One. I left a message last week about some unusual activity on your primary checking account? To be blunt, Mr. Marshalls, we believe your identity has been stolen. A withdraw of three hundred fourteen dollars and fifty-seven cents was made in Darbee, Massachusetts this morning and while we begin investigating the theft, we’ve temporarily frozen your accounts. Give us a call back or stop into our branch on Water Street to-

MARSHALL hangs up with a heavy sigh

VO:

Would it surprise you if I were to reveal that these two messages, while unhappy, were mild compared to what awaited him? That an angry ex and a frozen bank account were only the small pebbles that skitter down a hillside as the merry heralds of an avalanche to come?

Camera cuts to a closeup of the bottle of Taste of Italy Cooking Shery as it rolls between the bus-driver’s feet and lodges itself beneath the brake pedal. The bus speeds up as it turns on to a highway.

Unaware of coming disaster, MARSHALL tentatively holds up his left finger gun and examines it. Yes, those are still fingers, nothing seems decidedly odd about them. He tugs on his thumb-no-there’s no setting the hammer. Maybe it’s less a revolver more a modern handgun. When he points the “barrel” towards his face, he is immediately unnerved and holds the hand out and away from himself.

At precisely that moment, the sound of tires screeching is heard a few cars ahead. MARSHALL half-stands to look out the Driver’s window. He sees red taillights. His finger gun is still out. The driver presses down on the brake, but the bus does not slow. It speeds forward plowing through several stopped cars with the sound of metal screaming. MARSHALL falls over the seat before him. His hand jerks, setting off his finger gun. A man in the seat across the isle is shot cleanly in the head and slumps over dead. The bus stops, the bottle dislodged.

Static silence in the aftermath

No one seems to notice that MARSHALL just shot someone in the head with his finger. To be fair to them, there was a lot going on.

As the crash settles, blue and red flashing lights are seen. That was quick. MARSHALL immediately flees for no reason other than that it’s convenient and I don’t feel like negotiating the aftermath of a bus crash. Also, he just shot someone so make what you want of that.

VO:

Well done, Marshall Marshalls. Well done. You’re definitely going to be late to work.

Cut to MARSHALL walking up on an office building. Inside, sitting at a small desk is TEDDY, the security guard/building receptionist. He does not look up. He is rather focused on his Chinese food. Note that it is still morning.


3: INT- MARSHALL’S WORKPLACE, LATER THAT MORNING

MARSHALL:

(As he hurries by)

Hey teddy, how’re the kids?

TEDDY:

(lazily)

I don’t have any. Do you work here?

MARSHALL gets into the elevator. Mazak softly plays

VO:

Well, hasn’t this just been one hell of a morning, Marshall? Not only do your rather scrawny shoulder now carry the moral responsibility inherent in the raw power of functional finger guns, you’re already fucking up with it. You shot someone, Marshall. That’s murder!

The elevator doors open

VO:

Alright, it’s fine. Let’s just ignore all that for now. Marshall Marshalls is going to have a good day even if it means pretending to be one of the “after” actors in a commercial for antidepressants.

upbeat, triumphant music plays as MARSHALL steps out of the elevator, the scene visibly brightens

In something of a montage/musical number, MARSHALL walks into the office. It is surreally chipper. MARSHALL high-fives the receptionist as he walks in, he smiles at some employees passing by the door. As he approaches the rows of cubicles, he waves to a cheery employee seated at their desk. Everything is sunshine and lollypops and rainbows.

MARSHALL approaches his own cubicle. We can tell this because the camera flips to a brief close up of a name plate on the cubicle wall which reads MARSHALL MARSHALLS.

His buddy, he doesn’t really need a name, but we’ll call him EDWARD, is sitting at a cubicle just across the way. EDWARD, infected with the delirious joy of the montage, smirks and directs a happy look at MARSHALL.

EDWARD then does the double finger gun thing that pretty much says “this guy right here”, I’m sure you know the kind of thing I’m talking about.

MARSHALL, a certifiable moron, returns the gesture, effectively firing two gunshot into EDWARD’s torso. EDWARD dies instantly. It is messy.

