The Blunders of June
FADE IN:
EXT. TRAIN STATION - DAY
Abandoned by dilapidated strands of meager light, a woman named JUNE stands encumbered by time and rotting wood.
Steam erodes the acrid air like rust upon metal, desecrating sight in ominous forewarning.
Shuttering, stuttering, a train seizes before June, ferocious in its manner, impatient in its wheezing.
Before too long the train carries on, June and all, nothing but a decrepit old platform forgotten in its place.
INT. SLEEPER CAR - NIGHT
Amongst fading stars and gaining light, June sits alone within a small empty room, two beds, two seats, each opposite the other.
A tap upon the door.
June turns to the door but moves not an inch. An older man steps in, smiles, nods, sets down his hat, and sits across from June, book in hand.
The man, DAEDALUS, though he goes by DAY, opens his novel, Chronicle of a Death Foretold, and begins to mumble to himself, mouthing the words in quiet astonishment.
June looks at the man, then back at her ticket. June steps out the door and into the hallway.
INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT
Within the long narrow hallway stands June, so small another person could almost pass her by, but only almost, for the hall is so narrow one could only pass another by sucking in all their air and leaning flat against the wall, hoping the other will do just the same and just maybe squeeze by.
June studies the number upon her door, and then her ticket, and then the door: one and the same.
Agitated, June huffs down the hall, knocking at a door on her left.
The door opens and June steps in.
INT. OFFICE - NIGHT
A man in a uniform sits scribbling notes, grumbling and mumbling and taking little notice of the woman before him.
June offers not a bother and stands patiently waiting.
The man in uniform, finally satisfied with his note, looks up to the woman.
June pushes her ticket across the table to the uniformed man.
The man stares at the ticket and then back at the woman, then stands, pushes, and walks past June, back into the hallway.
INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT
The man walks down the hall and past a small man, pushing with agitation and reaching the door.
He opens the door and gestures to June.
June steps through the door and Day is still there.
June begins to speak but the uniformed man is already gone, huffing and puffing and grumbling back to his office.
INT. SLEEPER CAR - NIGHT
June sits in her seat, timid, defeated. Day looks up from his book but says not a word.
June turns to her purse and rifles through its contents, pulling out a small wallet and withdrawing a large set of money.
June counts out the money and hands it to Day.
Day looks to June: befuddled, confused.
June forces the money into his hands.
Day sighs, grips the money, and opens the window, releasing the cash into the wind.
June gawks. Day shrugs, goes back to his novel. June looks out the window, watching her money float away erroneously.
June stabs a harsh glare but Day only smiles, reverent.
June huffs and stands and turns off the light, climbing into bed with gruff agitation.
The light flickers on. Day sits again. June glares at Day, anything but bemused. Day, however, only smiles, going back to his literature.
June sits up in bed, looking at the man, looking down at her watch, then back at the man.
June hops to her feet, pulls the book out of his hands, and just like the money, the book goes flying, out the window and to the ground, farther and farther away.
June then smiles with contentment and turns the light back off, climbing back into bed.
The light flickers on.
Again Day is reading, another book, another novel, this one Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
June flares with rage. Day looks up to her, offering the seat next to his own, and a book just the same.
June looks at her watch, then back at the man, then climbs down, sits down, and reads Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables next to the man.
As June finally gets comfy, finally content and out of rage, the man closes his books, turns off the light, and steps into bed.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
A uniformed man knocks on a door and another and another, steadily making his way down the long narrow hallway.
Within each door stands a man or a woman, groggy, agitated, staring at the man as he makes his way onward.
The last door on his left, number 42, is June’s, and as he knocks June opens the door, stares at the man, and closes it again.
The uniformed man carries on.
INT. SLEEPER CAR - DAY
June sits alone with her bed made, cleaned, and put away.
Though the bed across from her is also made and put away, there sits not a man, not a suitcase, not even a sign of Day.
June sits across from this oddity confused and concerned, waiting for some time before inspecting the room
Still no sign of Day.
June steps out of the sleeper and into the hallway.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
Among no one and nothing June stands in the hallway, looking left and right but finding nothing worth knowing.
Seeing nothing, knowing less, June steps out of the room and into the hallway, pacing down the hall to a door at the end.
INT. DINING CAR - DAY
June searches the room for some sign of Day: none.
June sits at a table off by herself, awaiting the waiter who serves guest after guest.
After what seems like an eternity, the waiter arrives at her table and looks to June impatiently, ill fated, waiting only a moment, rushing the order.
June looks through the menu but before she can speak the man is gone again, off to another table, off to another guest, off to irritate himself and everyone else with impatience.
June sighs and looks out the window.
Across from her sits a woman named DAISY and her child DELILAH.
June smiles at the woman and then at the child.
The child, almost sixteen, looks away, blushing.
Daisy brushes the girl’s hair with fine thin fingers, raising another for the waiter to near.
The waiter ignores Daisy.
Daisy huffs, puffs, and steps over to the waiter, turning him around by the neck of the collar.
The waiter frowns, forgoing fear for degradation.
Daisy, with her own moxy and gumption, pushes the waiter over to her table, pulling him down to eye level by the collar.
The waiter struggle but does not resist, fearing more for his job than his pride.
Daisy gestures to June as if nothing is the matter.
June looks down, terribly embarrassed, using her peripheral to survey the audience.
Not a single guest nor patron offers the slightest concern or even a breath of renunciation, far too involved in their own set of circumstances to make even the vaguest of disturbances.
Still Daisy insists, pointing to the menu.
June closes the menu and hands it back to the waiter, shaking her head with out a single word or order. Daisy, seeing the girls concern, does just the same, retrieving her daughter’s menu and releasing her pride-less captor.
With nothing but dignity, the waiter stands, bows, and walks away again.
June looks on in astonishment, wonder.
Daisy rambles through her purse and pulls out three guns, pistols, all on the table.
Daisy assess the three, making each sure is loaded, and hands one to her daughter, one to this new met stranger.
June gawks, guffaws, confused, agitated, unsure what to do.
Daisy takes her hand, smiles, and wraps in around the trigger. She then pulls back the barrel and points the gun a few feet to her left, where a man sits reading a newspaper.
June shakes her head, horrified.
Daisy smiles, sighs, and nods to her daughter.
Delilah stands, walks over to the man, and shoots him in the head: dead.
June shutters in horror but no one else pays much notice, the rest of the crowd apathetic at best, more disturbed by the ignorant waiter than the man just murdered.
Daisy smiles with pity, patting June irreverently.
Again the woman points June’s gun, this time to a much younger man. Again June shakes her head.
Daisy ticks, stands, and shoots the man dead.
Now Daisy and Delilah both look to June, impatient, waiting.
June drops the gun, stands. Daisy cocks her gun. Delilah too.
June hesitates, raises her hands, motioned to sit again. June does so.
Daisy puts the gun back in her hand, points it at another man, and nods her head again.
June looks to Delilah, the to Daisy, the to the gun in her hand.
The two offer nothing but generosity.
Trembling, June stands, steps over to the man, cocks the gun, doesn’t shoot.
The man looks over to June, irritated more by her presence than the gun in her hand.
June closes her eyes,squeezes the trigger. Tighter, tighter, almost there, release.
June stands, the man still there, the gun not fired.
Daisy sighs, nods over to Delilah, and the young girl shoots yet another man dead, pointing the gun then at June.
June shutters, closes her eyes, and whispers prayers to to a God long forgotten.
The echo of a bullet.
June opens her eyes. Not bleeding, not coughing, not dead. No sign of the bullet, entry or exit. The cabin full of passengers roars with thrills and laughter.
The three dead men stand, bow, as do the mother and daughter, as does June.
INT. MAKE UP ROOM - DAY
June sits next to Daisy who sits next to Delilah, all rubbing off make up, all cleaning their faces.
The first man dead, DARREL, pats June on the shoulder, waving her along without stopping to look back.
June looks to the two girls. They shrug. June follows, off to a corner where no one can find them.
June looks up to Darrel all giggles and smiles.
Darrel sighs, looks down at his hands, and retrieves something from his pocket. Darrel unfolds the paper and hands it to June.
Upon the paper is a set of signatures along with phrase “termination of contract effective immediately”.
