By Birbal Boniface Musoba
For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to
be a writer. The idea of creating into existence something that is so captivating
it allows for a moment of escapism from one’s reality has always instilled such
a drive within me that it blinded me to all other pursuits.
Maybe I so single-mindedly fixated on becoming a
writer because growing up I never had a lot of friends – actually I was never
bothered with making friends, I found the whole routine involved in the dance of
getting to know someone utterly pointless because in such moments people always
hide their true selves and rather project their ideal selves. The only company
that peaked my interest were the worlds of heroes and villains I imagined into
being. If I was too shy to meet a girl, I took her to Paris for dinner; if a
bully messed with me, I let him grow up, a family and then I tracked him down
and slit his throat in front of his kids, who later hunted me down and slit my
throat in front of my kids, who later hunted them down and – let’s just say
that I had a morbid obsession with the beautifully bizarre and dark, and a lot of
throats were slit, a shit load.
But I just realised that I have never put my work out
there, any of it. It’s easy enough to put your blog out there, coz let’s face
it, everyone blogs. But something that I created for the sake of financial
gain, something that has defined who I am for as long as I can remember, that I
have never put out there. Maybe I’m a spineless, or maybe I’m scared that if it
turns out that I can’t write for shit,
that the most interesting thing about my written word are my musings – that frankly
are not all that original – then what has my life up to this point amounted to?
This fear always held me back from publishing, from pursuing to fruition what I
write, from stepping out of the shadows, grabbing and lighting a cigarette,
taking a deep puff and proclaiming that I, Birbal Boniface Musoba, am a writer.
That fear paralysed me until I read Hemmingway, but that’s a story for another
day.
So, without any further ado, below is the first short
screenplay I’m publishing – self publishing I know, but still its self
gratifying, pan intended – and will pursue to completion. You will see the
completed film on my YouTube
in the first quarter of 2015 aka early next year.
And please, do leave a comment or two and baptise this
new author in the ways of the internet review *GULPS*
“THE LAST MAN ON EARTH”
By
Birbal Boniface Musoba
©2014 Birbal Boniface Musoba
This script is the confidential and proprietary
property of the author, and no portion of it may be performed, distributed,
reproduced, used, quoted, or published without prior written permission.
FADE IN:
OVER
EXTERIOR SHOT OF A VAST UNENDING DESERT
THE
CAMERA SLOWLY PANS ACROSS THE VAST EMPTINESS, REVEALING NOTHING
WE
HEAR NOTHING, THE SILENCE IS ALMOST AUDIBLE
EXT.
WILDERNESS - DAY
The
Sun is almost directly overhead and it is a scotching 43oC.
WE
look up and in the very far distance, surrounded by the endless emptiness, WE
see a silhouette figure of a MAN walking towards US.
ANGLE:
BEHIND THE MAN
THE
MAN (could be in his late 40’s here) walks slowly, with short laboured strides.
His breathing is heavy and slow, almost gasping. He’s been walking for a long
time. WE follow him.
He
is wearing a heavy snow suit, with layer after layer of clothing underneath. WE
can only see a small part of his face.
WIDE
ANGLE
The
Man is dragging SOMETHING along on a makeshift sled. It is as heavily padded as
he is.
For
the first time WE see The Man and the sled he’s dragging in the vast emptiness
of the desert. He looks alien to the environment. HOLD
CUT TO:
EXT.
WILDERNESS - DAY - HOURS LATER
The
Man is kneeling next to the sled, weeping. He stretches out his hand to touch
It, but falls short as he breaks down weeping.
The
sun is still almost directly overhead, it has not moved an inch even though
time has clearly passed.
He
gets up and walks away. WE stare at the sled.
SLOWING
ZOOM IN ON THE SLED UNTIL
CUT TO:
EXT.
WILDERNESS - DAY - HOURS LATER
The
Man is walking even slower now, with even greater difficulty. His breathing is
heavier and slower, almost gasping.
His
lips are thoroughly chapped. He is blinking slower and slower with each step.
The
sun, still almost directly overhead, is unrelenting and it beats down on him
hard.
He
is at the end of his tether. He stops.
WIDE
ANGLE
He
looks insignificant in comparison.
MAN
(V.O.)
What’s worse than being completely alone?
He
falls to his knees and collapses to the ground. HOLD
FADE TO:
BLACK
EXT.
WILDERNESS - DAY - HOURS LATER
The
Man is still lying in the same position, with the sun still almost directly
overhead, beating down on him.
He
slowly opens his eyes and in front of him he sees a puddle of water. His
breathing is now of deep, long erratic gasps.
With
his last breath and might, and with great struggle and pain, he pulls himself
closer and closer and closer to the water. He needs to reach the water to live.
He
has almost reached the puddle, just one more pull and his head will-
-A
stone crushes his skull. He is repeatedly struck until his head is thoroughly
bashed in.
Blood
flows from his pulverised head into the puddle and the water slowly turns red.
THE
ASSAILANT, heavily covered up like The Man is, rushes to the puddle of water
and drinks, scooping it up together with the blood.
The
Man’s corpse lies at the edge of the puddle, with his hand almost touching the
water.
Halfway
through, The Assailant stops drinking the water and starts vigorously
convulsing, until- silence!
HOLD
Blood
flows out from around The Assailant’s body, as it shrinks in size.
The
sand is stained red all around the two bodies. HOLD
CAMERA
begins to rise.
CGI:
CRANE SHOT REVEALING WHAT USED TO BE LUSAKA IN THE B.G., WITH THE TWO CORPSES
IN THE F.G.
The
two corpses are facing in the opposite direction to the City, as if they were
running away from it.
MAN
(V.O.)
What’s worse than being completely alone?
SLOWLY
ZOOM IN ON MAN’S FACE UNTIL CU: THE MAN’S FACE, BLOODIED AND BATTERED
The
Man opens his eyes. They are black now.
FAST CUT TO:
BLACK
MAN
(V.O.)
Not being able to die.
THE END
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