SFX:

Record scratch

Absolute silence. Everyone stares at MARSHALL. He panics and frantically runs back to the elevator before anyone can do anything. He punches the ground floor button desperately and the doors close

VO:

(sighs)

Well now that’s two murders, Marshall. It’s not even Ten AM. One was bad enough, buddy. (away from mic) Honestly what is his problem, jeff do you-

MARSHALL loosens his tie

The elevator spits him out at the lobby. MARSHALL rushes out, but not before:

MARSHALL:

(nervously)

Bye Teddy. I’m taking a sick day. Got a case of the shits.

TEDDY:

(lazily)

Who are you?


4. EXT- AN ALLEY, PROBABLY STILL MORNING

On the street again, MARSHALL has no fucking clue what to do. Neither do I, to be honest. So, uhm. Let’s say MARSHALL turns down an alley. Yes, he is thinking deeply about the two murders he committed. Is he sad? Is he ensorcelled by the power of his fingers? Who knows? The actor, probably.

There is a door in this alley, the back entrance for some restaurant probably.

OFFICER DICKS BENTLEY Knocks in a police officer like way on said door. From behind it he says

OFFICER:

OPEN UP!

MARSHALL is startled. Does he mean for MARSHALL to open this random ass door in an alley? He does.

OFFICER:

I SAID OPEN UP, YOU SCUM. I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE.

MARSHALL tentatively reaches for the door-push-bar-thing. He barely touches it. OFFICER DICKS BENTLEY bursts through. He flashes a badge. Looks fake.

OFFICER:

You! Marshall Marshalls, you bastard, you really thought you could get away, didn’t you?

MARSHALL:

I-what?

OFFICER:

I said: You! Marshall Marshalls, you bastard, you really thought you could get away, didn’t you?

MARSHALL:

Who are you?

OFFICER:

I’m officer Dicks Bentley of the Telekinetic and Non-Corporeal Firearms Task force. Drop your weapon!

MARSHALL:

(raises his hands in surrender.)

My weapon? I uh-

OFFICER:

I SAID DROP IT! DROP IT NOW!

OFFICER DICKS BENTLEY pulls an imaginary shotgun and cocks it. There is a sound effect

MARSHALL flails wildly and flees. The shotgun goes off, hitting the wall and spraying MARSHALL with rubble. MARSHALL turns into the nearest open door; the sounds of pursuit follow him.


5. INT- BACKSTAGE, TIME IS IRRELEVANT HERE

MARSHALL is now in the backstage halls of a theatre, still running. Camera follows as he runs heckin’ everywhere. Look a STAGE MANAGER. A TECHIE wandering with a strange prop. Come on, I know you have friends in show business who need some work, just pay them for fuck’s sake.

Now MARSHALL is on the mezzanine, walking passed the Box Seats.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, upon hearing the commotion of MARSHALL’s ostritch-like running, stands from his box-seat

LINCOLN:

I say, what are you-

MARSHALL shoots Abraham Lincoln with his finger gun.

MARRY TODD screams.

MARSHALL runs.


6: EXT-THE STREET, PROBABLY CLOSE TO LUNCH BY NOW

Back on the street, MARSHALL seems to have lost OFFICER DICKS BENTLEY for the time being. What is he going to do now? How about wander forlornly for a nice moody and dramatic sequenced.

VO:

(At the conclusion of the forlorn sequence.)

Well, Marshall, honestly, I don’t know what we’re going to do now. You’re not handling the responsibility of finger guns very well, are you? The first two murders, I can excuse. I think we’d both agree that you’re not very intelligent.(MARSHALL looks offended). But you killed a president! Now, I don’t know American politics but if that had been the queen, you’d have a rabid pack of corgis nipping at your heels right about now. Bobbies circling in. Dame Judi Dench leering at you angrily.

Camera shows a gas station


7: EXT- OUTSIDE A GAS STATION, STREET

VO:

How about a gas station hot dog, eh? Might as well press your luck. Don’t see how things can get much worse from here.

MARSHALL shrugs and heads into a gas station. The camera stays outside as MARSHALL emerges momentarily with a very bad looking hot dog in his hands. In the background we see something catch on fire in the gas-station. What’s that about?

On the street, BIG BAD CRIMINAL MAN is trying to steal SURPRISINGLY STRONG OLD LADY’S purse.

MARSHALL is about to ignore the situation like any red-blooded American but then he remembers.

MARSHALL hefts his finger gun triumphantly, finally, he can do some good with these cursed finger firearms.