June looks up to Darrel, agitated, confused.
Darrel smiles that sad smile people of bitter knowledge transfuse, and kisses June on the forehead, fatherly in his manner, and steps out of the room.
June steps back to her chair, utter misery overtaking any shame or pride.
June cries bitter tears of sorrow, the two girls staring at her, unsure what to do.
June lays the paper on the table, which Delilah reads and passes to Daisy.
Daisy holds her hand up to her mouth.
The train lurches.
June wipes her tears away, crumples the paper, and stomps out of the room.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
June stomps down the hall a hurricane of fury and frustration, aspiring not only for revenge but also redemption.
June slams at a door at the end of a hallway.
No answer.
June slams again.
Still no answer.
June tries the door, unlocked, and pushes in.
INT. OFFICE - DAY
In the room is the queerest mountain of unsheathed papers, tattered and cluttered and crumpled in some peculiar order.
June kicks at the papers and stomps at the bills, putting everything out of whack and quickly out of fashion. Footsteps rush by and stop at the door.
There stand Delilah and her fearful companion Daisy.
June hushes the two and pulls them into the room, pulling the door swiftly behind them.
June looks to Daisy who looks to Delilah who looks back to June who looks back to no one.
June pulls a ragged finger to a stoic set of lips, digs in her pocket, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to each.
The two oblige.
Smokes in hand, June lights a match, hesitates, lights the three.
Daisy stands nervously by the barred door, listening, waiting, jumping at the slightest push or shove.
Delilah looks through papers, bills, documents, becoming disheveled by the sheer mass of it.
June lies on the desk, pulling a drag, eyes closed, manner morose.
Delilah jumps at some sight, pushing a thousand papers aside, and rushing over to June, which makes Daisy jump quite high.
June waves her off but Delilah insists, and so June opens the eyes and stares at the paper before her face.
There between one line and another is a word so decrepit no one can dare face it: bankruptcy.
June sits up and pulls another drag, a sly smile rolling across her meek features.
June looks to the two utterly confused, almost forgetting the constant tapping upon the floor beyond them.
June shrugs and crumples the paper, throwing it to Daisy who opens it quickly.
Daisy’s hand goes to her lips, dropping the cigarette straight to the ground.
Being in a room, a room full of papers, a small, dank room full of dead trees and ink, a fire alights, the inevitable end to this cumbersome situation.
Daisy jumps, stomping at the paper. But fire is that with a mind of its own, the will of another, and so it persists, past Daisy, past Delilah, and towards June.
Daisy crowds a small corner as Delilah continues to stomp out the fire, June sitting and smoking with nothing but apathy.
Smoke begins to rise higher and high, in and out of every single crevice, including the small gap under the door, causing a crash of footsteps and slamming knuckles.
Daisy screams. Delilah runs. June interferes, pushing past the two and locking the door.
Daisy begins to sob. Delilah stares in horror. June saunters to the window at the other side of the corridor.
June opens the window and sits on the ledge, turning back to her companions who gawk with horror.
June jumps out of the moving train.
Delilah sprints to the window, watching June roll away.
The flames grow higher.
Perturbed, unkempt, Delilah does just the same, leaving Daisy to sob in the corner.
Alone, screaming, Daisy tries to open the door. No use. Feet begin to slam.
Daisy stands in the middle of the room, unsure what to do.
First a step one way, then a step another. Back and forth, back and forth, the flames growing ever higher.
Still the door quakes.
With words whispered, prayers said, Daisy leaps out the window, the door smashing in.
INT. FIELD - DAY
Daisy lies in a field, crying, whimpering. The old wheezing train whimpering away.
June and Delilah approach with bemusement and ease, watching the train slow to a stop some twenty feet away.
Daisy looks to June, confused.
June shrugs, and walks away.
Delilah shrugs, followed by June.
EXT. TRAIN PLATFORM - DAY
June sits along the edge, dangerously close to the tracks, watching people enter and exit the no longer smoking train.
Though the guest are rambunctious, the passengers irritable, none are more bothered by the flames which almost consume them.
A whistle blows and the conductor exits, charging towards June with the ferocity of effort.
June throws her smoke and looks up at the conductor, who holds a glare so fierce satan would stutter.
June shrugs and stands, walking down the platform followed by the conductor.
The conductor pulls June by the arm and pulls her aside, staring into her eyes in search for some sense of understanding.
June blows smoke into his face.
The conductor pushes June to the ground. An officer notices, approaches.
The conductor waves him off but still he nears.
The conductor sighs and approaches the officer, mumbling incoherently in an exasperated manner.
June sits in tired contemplation, forcing some sort of anticipation.
The officer approaches along with the conductor.
June looks up to the man, loosing all sense of contempt in false admiration.
The officer holds out a hand and helps her to her feet, cuffing her hands and pushing her away.
INT. POLICE CAR - DAY
June sits next to Delilah who sits next to Daisy, the three stuffed like sardines in the back of a crummy police car.
The officer sits in the front and attempts to start the old thing.
The old thing kicks, sputters, doesn’t start.
The officer sighs, steps out of the vehicle, and opens the hood.
A young lady walks by and the officer nods his big head, leering in misogynistic revelry as the woman walks away.
June rolls her eyes and slams on the window, which ceases the young woman who nears with curious interest.
June mumbles something through the window but the woman can’t hear. June points to the officer which forces the woman to nod in recognition.
The young woman approaches the officer and pushes him aside, studying the interiors of the vehicle.
The officer scratches his head astonished by this sight, mumbling something trite into his radio mic.
The woman does this and that and steps into the car, starting the thing and driving away.
The officer stands stunned, unmoving, without a single word to say.
INT. GARAGE - DAY
The woman pulls into a lot, a lot full of cars, stopping the car and letting the three out.
The three step out, still agitated and handcuffed. The woman pulls out a hairpin and unlocks all three.
June rubs at her wrists as do Delilah and Daisy, smiling their thanks as the woman steps away.
EXT. TRAIN STATION - DAY
June walks to the back, the back of the station, and hops a train, followed by Delilah and Daisy.
Delilah hesitates, Daisy is wary, and June points to an officer, and another, and another.
Delilah nods and hops the train. Still Daisy resists.
The train begins to move. Officers notice Daisy.
Daisy grows encumbered, confused, undecided.
The train moves faster. Officers begin to gather.
Daisy begins to pace, faster, faster, equidistant with the train and the now pursuing officers.
The train gaining speed, Daisy growing tired, officers growing greedy, Daisy jumps the train, mumbling nervous rants and prayers of solace, the officers far too far off to catch the train moving.
INT. KABOOSE - DAY
June sits on a box, smoking like a chimney, as Daisy paces back and forth, mumbling in misery.
Delilah notices neither of the two looking out the back window, watching for some sign of something which never seems to happen.
A knock on the door.
Daisy stops, Delilah turns, June pulls a petite set of fingers to dainty lips.
Again the door blusters.
June stands and steps towards the door, Daisy growing smaller and smaller in fear and agitations, Delilahs hand hard against the other door, ready to make the escape at any minute.
The door shutters.
June puts an ear to the door, a finger to her lips, and knocks on the door, once, twice, three times.
A long, eery pause.
The door opens.
In steps a man, suit and jacket, vest and all, bow tie, not tie, and a queer mustache, anachronistic for any age.
The man sets down his burdensome cargo, a box of some kind, smiling kindly at the three women.
None of the three move.
The man tips his hat, about to go. June shuts the door on him.
The man hesitates, coughs a nervous laugh. Delilah steps towards him, Daisy still cowering in the corner.
The man takes a step back, more out of fear than logic, backing towards nothing but a wall, tripping over one box and another.
The two women gain.
The man goes to scream. June holds his mouth steady, sturdy hand over a terrible face.
The man blunders and moans but all too little use, thrown against a box where Delilah grabs his hands and pulls them behind, hard. The man aches with feverish pain.
June looks all around, searching for some sign to capture, but finds nothing but boxes, boxes full of something.
June pushes the man back, with the help of Delilah, out of the car, and into the freezing air.
June drags Daisy out of the corner and in front of the door, sitting her down as a bar against terror. Delilah helps.
June attempts to pry open a box. No avail.