SFX: His eardrums ring with adrenaline, cutting off the rest of the audio like one of those really dramatic scenes in an action movie

MARSHALL runs to confront BIG BAD CRIMINAL MAN, holding his finger gun dramatically. BIG BAD CRIMINAL MAN is confused. He rips the purse away from SURPRISINGLY STRONG OLD LADY.

As MARSHALL closes in, the gas-station explodes in an unrealistic fireball. It certainly makes for some good lighting.

In slow motion: SURPRISINGLY STRONG OLD LADY socks BIG BAD CRIMINAL MAN right in the kisser and reclaims her purse. But OH NO! MARSHALL has already fired his finger gun! Camera follows the invisible bullet as it flies through the air and rips apart SURPRISINGLY STRONG OLD LADY’S throat. She falls, real dead. BIG BAD CRIMINAL MAN is DRENCHED in blood. He screams like a man having his pubic hair waxed.

MARSHALL:

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

MARSHALL runs away


8: EXT- STREETS

Camera follows behind MARSHALL as he slows and wanders the city. Oh, boy, he’s looking sweaty. Funny how nobody stops him. Shouldn’t OFFICER DICKS be coming back soon? He’s not. He’s at a bar, probably.

VO:

That went about as well as I expected. Look Marshall, perhaps it’s not your fault. Maybe the finger guns are naturally inclined to evil. Where does evil come from anyway? Are people born evil? Or is evilness a trait, a defense against a world too cruel whereby a powerless person experiences the feeling of power only when they act evilly? Is power inherently evil? Is control? Maybe Evilness is what happens when young children refuse to eat their broccoli. Could it be that Evil is the result of long-term exposure to certain chemicals in our shampoos? Are all people destined to become evil if they only wash their hair enough times? Alas, we probably will never know. It’s okay Marshall. It’s not your fault. Why don’t you just go over there and cry next to that dumpster for a while, I don’t think we have any appointments.

MARSHALL walks into the alley and cries for a moment.

The flow of the scene is interrupted by a jarring jump cut to:


8.1: EXT-UNSPECIFIED LOCATION

(A scene which will be completely unnecessary, entirely irrelevant, and never to be remarked on again. I cannot stress enough that this has absolutely no barring on the content of the rest of the story... not that there’s a whole lot going on out there but-)

A shot so still it could be a picture. Gentle, gradual zoom on three women: THE LADY, THE WOMAN, THE MISS.

Each wears a newsboy hat and patchwork “The Tramp” style clothing. If they are of differing heights it would be my strongest suggestion that they be arranged in height order.

Each has a black greasepaint moustache drawn above their upper lips.

THE LADY’S moustache curls up on the ends.

THE WOMAN’S ends in straight lines.

THE MISS’S curls down.

The shot is still still. Nothing’s happening. This should be achingly long. 2001: A Space Odyssey Long. Are they blinking? I can’t tell.

(They each look dead ahead during the action below.)

THE MISS pulls a ten-dollar bill from her pocket and hands it to someone off-screen. She is given a Coke-Like-But-Probably-Not-Name-Brand drink in a glass bottle which she passes on to THE WOMAN and a twenty-dollar bill which she pockets.

THE WOMAN opens the bottle with her teeth and spits the cap on the ground. She hands the bottle to

THE LADY who takes a long drink (still staring dead at camera)

THE MISS, THE WOMAN, and THE LADY all sigh with satisfaction.

A close up on THE LADY’s mouth and we can see she is licking the top row of her teeth under her lips. Then,

THE WOMAN’s mouth and we see her tongue dart a straight line, poking out between her lips. Then,

THE MISS’s mouth and we see her lick the bottom row of her teeth under her lips.

Cut back to the full shot of all three. THE LADY hears a noise off camera. All three turn to look in the direction of the noise.

Cut back to:


8 (Cont): EXT- STREETS

MARSHALL emerges from the alley after having cried by a dumpster. He begins wandering the streets.

VO:

You know Marshall, I’ve been doing some thinking and if we’re really going with this evil thing, I mean, if you’re going to massively fuck up everything you do today, why don’t we put it to good use? The world has been pushing you down for so long, hasn’t it? Let’s push back at the world. Let’s push back hard.

At exactly that moment, MARSHALL stops in front of his bank, First Federal Bank One. He pulls a robber mask from his pocket and dons it. He holds forth his finger gun.



9: EXT-OUTSIDE FIRST FEDERAL BANK ONE

Camera again remains outside as MARSHALL goes in to rob the bank. Mostly because I can’t imagine the logistics of trying to shoot a heist scene. A moment later MARSHALL emerges carrying a bugler sack over his shoulder. Where there should be a big green dollar sign, the bag instead says “FAKE MONEY TO GIVE TO CRIMINALS. ACTUALLY FULL OF SPIDERS.” This, we see from a quick closeup because)

(MARSHALL is chased from the bank by BURLY SECURITY GUARDS. More running.)

VO:

I bet you wish you’d gone to the gym once in a while, dumbass.



10: EXT-LOTS OF PLACES IN THE CITY

During the running, MARSHALL notices that the money isn’t money but spiders. In perhaps his only smart move of the day, he chucks the bag back at BIG BURLY SECURITY GUARDS, where it bursts open. They scream, MARSHALL loses them. He probably does that thing where he turns a sudden corner and the blends into the crowd. Moments later we see BURLY SECURITY GUARDS, looking somewhat frazzled by their spider encounter, continuing on. What did they do with the spiders? I don’t know.

MARSHALL takes a moment to breathe.

VO:

Well-?

MARSHALL pulls his phone out of his pocket. It is 6:01pm. I know, it should only be like noon at the latest by now. I don’t care. You’re not paid enough to either.

VO:

Ah,


11: INT- COFFEE SHOP

Camera cuts to MARSHALL walking up on his favorite coffee place. The sign reads “THAT STUPID KITSCHY COFFEE PLACE YOU LOVE” AUBREY is waiting impatiently at a table. She’s ordered him his favorite drink. Aw.)

AUBREY:

Wow. Five minutes late but you actually fucking showed up.

MARSHALL:

(He sits)

I did.

AUBREY slides the coffee over

MARSHALL:

Thanks.

He lifts the drink and takes a sip. Sets it down. There’s a whole lot of uncomfortable silence going on right now)

MARSHALL:

It’s good to see you.

AUBREY:

No it isn’t.

MARSHALL:

Alright.

More Silence

AUBREY:

How’ve you been?

MARSHALL:

been alright. Pretty good. You?

AUBREY glares.

Silence

AUBREY:

Were you at the gym today or something?

MARSHALL:

What? No. Just work.

AUBREY:

Okay, well, like, were you really stressed out at work?

MARSHALL:

No.

A pause.

MARSHALL:

(Without malice)

What are you talking about?

AUBREY:

You have that rash again. On your neck. You only get it when you sweat a lot.

MARSHALL:

Oh. Well, I was running.

AUBREY:

at the gym?

MARSHALL:

No, just running.

Silence

AUBREY takes a heavy breath

AUBREY:

So, we’re not going to talk about-

MARSHALL:

You said we shouldn’t.

AUBREY:

No, I said this didn’t have to be tense.

MARSHALL:

Right, which means we shouldn’t talk about it.

AUBREY:

No. It does not. It means if you can act like a normal fucking human then we can talk about it but If it’s going to turn into a fight then-

MARSHALL:

Seems like it already is.

AUBREY:

(Snorts)

I don’t have to do this. I’m doing this for you.

MARSHALL:

What do you mean you’re doing this for me?

AUBREY:

You need closure.

MARSHALL:

I didn’t ask for it.

AUBREY:

You need closure.

MARSHALL:

I don’t need closure.

AUBREY:

You seem like you need closure.

MARSHALL:

I don’t.

AUBREY:

You have a stain on your shirt.

MARSHALL:

Okay?

AUBREY:

When was the last time you did laundry?

MARSHALL:

What?

AUBREY:

I don’t think you’re doing ‘alright’.

Pause

MARSHALL:

(calmly)

I think you gave up the right to care about how I’m doing a couple weeks ago, Aub.

AUBREY:

Why are you such an ass? I’m trying to be nice to you.

MARSHALL:

I came here because you asked me to. You’re telling me how I feel and getting mad at me because I disagree.

AUBREY:

Fine. Did you bring my fucking key?

MARSHALL sighs and reaches down into his pocket for his keyring. It isn’t there.

He starts checking his other pockets.

AUBREY:

What?

MARSHALL:

I think I lost my keys.

AUBREY:

Are you kidding?

MARSHALL:

No. I must have lost them on the bus or-

AUBREY:

Right.

MARSHALL:

Right, what?