June kicks at the box. Nothing still.
June jumps on the box. Still nothing.
June sighs, agitated, defeated.
Delilah stands. Steps out the door.
Yelling. Screaming. Hitting.
Tumbling. Rolling.
The man grows smaller and smaller with every second gained, thrown to the ground off of the train.
Delilah steps back in, June as astonished as Daisy.
Delilah shrugs and steps through the cabin, walking past the two and out the other door.
A second passes.
Delilah steps back in, waving the two along.
The two follow.
INT. KITCHEN - DAY
All in white, men and women move back and forth, up and down, this way and that, pure chaos to the untrained eye.
Though it is silent, their language is deafening, spoken in movements instead of words, actions instead of phrases.
Delilah pushes past followed by June and Daisy, rounded as if nothing more than objects, nothing more than that which should be passed.
As the three reach the door Delilah is held back, as is June and Daisy.
In each hand is handed a tray, along with a paper which has on it a number.
Before they can move, before they can act, they are pushed out of the room and into the dining room.
INT. DINING ROOM - DAY
Delilah and June stand in confusion, Daisy stepping past the two with unprovoked confidence.
Daisy delivers her order and then retrieves June’s and Delilah’s, delivering those too before sitting at a booth looking over to the two.
June looks to Delilah and the two sit with discomfort, waiting for the moment their bound to get caught.
Daisy waves to a waiter but before she can arrive June stands, whispers to her, and the waiter points to a set of doors not far on their left.
June nods and thanks her and steps to the doors.
INT. BATHROOM - DAY
June washes her hands and leans down exhausted, washing her face and looking into the mirror.
Back at her stares not her face but the face of another, the face of a woman, the face of a mother.
June jumps and scares but the face still appears, staring, leering, doing nothing but reacting.
June palpates her cheek, her nose, her eyes, staring at the reflection which conquers her horror.
The door opens and another woman enters. June turns back to her reflection but sees nothing but her again.
June sighs, leans in close, picks at some acne, and steps out again.
INT. DINING CAR - DAY
June sits next to Delilah across from Daisy, the three with eggs, scrambled, and bacon.
June pushes her plate and Daisy pushes back, insisting and waiting until June takes a bite.
Food eaten, or at least rather nibbled on, the food is confiscated, replaced with the bill.
Daisy places a twenty and paces away.
Delilah follows, and so does June.
INT. COACH CAR - DAY
Daisy steps into the car and hesitates again, all sense of courage lost with food gone.
June taking the lead, the three sit at two booths, Daisy and Delilah next to each other.
A boy begins to gather one ticket after another, approaching closer and closer.
The boy approaches the three and holds out a lax hand laboriously, impatiently awaiting the ticket never arriving.
June pulls the boy close and whispers incoherently.
The boy nods, stands, and steps away.
Delilah furrows her brow in curiosity, Daisy in worry.
Quickly approaching is a man in uniform, along with the boy, concerned, perturbed, agitated, unsure.
Without a moments hesitation, Daisy open the window and puts a step on the ledge. June pulls her back in, lights a cigarette.
The train begins to slow.
The uniformed man, a conductor of some sort, leers at the three. Delilah and Daisy look down in shame. June smokes pitilessly.
The conductor grabs. Pushes. Pulls. Reaches for the cigarette. Burned.
Yipping. Growling. Grabbing. June heaved by the arm.
Pulling her up. Pulling her off. Out of the chair and into the aisle.
June looks all around, smiles, waves to all the people gawking, staring.
Recognizing his blunder, the man releases June, presses out her wrinkles. June blows smoke into the mans face. The man slaps June.
The train goes silent. Stops.
A long, terrible moment.
Daisy makes a run for it. The conductor chases after. The boy staring at the remaining two in naive confusion.
June lights a cigarette and hands it to the boy. The boy obliges and smokes, Daisy tackled and pushed and pulled and the conductor being clawed quite viciously.
Though the crowd is quiet, doesn’t react, many have begun to pull out phones, take pictures, videos, evidence.
The conductor gains the advantage, wipes blood from his face, and is about to throw another punch when June coughs and grunts, causing the conductor to look up, if just for an instant.
A moments hesitation.
Daisy tired, pitiable, almost unconscious, the conductor stands, walks away, out of the room and off the train.
The boy watches as the conductor pulls out a gun and shoots himself in the head.
The train begins to move again.
INT. MEDICAL OFFICE - DAY
Still in the train, though in a separate car, Daisy lays unconscious, June and Delilah at her sides.
A doctor enters and sits in a swivel chair, opposite the two, pulling closer with every squeak and moan, his chair now only inches from the three.
The doctor looks through a chart and mumbles to herself, scribbles something down, and rips a piece of paper.
The doctor hands over the paper, shakes the hands of one and then the other, and then steps out of the room.
June hands over the paper and Delilah reads it eagerly, eyes scanning the words again and again.
Delilah pulls her hands to her mouth.
June snatches the paper and rips it to pieces, lying it all over the corpse, defeated.
Though in pieces, the paper still reads death certificate.
EXT. FIELD - DAY
June and Delilah, along with the boy, the boy from before, the boy collecting tickets, the one who took cigarettes, he and she and them stand each with a shovel in hand, a mound before them.
The whistle blows.
The boy looks back to the two, an urging worry upon his face.
Delilah wipes tears from her eyes, June kicks at the dirt, the snow. Throws a tantrum. A fit.
The boy stands quietly without a word.
The whistle blows again, and Delilah is carried away by the boy, shoulder to shoulder, comforting as best he can.
June doesn’t move, still staring at the grave.
The train begins to move.
June kicks one final time, and jumps back on the train.
INT. OFFICE - DAY
Another man in another uniform sits across from the two women and the boy, this man similar to the other in dress but different in manner, more solemn, less quick to anger.
The man reads the paper and looks up at the three, sighs, stands, looks out the window, back to the three.
Out the window rolling hills and trees linger by, their blurry shadows a stain upon the bruised memory.
The conductor turns back to the three, and picks up the phone, shoulder to ear, grabbing a pen and paper, mumbling, whispering.
Phone killed, line dead, the man opens a drawer, pulls out a box, a stack of bills, one, two, three. Hands one to each.
The boys eyes grow big, so much money never seen in his whole existence.
Delilah stands in abhorrence, about to leave, pulled back by, June, sits down again.
June counts the money, one fold at a time.
100,000 dollars, each.
June smiles, pulls at the box. The conductor resists, releases, June pull out three more stack of bills, all for Delilah.
The man smiles, having won but still somehow defeated.
Delilah steps out at the insistence of June, the boy doesn’t move.
The man and the boy sit in silence for some moments.
June reenters and pulls the boy too, out of the room and into the hall.
INT. HALL - DAY
With Delilah and June, the boy looks at the two, utterly confused.
June takes his money and gives him a twenty. The boy, only sixteen, so distressed with his misery, offers nothing but pseudo apathy.
June gives this money to Delilah too.
Delilah rejects the gift but June will have no part of it, stuffing the wad into Delilah’s pocket.
Money gotten, money stolen, June pushes pass the boy, followed miserably by June.
The boy follows a few paces back.
June turns back to the boy, glaring.
The boy looks down.
But when they turn again, he again follows.
June grows irritable, agitated, moving from one car to another.
Inevitably, growing tired of this game, June turns around, pushes past Delilah, and throws the boy against a bare wall.
The boy coughs, chokes, pulls at his pockets.
June throws him to the ground, about to kick. The boy pulls a cell phone out of his pocket.
June hesitates. Takes the phone. Studies it. Looks through photos. Picture. Videos. Nothing worth remembering. June looks back to the boy who cowers in fear.
The boy points to the coach car, the car next over, where Daisy was bruised and beaten and murdered.
INT. COACH CAR - DAY
June enters the room, followed by Delilah, June pacing to the front, Delilah waiting in the rear.
June looks through booth after booth watching people read and write and stare out the window, but not a phone is seen, not a single beep heard.
June sits at a booth, next to a woman, leans in close, and whispers into her ear.
Delilah watches.
The woman nods and mumbles and June clasps her hands kindly and walks back to Delilah.
Delilah looks to her questioningly.