AUBREY:

you lost your keys?

MARSHALL:

I mean, I must have.

AUBREY:

This is really transparent, Marsh. Even for you.

MARSHALL:

What are you talking about?

AUBREY:

You didn’t fucking lose your keys, MARSHALL. You left them at home just so you’d have an excuse to see me again. You’re so fucking ridiculous, I was trying to tell you and you wouldn’t fucking listen to me. You’re clearly not fuckin-

AUBREY’S dialogue fades as MARSHALL freezes

VO:

Oh. Oh no. What’s that look about? What’s going on with his face? I was joking earlier, about the evil thing, Marshall. Oh. Look at him. Something’s wrong. Very Very wrong. Why isn’t he talking? Shouldn’t he be talking? I don’t think this is how its supposed to go.

MARSHALL lifts his finger gun. He points it at his own head for a moment. No one seems to notice. AUBREY is still talking, gesticulating wildly.

VO:

Wait- that’s not-

SFX: Pages flipping

VO:

He’s not supposed to do that he-

MARSHALL points the gun at AUBREY. The scene is dim now. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just blank.

VO:

OH GOD. He’s gone dark on us! What can I- Oh my god he’s out of our control, he’s insane, he’s-

MARSHALL turns instead to face the camera.

VO:

Marshall. Marshall, what are you doing? Think about this, Marshall. I beg you to think about what you’re doing! Marshall! DON’T-

MARSHALL shoots.

SFX: Voice Over dying


12: INT- CHURCH BASEMENT

Resolve to an AA style meeting. The board reads “Curse Survivors Anonymous”

Camera comes down behind MARSHALL’s head as he says

MARSHALL:

And that’s my story. That’s my curse. Haunted by a British Narrator Demon who turned my whole life to shit. I was powerless to stop it. I was just, existing, you know? I didn’t have control. But I did had this crawly feeling, on the back of my neck, like I was going insane and everyone around me knew I was going insane but I couldn’t seem to notice it myself even though I knew I should. I saw myself doing these things, things I didn’t want to do, things that didn’t make any sense, but I couldn’t stop myself.

MARSHALL:

I’m still processing the, uh, we’re supposed to say it, aren’t we? The- trauma of it. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, and my arms and legs are still asleep, it feels like it’s all coming back. Like I’m going to be a passenger again. That im going to be stuck watching my life go increasingly off the rails and not be able to do a single damn thing about it. I mean, it was just so random. That’s what I really don’t understand. What had I done to get cursed?

MARSHALL:

In a way, I’m most thankful for my ex. If she haddn’t, well, If we weren’t reliving our most popular fight where she tries to tell me what I’m thinking and feeling, I don’t think I would have realized what was happening to me. I’m still not entirely sure how I broke the Curse’s hold I just suddenly had this window of clarity and I knew I had to stop it.

MARSHALL:

I knew, in a instant, that if I didn’t act, It would wrap me up again, make me blind. It would keep tearing me up until there was nothing left. I don’t know why it worked. No. But it’s over. I killed it.

MARSHALL:

And when I woke up the next morning, everything was back to normal. (he laughs) Well, Aub still wanted her key, my bank account was still frozen, and both my kitchen and my bedroom window were broken but I haddn’t killed anyone. At least, I don’t think I did. Certainly not Lincoln. I’m in control again. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It’s been 25 days since my curse was lifted. Thank you, guys, for your support.

CURSE SURVIVORS ANONYMOUS members clap


13: INT- IN BED

Dramatic Zoom Out from a sleeping MARSHALL Marshalls lying in bed. It was a dream

MARSHALL begins to say: “What the fuck was that?” but gets cut off because;


14: INT- ASYLUM

Second Dramatic Zoom out. Its mid-day, MARSHALL stares from a barred window. Camera leaves window and shows a large facility with a sign that reads: “HOME FOR THE VERY VERY CONFUSED AND THOSE SUFFERING FROM HALLUCINATIONS AS A RESULT OF TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURIES”

(yes, I’m serious, all that’s on the sign)


15: INT. OFFICE

Slow zoom out from a computer screen open to this very scene in this very script. THE WRITER cracks his neck, rolls his eyes and walks off camera

Fade to black

Credits roll



**Quick note here: Aubry is portrayed as a 2-d sort of angry incel mary sue whipping post. AKA most exes in films made by men

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