June leans in close and mumbles something conspicuously. Delilah nods and steps out of the room.
Back in the room Delilah steps with the boy, pulling him along, the boy pushing and resisting with all his small might. No use.
June knees the boy and the boy falls to the ground.
June gets to her knees and leers at the boy. The boy cowers in fear. June whispers in his ear.
The boys eyes go big, dark, cowardly.
The boy begins to blubber.
June sighs and rolls her eyes and slaps him across the face.
The boy hyperventilates but soon recovers and with a few deep breaths mutters something incoherent.
June gives him a queer look and the boy points to a door down the long hallway.
June stands, pulls the boy to his feet, and pushes him from behind, following along with Daisy.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
Amongst doorways and hinges stands a door barred by years of no entry. The door is locked and guarded, though not by a man but rather a camera, and before the camera stand the boy, Delilah, and June.
The boy regards the door, the camera.
June tries the door. Inevitably locked. June sighs.
Delilah moves her aside. The boy too. Kicks at the door. No use.
Down the hall an officer approaches. None of the three move.
The officer swings his baton as if that of a parade, smiling and laughing and approaching the three quite quickly.
Without a word, without a sound, the officer knocks the boy down. Then Delilah. Then June.
The three don’t move. Unconscious.
The officer receives a key, unlocks the door, and pulls them in.
INT. ROOM - DAY
Though it is a room just like any other, the window is barred and taped and blocked from light.
Tender rays of meager light propitiate the corners but offer nothing but loss hope, forgotten sympathy.
As for furniture the room has no bed, though the inner makings of it still exist, and instead of booth is a nard set of wooden chairs, stacked one on top of the other on top of the other, and in a corner is a set of boxes, one of which holds an odd array of phones, cameras, camcorders, audio recorders, some old, some new.
The officer pulls a switch and there the three sit, tied and bound in their own separate chairs.
The officer pulls another and sits in it backwards, elbows resting on the back of the chair.
June is the first to gain consciousness.
Obviously, she struggle. Nothing is gained.
This struggling causes Delilah and the boy to wake.
They too struggle, though the boy much less so than the other too.
This makes the man laugh.
Chuckling, the man stands, steps over to a box, the box full of old used recording equipment, and dumps it in front of the three.
The man opens the phone and shows the recording. The recording of the show. The recording of the murder.
Delilah looks away. The boy looks down. June refuses, staring straight at the video in admirable contempt.
Video played, the man reaches behind him, a hammer in his hand.
The man stands, plays with the hammer, throws the phone in the air, and swings the hammer like a bat, striking the phone and causing it to shatter.
Delilah winces. The boy shutters. June doesn’t react.
The man offers the hammer. First to June. Then Delilah. Both shake their head. Then to the boy.
The boy looks away, tears streaming down his face, and he nods.
The man hoorays and unties the boy, offers him the hammer, and then another cell phone.
The boy looks to the man, the hammer, the phone, then back to the man.
The man smiles in a dark corner, gesturing for the boy to begin.
The boy heaves the phone. Misses. The man guffaws.
The boy tries again. Misses again. The man tumbles in laughter.
The boy tries a third time, this time hits his mark, and the phone goes flying, across the room and towards the man. But the man is faster than his wit, and the phone does not intrude upon him.
The boy grabs another phone. Then another. Then another. Destroying any and all evidence of anything that ever happened.
The man claps and pats the boy on the shoulder, calming him with ease and insisting he sit down again.
The boy hesitates, hammer in hand, and does as he is told, sitting again.
The man offers the hammer to Delilah, then June, still the two refuse.
The man sighs, steps to the window, removes the wooden frame, and tosses the rest of the phones out the window.
June pulls but cannot move.
The smiles, runs the rusty hammer across her silken cheeks.
June spits in his face.
The man grows red. Angry. Pushes the chair over, June falling hard on her side.
June moans. The man unties the wraps, the bands, all that which holds her, and pulls her to her feet, to the window, hammer raised high in threatening proportion.
The man grabs June by the hair, pushes her head out the window, dangerously close to passing by signs and object.
June pushes, pulls, tries to resist. No use. The man is much stronger. Much bigger. The advantage his. The skill his.
A telephone pole approaches.
Closer and closer the pole grows bigger. Bigger.
So close it could snap the head off of a man half the size of a midget.
June struggles and strains but no use.
Death has fallen upon her and now only fate stands in the way.
Closer. Closer. Faster. Faster. Wind screeching and roaring and foreboding in ominous doom.
The moment has arrived.
Death. Decapitation. June closes her eyes, succumbed to the ill fated tragedy that is her slow existence.
A loud thump.
Screaming. Moaning. Crying.
The man smashed over the head. Bleeding.
A broken chair. A boy standing.
June on the ground, still breathing.
June looks to the man, the boy, Delilah.
The boy revels in a peevish smile, hands in his pockets as if nothing has happened.
June sighs, relieved, and steps over to the man. Still breathing.
June steps over to Delilah and unties her shuttering body, sweating and perspiring in unkempt anxiety.
June confiscates the man’s keys, his uniform, his hat, leaving him with nothing but his bare body, his bare body and that which covers the most private of areas.
Satisfied, June bounds the man’s hands as Delilah does his feet, and the two, with the help of the boy, heave the man into a chair.
With all that he has, including his pride, the three leave, locking the so called man behind.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
Delilah follows June, as the boy does the same, down the long narrow hall and to a door at the end. Upon the door is the word security.
June knocks. A young woman answers.
June steps in. The young woman closes the door behind her.
INT. ROOM - DAY
Much like the other, the one from before, this room has no discernible windows, though much more likely by design, than chance, for there never seemed to be one. Moreover, the room is more of a closet than a room, barely big enough to hold two, never three.
Among this depressing darkness is a set of eery blue lights, t.vs, one, two, three, four of them,each with a different screen.
All the images rotate, that of one room, that of another, all public areas, for legality reasons and so on.
June sits in a chair, and the young woman does the other, watching but not speaking as June scrolls through one image after another.
Beyond space and tine June searches through the thousands of frames, thousands of images, searching for that which has long been deleted.
There stands the fateful incident. The moment June and Delilah and Daisy withstand oppression. But only for a moment, for then they are gone. Forgotten. As if the whole incident never really happened.
June plays it again and again but that which is gone never returns and so too does every piece of evidence ever destroyed. So again June is lost.
June stands, horror growing with the reality of truth, and steps out of the room.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY
There stands Delilah and the boy, still waiting, still hoping, still praying. June shakes her head in solemn desecration.
A loud thud. Another. Another. A door down the hall. A door from before. A door from a room so recently exited.
June looks to the boy who looks back to June, mumbling, thinking, trying to figure out what to do.
The thud grows louder. Louder. Still louder still.
Delilah can’t wait any longer. Runs to the end of the corridor. Grabs a hammer. Smashes glass. Pulls a lever.
Screeching. Howling. The train thrown to a stop, passengers to the floor.
June gets up, Delilah gets up, out the door and through another, on the grass before discovered.
EXT. WOODS - DAY
Out of the grass and into the woods, the pair deliberates if to go farther, waiting first for the train to move off again.
Out steps a man, bloodied, the officer, along with the young woman and another man and the conductor.
Each goes in a separate direction, one east, one west, on north, one south.
The bloodied man heads straight for them.
The two furrow back, into the trees, into the bushes, hiding, waiting, doing everything but breathing.
The man steps closer, closer, blocked from view, trees too thick.
Leaves crunching. Branches breaking. Closer. Closer. Delilah closes her eyes, June holds her breath.
A skeleton hand.
June jumps, Delilah squeals. A quick hand over a frightened set of lips.
There stands the boy, finger to his own lips.
The boy disappears back into the thicket. The two hesitate. Follow.
EXT. WOODS - NIGHT
Still the three carry on, one behind another behind another, each growing weary and tired but none ever stopping, all for too fearful to do anything of such luxury.
The three reach a bridge, a river, a waterfall.
The boy looks back to June and Delilah.
June carries on, past the boy and to the water, sipping ravenously with pleasure.
The boy bends down, points to the covered bridge, the road, the cars passing by.
The two confer as Delilah holds back, assessing their surroundings with fearful anxiety.
June stands, as does the boy, and the two carry on, June turning back to assure Delilah will follow.
Delilah does not.
The boy has yet to notice, and continues without worry.
June turns around and approaches Delilah.
June grabs her by the hand, the wrist, but Delilah pulls away, shakes her head.
June tries again. Still Delilah refuses.
The boy, finally, acknowledges his ignorance, and turns back around towards the two, confused.
Delilah points to a house, down the river along a long country road.
June shakes her head, pulls again, but this time Delilah doesn’t just refuse, but pulls away, steps away, towards the house without any lights far in the distance.
June hesitates. Doesn’t follow. Turns back to the boy. Carries on.
Delilah and June part ways never to meet again.
EXT. COVERED BRIDGE - NIGHT
June and the boy stop at the bridge looking down the road, watching the river float away with leaves and Delilah.
Sighing, June carries on, followed by the boy, headlights nearing and slowing and stopping.
June turns with the rumbling engine and looks to the woman standing before the dark vehicle.
The boy looks to June then to the woman.
The woman opens the door to her back seat.
June hesitates. The boy doesn’t.
The boy steps in without a worry or a care.
The woman gestures to June. Still June hesitates.
The woman sighs and steps back into the car, back into the vehicle, edging closer and closer before rolling down the window.
June looks at the woman, the woman at June.
The woman moves to speak, doesn’t, looks down the road, sighing.
June doesn’t move.
Nothing said, the woman drives on, the boy in back, June all alone.
Alone, June continues down the road.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DAY
Wavering, exhausted, June fumbles through the weeds and dirt along the side of the road, cars passing by with irregular consistency.
June trips, falls, doesn’t get back up.
A few cars pass by. Another doesn’t. Stops.
A girl steps out. 17. Not yet a woman. Stares at the corpse not yet dead. The girl pokes June with her foot.
June turns, eyes barely open, looking straight at the girl.
The girl turns back to her car, worried, and pulls out her phone, dials a number.
Time passes by with forgettable remembrance.
A truck pulls off to the side of the road, and a man twice her age, that is the girls, steps out, agitated and enraged.
Approaching the girl, the man moves to yell, to scream, but seeing the woman, the woman looking quite dead, the man stops in his tracks, checks his rage, and kicks the girl lightly, much like his daughter.
The man sighs, looks all around, and picks up the woman, drags her to his vehicle, and throws her in the backseat, hugging his daughter out of obligation, and escaping the scene, along with his daughter.
EXT. BARN - DAY
Squawks and crows screech burdensome woes as June slowly but surely gains delirious consciousness.
Before her sit the man and the girl, they on a stack of hay, she too.
June rubs at her head. The man whispers to the daughter. The daughter runs off for water.
Alone, the man and the woman sit, June evaluating her environment, the man evaluating her.
The girl returns with a cold cup of water, hands it to June, and sits again.
June smiles and nods and sips at her water.
The three sit silently for some moments before June reaches into her pocket, pulls out some papers, and hands them to the man.
The man reads through the papers. Recommendations for June. Her hard work. Her work effort. Her ability to amuse.
The man shakes his head. Hands back the papers. June nods, defeated again.
INT. TRUCK - DAY
June and the man sit one next to another, the girl betwixt them, driving down one country road and then another.
Slowing, stopping, the man steps out of the car, as does the girl, into a post office surrounded by nothing.
June waits with calm impatience.
A few moments pass and the daughter steps out, back to the car, back to June, knocking on the window so June nay roll it down.
June obliges, cranking the handle with some effort.
The girl hands June a letter.
June studies the thing, blank, not a word on it, and opens the envelope, pulling out a scrap piece of paper.
On the paper is a document of legal proportions, though written in a sloppy hand, and on the bottom of the letter is a line where a signature may be written.
June reads through the letter, once, twice, three times. Looks back at the title: offer of an employment.
June looks back to the girl and the girl hands her a pen.
Without another moments hesitation, June signs the thing, and so it is done.
The door is opened, the paper retrieved, and June is rushed into the post office, pushed along by the eager girl, which June now realizes is wearing a uniform, a post office uniform.
INT. POST OFFICE - DAY
Dreary, dank, abandoned. No one but the man and another, discussing furtively in a corner.
The girl walks behind the counter, bends over, disappears, reappears, and hands over some uniform.
June looks to the girl who points to a door.
June follows her finger and steps through the door.
INT. BATHROOM - DAY
June stares at the uniform, the uniform before her, and looks into the mirror, repulsing at her reflection.
There stands again not a woman of her age, but that of one twice, if not three time, with rotting skin and wrinkled bones.
Cackling. Laughing. Shrieking.
June backs away farther and farther, up against the wall, yelling, screaming, not breathing.
The door shutters and pulses.
June reaches for the knob. The door. Tries to open. Can’t open. The woman cackles more.
June slams on the door. Others the other.
Harder and harder and not getting through.
June cries. Screams.
The door falls open.
June lies on the ground, broken.
Soon a small crowd has gathered around her, though that crowd only consists of the girl, a man, and the girl’s father.
Slowly, surely, cautiously, June climbs to her feet, helped up by the crowd of the three.
The girl helps her behind the desk, beyond the desk, where a single chair creeks.
The girl sits June in the chairs, stared at by all three.
June closes her eyes and breaths, and opens them again, the three still gawking, staring, worry and discontent.
June smiles a feeble smile, stands, and steps to the counter, calmly and patiently awaiting for anyone to arrive.
The man looks to another, and both to the girl, but the girl waves them off, smiles, and lushes them out.
The two men grumble and shuffle out of the room.
The girl leans on the counter, looks out the door, and then pulls out her phone, scrolling through one page and then the next.
For a long time not a single customer arrives.
After what seems like hours, days, a car finally pulls up in front.
June grows excited, worry, shallow breathed. The girl, on the other hand, hardly looks up from her phone.
And in enters a man, the man, the girl’s father, and June sighs an agitated sigh, looks at her watch, just past noon.
The man hugs his daughter and opens the door, apparently waiting for June to follow along.
June does so, and the three step into the truck, the door now hung with a sign that say they’ll be back soon.
INT. DINER - DAY
June and the girl sit next to each other, the man across from him eating with ravenous hunger.
June picks at her food as does the girl, and before too long a waiter comes by and removes forgotten items.
June sighs and looks out the window.
EXT. DINER - DAY
Out the window sits only hard pavement, hard pavement and roads, off in either direction, though nothing but fields offers its grace.
Among the pavement sit a few other cars, one with a boy and a girl sharing a blunt, another with a man’s whose engine won’t start.
The final cart, that which has just appeared, is a dark, ominous blue, as if that of a police car.
June taps on the table, all nerves.
Out steps a man, older than average, but not much, not in any uniform, but stately nonetheless.
The man walks into the establishment and to a table just across the way.
INT. DINER - DAY
June stares at the man as the man reads the papers. The girl too looks over to the man. This, of course, causes the father to turn too, looking at the man, chuckling and mumbling to himself and shaking his head.
The father pays the bill and stands, the two women not noticing, and steps over to the man, to the horror of everyone.
With this ensues a lot of nodding and mumbling, the father pointing to his daughter, pointing to June.
The two turn their heads, trying everything in their power to assume blatant ignorance.
The father and the man stand, shake hands, and the man is lead over to the table, sitting across from June and the girl.
The man smiles, offers his hand. Neither obliges.
The man smiles and nods without a worry.
The father whisper to the girl, and points to June, and the girl looks to June, her father. And then back to June.
June nods and the girl is off, off with her father, off to the car, off to wait patiently for whatever may follow.
June and the man are left alone.
June looks to her hands. The man his own.
A waitress approaches and offers a pot of joe, both decline. The waitress rolls her eyes.
The man pulls out one quarter, two, points to the juke box.
June shakes her head.
The man slides the change across the cheap table. Still June refuse.
The man sighs, grabs his change, and steps over to the Juke box.
Back to her. Back to the door. June plans to make her escape.
Stands. Shuffles. Closer. Closer. To the door. At the door. Almost opened.
The man takes her by the hand.
June turns, pulls, tries to get away. The man insists, persists, pulls June close.
The man drags June’s body across the linoleum, June pushing and shoving but far too much weaker to do much about it.
June tries all she can. Pushing and shoving and even biting. No us. The man is unfatigued, unperturbed, dancing without the slightest care or sorrow.
Finally the song ends and June is released, falling with the force of her own misjudgment.
The man offers a hand, a smile. June slaps it away, climbs to her feet, stares the man, dead in the eyes, and turns away, to the door and out of the diner.
As she opens the door the man coughs, laughs, causing June to turn, and there stands the man with a polaroid camera in hand, snapping a shot of he frustrated June.
He holds ups the photo, offers it to her.
June hesitates, contemplates, steps out the door.
EXT. DINER - DAY
Out the door and pass the truck, June walks on, ignoring the yelling and pleading of the father and the girl.
Still June walks on.
EXT. TOWN SQUARE - DAY
Down a street and then another, the father and daughter follow the fed up June, still in the pick up.
The girl rolls down her window, waves June over.
June ignores, walking even faster.
Inevitably, the sidewalk ens and the intersection begins. At this intersection June turns right, not crossing the street.
The car attempts to follow but is stopped at a light. Stopped behind one car and another.
Taking this opportunity, June ducks into an alley, and when the two finally turn, the father and daughter pass by, missing her completely.
June then turns, back the way she came, down the street and to a store front, a boutique full of flowers.
INT. BOUTIQUE - DAY
The timber of wedding bells sway with the door as June tepidly enters, walking through the flowers and to the counter where a young woman sits, reading a book.
June waits a moment, a moment for the woman to finish whatever it is that she is reading, but that moment does not come, and June sighs in agitation.
This causes the woman to look up, if only in defamation.
June holds out a five, a lisanthus on the counter.
The woman looks to the dollar, the bill, then to the flower. June insists, pushing the bill into her hand and taking the flower.
Without another moments notice, June is out the door and down the street, the young woman depositing the five in apathy.
EXT. TRAIN STATION - DAY
Upon the putrid platform stands June exasperated and alone, growing more and more anxious with each shrill yell of the whistle, each terrible screech of iron causing the slightest wince upon June’s false smile.
The train seizes and stutters and is off again soon, June gone, assumably, upon the train.
INT. TRAIN - DAY
June walks down the aisle of one booth and another, the flower in her hand, the smile upon her face. Down one row then another June approaches a small door, a window, an office.
June knocks on the door. Some mumbling. June enters.
INT. OFFICE - DAY
Within the small office is scarred tissue and burned paper, everything black and singed and full of terrible despair.
Amongst this travesty stands a man of maybe thirty, maybe thirty five, sorting through what few paper survived this blatant trauma.
June smiles and coughs and the man looks up. Says not a word. Offers not even a sense of condemnation.
June offers the flower. The man offers a seat.
June sits.
The man picks up the phone and mumbles some words, and soon there is a knock on the door.
June’s palms palpate with visible sweat.
June dares not turn as the door slowly creaks open.
There stands a man in uniform. A man of the law. A man to arrest June. A man to jail this pyromaniac.
A stark hand grips June’s aching shoulder.
June begins to sob.
The man bends down, looks her in the eyes.
Eyeliner. Makeup. Jam upon his forehead.
This man is not a man of the law, but an actor, an auteur, a thespian.
June hugs him with the ecstasy of relief.
The actor, no longer deemed an officer, returns her gratitude, though confused he certainly is.
INT. MAKE UP ROOM - DAY
June sits in a chair surrounded by mirror, lights blazing, eyes staring, words whispering.
Another two chairs lie empty, the one next to hers and the one next to that. June looks at the chair, solemn, defeated.
A hand taps her on the shoulder and June turns to find the officer, the actor now, handing her some lines.
June takes the paper and looks at the pages.
The page is blank.
June flips to the next page.
That page too is blank.
June flips to another and another and another.
All these are also blank.
June looks up to the man, terribly confused. The man points to the paper, points to some distinct location, and urges her onward, urges her to read.
June cannot utter a single word, dazed in confusion.
The man taps again on the paper. Still June offer no reaction. The man taps again to no effect.
The actor grow agitated, frustrated, stamps out of the room. June looks again at the paper, still no words written.
June turns back to her mirror, back to her reflection, and there sits her, no one else, on the other side of the looking glass.
June sighs with relief and continues to apply make up.
INT. DINER CAR - DAY
June sits at a table, picking at food, looking at no one and nothing and staring off into the distance.
The actor approaches, still in his uniform, and sits next to June.
June gets up to move but the actor grabs her by the hand, insists, pleads, and so June obliges, sitting in her chair again.
The actor offers slices, slices of fruit, but June shakes her head, denies, and goes back to picking at her own food.
The actor shrugs and goes back to picking at his fruit, studying the blank pages which he has just laid before him.
June stares at the man, his eating habits, his fruit, his peculiar way of making something of nothing.
June grabs a piece of fruit, a slice of orange to be exact, and squeezes it over the paper, waiting for some words to appear.
None do.
The actor wipes off the juice and glares at June, standing and leaving before June can even begin to rebuke.
INT. BAR - DAY
June sips at her drink, a vodka martini, and assesses the room for any possible matches.
None found, June goes back to her liquor, when a man, the actor, sits next to her, all bad blood forgiven.
June rolls her eyes but doesn’t give him the privilege of moving. The actor mumbles to the waiter and leans on the counter, turning over to June.
June looks away and the man taps on her shoulder, harder and harder until she finally succumbs to his pleading.
In his hand the actor holds an olive. In the other, nothing.
A flurry of movements and flare and now the olive is in neither hand. Behind her ear? No. Under the table? No. In her drink?
June chuckles at this ridiculous man.
The man hops onto the bar, on top of the table, and holds out his hand, insists June take it.
June looks to the bartender who shrugs and washes dishes, apathetic to any sort of tom foolery beyond the dangerous.
June taps her fingers and looks all around.
Though there are others they pay none other any attention. Still the actor persists.
So, seeing no other option, June jumps onto the table, the counter, and puts her hand in his.
The two dance a gallant waltz across the counter, knocking down glass after glass in sheer ecstasy.
This the bartender is less than enthused with, and so bites at their feet with his brutal frigid towel.
So the two hop and jump and laugh and pay the man not too much attention. This leads the bartender to assume more nefarious tactics
So a bottle is thrown. Then another. Then another.
This of course causes the actor to surrender, June also. So the two step out and leave the bar quickly, laughing and humming and skipping to a sleeper.
INT. SLEEPER CAR - DAY
Decadent love cascades upon the room, first one wall then the other, inching ever closer towards the meager bed.
Finding her footing, pulling back just a little, June sits upon the bed, pulling him towards her, he pulling back, letting go, she tapping at her side. The actor shakes his head. Plays with his wedding ring. June notices this for the first time.
Feathers soften blunt force trauma. The actor is hit again and again and again, June swinging the pillow as hard as she can.
The actor back towards the door, grabs for the handle, struggle. Pulls. Pulls. Won’t open.
June bombards him with flurry of hits.
The door opens and the actor stumble to the ground, June towering over the man in unquenchable anger.
The actor crawls away, pride and all.
June slams the door shut.
June slams at her mattress, kicks at the pillows, yelling and screaming within anything which will muffle her anguish.
A knock on the door. June breaths. Goes steady. Opens the door.
There stands the actor with a bottle of wine.
June throws a punch so devastating bones crack. The actor yells, screams, backs away, grabs his nose, and throws the wine, just missing June by a couple of inches.
June again slams the door shut. A few more deep breaths.
Another knock.
There stands the man of thirty, maybe thirty five, with the actor.
The man’s arms are crossed, filled with contempt.
INT. OFFICE - DAY
The actor and June sit far apart from each other, each in a separate chair, each across from the man.
The man sighs, rubs wt his eyes, and picks up the telephone, mumbling something irritable.
The man then hangs up the phone and looks at the two. Neither look at the other.
A knock on the door and an old woman enters, tapping her foot in irritable impatience.
The man waves to the woman and calls her close, handing her a note and sending her out.
The woman nods and opens the door, waiting for both the actor and June to come along.
The two oblige.
INT. JAIL CELL - DAY
June hangs against the bars, depression overwhelming frustration, and turns back to the actor, who lays on the bench.
The actor blows smoke from his cigarette and offers a pull.
June snatches the nail and irreverently obliges, a look of pure disgust seeped into her face.
The actor shrugs and sits and takes back the cigarette, huffing another cloud, blowing off steam.
June snatches the cigarette and stomps it on the ground, not allowing the actor any delight she cannot double.
So the actor pulls out another nail and then the lighter but this too is snatched, the lighter that is, and so the actor is forced to bring out his matches, which he lights before she can stop him.
A guard with many keys saunters down the hallway, approaching the two and unlocking the doorway.
June sighs with relief but is quickly pushed back, the guard gesturing to the actor who stands, stomps his cigarette, and follows the guard out the barred doorway, tipping his head to June as the guard locks the gate again.
June kicks at the bars and move to the bench, huffing and grumbling in maleficent contempt.
All the lights go dark, except for those nearest and brightest, the single bulb above her, and June heaves a weary sigh, grabs the stomped on cigarette, and pulls a heavy pull, blowing what little smoke still remains.
INT. JAIL CELL - NIGHT
June awakes with a start, with a rattling of bars, and there stands an old woman, 70 at least, with keys in her hands.
The old woman brushes a decrepit finger against chapped lips and slowly but surely opens the gate.
The old woman shuffles in, gate still open, and sits next to June.
June stares at the gate, the keys, the woman, and then the gate again.
June slowly, cautiously, peevishly, steps towards the door. The elderly old maid does nothing but drool.
June steps past the gates, out the door, still the old lady does nothing of concern.
June walks down the dark hall, away, the old lady barely breathing, hardly moving, June looking back again and again stupefied by her fate.
EXT. TRAIN - NIGHT
June stands between cars, rails rushing by, wind howling and screaming in bewildered delight.
June pauses, hesitates, doesn’t move to the next car over. Looks out into the field. The wasteland. The rows upon rows of weeds and forgotten corn.
June takes a big breath, closes her eyes, and jumps, off the train, into the dirt, tumbling down the slope of a hill.
The train tumbles on and June is left coughing, bleeding, still breathing, but beaten.
June holds her head against the dirt, whispering a few words, and then standing again, catching her breath as the train moves ever farther away.
Time passes by and June carries on, down one field and then another, until finally a road is reached, pavement met, and June carries on, down the road, terribly exhausted.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - NIGHT
Cars linger by with insipid curiosity, slowing only enough to not hit the pedestrian.
June holds up a hand every now and then, as if to offer some favor, but none of the cars takes much notice, traveling on without even the slightest of interest.
So June carries on further and farther, the night growing darker, the wind colder.
Eventually, by fate or by magic or by the luck of circumstances, June stumbles upon a set of lights, a diner in the distance.
June makes her way to the diner, stumbling her way into the door frame.
INT. DINER - NIGHT
Inside the diner is a few set of people, not many, but a few. Each of which sits off by themself, drinking their coffee or reading the paper, simply passing the time for lack of entertainment.
June stumbles to a booth and a waitress comes to take her order, sitting across from her in a lackadaisical sort of manner instead of standing politely in the usual pattern.
June stares at the waitress and the waitress points to the menu, pen to paper much like a journalist witnessing a brutal murder.
June stares at the menu in a dilapidated haze, overwhelmed by terrible exhaustion and feverish mania.
Still the waitress waits, pen ready to fire.
June mumbles and the waitress scribbles, smiles, stands, and steps to the kitchen.
June lays her head down, tired, exhausted, closing her eyes just as something strikes the table.
A dish. A cup. Coffee.
June stares at the cup, not moving from the side of the table, watching the waitress return to the kitchen to flirt with the cook.
A leg. An arm. A face. Across from hers. Behind the cup. June sits up.
The fcae is that of a man, elderly for middled aged, smiling, chuckling, sitting across from June.
The man waves to the waitress and whispers something humorous, causing the waitress to cackle and scribble and rush back to the kitchen.
The man points to his finger, his ring finger, to hers, June holds up her hand, a wedding band.
June shakes her head, looks off to the side, and the man smiles that sad sort of smile only those who know can offer.
The waitress returns and offers him coffee, the paper, and a stale piece of pie.
The man nods his head in thanks and the waitress is gone again, back to the kitchen to flirt with some man.
The man opens the paper and reads some column, revealing the headline of some local sensation.
The title reads: Pyromaniac on the Noose!
And there is a picture of a woman hanged, a woman in a noose. A woman rather familiar to June.
June steals the paper, rips it right out of the mans hands, pulling the paper close, closer, inches from her face, studying the face, her face, staring back at her, dead.
For an unbearable minute, June doesn’t move. Not even breath disturbs her distress. And then, as if shot by lightening, June stands, drops the paper, edges back, bumping into chairs, bumping into table, running into the counter, a face of pure horror.
The man looks to the woman, then to the paper, then back to the woman.
The man guffaws, stands, knife in hand.
June jumps over the counter, looks for some object, finds a pan, grabs, holds, waits for the man.
Closer. Closer.
June swings the pan, the man falling down with a spittle of blood.
The waitress screams and goes rushing, rushing to the man, searching for a pulse, pushing for breath.
June’s relief soon morph to horror, as the knife she was so sure of now looks deceptively like a pen.
June drops the pan in desperation, backing out of the diner.
Closer. Closer. Hand inches from the handle. A big man stops her.
The cook, the chef, twice the size of June.
June swallows hard, closes her eyes, and succumbs to his brutal push, his terrible pull, June thrown into a seat, the police called.
The middle aged man, the man on the floor, coughs, gags, heaves, goes steady.
June diverts her eyes, her sorrow, her misery, her terribly guilty conscience which eats away at her dignity.
But the man only laughs, chuckles, climbs to his feet, and hobbles over to a seat, a seat across from the woman.
The waitress stares with terrible caution, hand under the counter, hand gripping something terrible.
The chef stands guarding the door, watching too, a face as cold as glass or stone, impenetrable in its solitude.
The man across from June picks up some napkins, wipes bloodied face, and picks up another, handing the pen over too.
June takes the pen, as aghast as she is confused.
The man, with the agony of pain, wretches and writhes and retrieves something from his back pocket, the paper, the picture of the dead woman, her. The man points to the napkin.
June, with the hesitance of confusion, signs her name.
The man laughs and snatches the paper and shakes her hand cheerily, standing and stepping over to the cook. Still the cook doesn’t move.
The smaller man pats the bigger on the shoulder, tries to push past, but is only pushed to the ground, thrown back into agony.
Despite this cruel maleficence, the man only smiles, wincing at his injuries, and hobbles back to the woman, back to June, sitting again across from her, shrugging as if theres nothing he can do.
The four stand stubborn in their stance, two sitting, two not, all watching one and another, none making any move which might be considered brutal.
The man again begins to read the newspaper.
June, with the wariness of a surgeon, slowly stands, hands in the air, as if she ever had some kind of weapon she dare used to scare.
The waitress moves ever so slightly, gripping tightly again. The cooks stance goes taut.
June steps over to the waitress. Each step an agonizing trip in and of itself.
One step. Two steps. Three.
A gun is pulled, pointed, cocked, June three steps away from a loaded gun.
June tries a step closer and the waitress fires a warning shot, only a few feet too high.
June points to some doors, two doors at the end of the diner. The bathroom, latrine.
June begins to unbutton her pants, making good on her threat, and the woman fires another shot, closer, but still missing.
The waitress waves over to the bathroom, keeping her distance but pacing with June.
So June steps into the bathroom.
A few moments pass by. The sound of rushing water, a toilet flushed, hands being dried.
The door opens. No one exits.
The waitress purges her cartridges, reloads her gun.
Not a sight or sound or movement.
The waitress takes another step. Another. Another. At the door. One more step.
The door quakes, smashes, slams into the waitress, the gun misfiring, flying up, out, the gun on the ground, the waitress clawing at her nose, at blood, trying to flee. Pulled in by the hair. The door closed again.
Rattling, shattering, a single shot fired.
The door opens. The waitress exits.
The waitress falls to the ground, and behind her is June, gun in hand.
The waitress is not shot, the waitress is not dead, but the blunt force drama alone will leave quite a bill at the hospital.
June points the gun at the man, the cook, the irksome burden which once dared not move.
The man offers only apathy and June cocks her guns. Still nothing.
June fires a warning shot. Nothing still.
June edges closer. Another step. Another.
Still the man does nothing.
June fires another warning shot. Another. One more.
Still nothing.
June cocks her gun, offers one final warning, and shoots in his knee, his kneecap, the cook falling to the floor in shrieking pain.
At this the middle aged man stands, his chair falling behind him, and as June exits the diner, the man follows.
EXT. DINER - NIGHT
Outside the diner June struggles through her pockets, fumbles with the gun, and pulls out a set of keys, finds the car, and unlocks the door.
As she’s about to step in she notices the man staring at her, all smiles and joy despite his miserable circumstances.
June throws the gun in back, starts the car, and puts her foot on the brake. A hesitant pause.
June sighs and opens the passenger door. The man steps in.
The two drive off.
EXT. BRIDGE - NIGHT
Staggering brights stab at the night, piercing brittle earth and cumbersome gravel.
June steps out of the car, gun in hand.
Over the bridge, into the river, June tosses the gun, stepping back into the car and driving away, man and all.
INT. PARKING GARAGE - DAY
June steps out of the car and into the lot, the man following suit and hobbling along.
June paces to the edge, the edge of the cliff, and throws the keys down some four stories or so, to be lost and forgotten as quickly as stolen.
EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE - DAY
June steps out of the store and over to the man, tearing open medical wrap and bandages and tape.
June attempts to sooth the man as she does the best she can, but having no medical experience, nothing beyond a few tv shows watched, the job is botched, and the man is left not much better off than before.
But the man says none of this, offers no sense of distrust, and instead follows her along, out of the parking lot and towards a park.
EXT. PARK - DAY
June lies on a bench, the man forced to stand, and June holds an arm to her head, closing her eyes in inescapable tiredness.
The man sits on the ground, head back against the bench, and he too closes his eyes.
The man’s foot is tapped by that of another.
A man. An officer. An officer in uniform, tapping at his foot and holding out a hand, helping the man up and sending him on his way. June, unfortunately, is given a similar fate.
So the two drag on, further and farther off into the distance, stumbling drunkenly in bitter fatigue.
The man falls. Can’t get back up. June attempts to help him to his feet.
The man shutters. Whimpers. Bleeds.
Bandages soaked in a tar red goo.
June cradles his head, whimpers, screams. No one takes much notice, not even the officer which sent them off so soon.
June sets down the man, off in a hurry, running over to the officer, pulling at his sleeve.
The officer stares at the woman, the stuttering man, and mumbles something into his radio, walking over to the man now seizing.
The officer studies, observes, watches, doesn’t offer a wink of help.
June, perhaps in confusion, perhaps in frustration, does nothing also.
So the man seizes, screeches, dies.
June stares at the body, deceased in terror.
June looks to the officer who scribbles some note, rips the paper, and hands it over to June, walking away whistling and smiling.
June looks at the paper. A ticket for loitering.
June drops the paper and soon steps away, walking in a worried hurry off into the distance.
INT. BAR - DAY
June sits at a stool, sipping a liquor, swaying in a drunken stupor, mumbling harsh words of bitter grief.
June raises her hand, as to call for another, but the bar tender just pour her a tall drink, a tall drink of water.
June takes a sip, gags, and throws the glass at the man’s head.
The bartender ducks and moves and continues to wipe down the counter as if nothing of any consequence has even happened.
So June stumbles on the stool, crawls onto the bar, and delicately moves to standing on two feet, swaying like a pendulum upon that sturdy bar.
Step by step June wanders down the bar, the bar tender wiping every dirtied footprint with apathetic melancholy.
June trips, almost falls, catches herself, laughs, lowers herself down where the many bottles of liquor bask.
June pulls out a bottle, dropping another, struggling to open the thing, hands sweaty with effort.
June wipes at her pants. Tries again and again. Still the bottle won’t open.
So June smashes the cap, smashes the top, and pours a sweet swig into her mouth.
As she turns to go a man of twice her size steps in her way.
EXT. BAR - NIGHT
June falls to the ground, bottle and all, glass shattering in the street, June torn up across the concrete.
People shuffle by more in disgust than concern, keeping their distance and their eyes off this burden.
Scarred, bleeding, June stands, sways, and stumbles away, off into the darkness, off into the distance, growing ever and ever smaller with the lights which fade distally.
INT. TRAIN STATION - NIGHT
Poked, nudged, pushed. June is tapped again. A man. A man in uniform. A man of great holiness.
June turns, moans, and the priest pokes again, this time a little less gentle, this time with a little more force.
June coughs up blood.
The priests jumps back, steps back, holds June by the back, and pushes her to sit.
Instead of leaving, instead of abandoning her like any other, the priest sits next to her, tapping her knee in a fatherly sort of manner.
The whistle of a train, the shriek of brakes. June stands, discombobulated, dizzy, stumbling, gathering her bearings.
June steps away, followed by the officer at a steady pace.
EXT. TRAIN STATION - NIGHT
Outside the platform, on the platform, June stares at the train which not a single person enters, not a single person exits.
Fog grows thick with steam and breath seen.
The priest stands back at a distance, watching.
June steps onto the train. So too does the priest.
The train stutters and limps away.
INT. HALL - NIGHT
June stumbles down the hall, no longer drunk but hurt, injured, full of cruel pain.
Down the long hall is one door after another, all closed, all locked.
June knows this for every door she tries, which is each and every door, is locked, and down the hall she goes, farther and farther, growing more and more desperate, more and more tired, fatigued by the exhaustion of a terrible effort.
No door open, all the doors locked, June steps out of the car, presumable to the next car over.
The priest follows.
INT. COACH CAR - NIGHT
Not a single guest, not a single participant, only June and the man, only June and the priest. The priest sits next to her.
The priest counts a bead, another, another, praying to his god, his better, his maker.
June politely turns away, as if this is an action which one should be ashamed of.
The priest prays no more, opens his eyes, and looks directly at the woman, the woman across from him.
The priest takes her hand, studies its lines, and places a book inside its grasp. The bible, open to the story of the king Belshazzar, the man who saw the writing upon the wall.
June closes the book and sets it aside, forgoing faith for fact, fiction for truth.
The priest sighs and begins to count beads again.
June stares out the window, past her reflection, to the darkness, where a small, flittering light, bites and stings.
The train draws closer and the flames grow larger. Yes, flames. A fire. A man consumed by fire.
The man does not stop. Does not drop. Does not roll. No, the man only stands there, consumed by the terrible flames.
The train continues on.
June turns back, watching the horrific image grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
Th priest continues to count beads.
June wipes her head, beads of her own, beads of sweat, beads of terror.
The priest offers his handkerchief. June obliges. Hands it back to him. The priest nods his gratitude.
June looks down the long train: still no one, still nothing. June looks back, behind her, nothing still.
June stands. Steps away. Out of the car, into the next part of the train.
INT. DINING CAR - NIGHT
No one. Nothing. Just empty chairs and tables and a piano even.
June walks on.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Still no one.
June walks through.
INT. SLEEPER CAR - NIGHT
No one still. All the doors closed.
June tries one. Another. Another. All locked.
June tries the door to the next car, that too is locked.
June pushes, pulls, kicks the door open. June steps to the next room.
INT. ENGINE ROOM - NIGHT
Fire. Coal. Unbearable heat.
A man slumps at the controls.
June taps him on the shoulder. Nothing.
June taps again.
The man coughs, cackles, sits up straight.
June edges towards the fire, trying to get a good look at his face, but the man turns with hers, allowing nothing more than the silhouette of a shadowed profile.
A loud thumping noise.
June turns. Another thump. Again. Again. Rhythmic. Beating. June steps out of the car and into the next room.
The beat grows louder, but still muffled.
Out of one car and into the next.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
The reverberation of sound echos off the pots, the pans, the stove.
June steps closer. Closer. Into the next room.
INT. DINING CAR - NIGHT
All is revealed.
There, amongst no one, amongst nothing, is the priest, stomping at a bug, a bug long dead.
June sighs with relief.