INT. OFFICE CUBICLE – DAY
HANK, an average-looking male in his mid-30s, types mechanically at his computer. After some time has passed, one of his fingers disappears.
Hank: “Whoa!” {jolting out of his seat} “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!!!”
He looks from cubicle to cubicle. No one’s paying attention.
Hank: “I just lost a finger! Hello? Is anybody paying attention here?! I just lost a finger!!”
He turns around, bumping into a nerdy-looking man in glasses and a baseball cap that says, “WRITER.” The man holds a laptop.
Andrew: {extends his hand} “Hey. Andrew.”
Hank looks at the Andrew’s hand…then his face.
Hank: “I just lost a finger.”
Andrew: “I know.”
Hank: “Like, it’s gone. I’m not even bleeding; it’s just gone.”
Andrew: “Mm-hm.”
Hank: {emphasizing} “My finger.”
Andrew: “Mm-hm.”
Hank: “Is gone.”
Andrew: “Got it.”
Hank: {rummaging through files} “Do you see it? Is it possible for a finger to just disappear like that?” {then} “Shit. Is that leprosy? Am I diseased?” {awestruck} “Could this be some sort of sign?” {reconsidering} “Am I high?”
Andrew: “Hank, listen…”
Hank: “Because if not, this is beyond worker’s comp. It’s –” {registering} “Wait.” {pointing suspiciously with his missing finger} “How do you know my name?”
Andrew: “Hank, I’m…here to kill you.”
Hank: “Are you from H.R.?”
Andrew: “No. I’m…sort of your father. And mother. And God.”
Hank: {pause, then} “HELP! Crazy man in my cubicle. HELP!!!”
Andrew: “They can’t hear you, Hank.”
Hank: “HEEEELP!!!”
Andrew takes a deep breath and types something on his laptop. Hank’s voice suddenly becomes high-pitched and quieter.
Hank: “What the –? Who are you, asshole?” {starting to cry} “Why are you doing this to me? Where’s my finger?”
Andrew: “I’m your writer. I wrote you.”
Hank: “Oh, I am definitely high.”
Andrew: {typing away} “I’m going to delete you, Hank, and I felt it was only right to give you advance warning.”
Hank: {voice back to normal} “You wrote me?”
Andrew: “Yes.”
Hank: {laughing skeptically} “In what, a screenplay?”
Andrew: “And a TV pilot. But you just aren’t working.”
Hank: “Are you kidding me?” {pointing to the computer} “I just did nine spreadsheets in a row.”
Andrew: “In the scripts, Hank. Everyone I’ve shown them to says you have no purpose.”
Hank: “What?”
Andrew: “You’re not quirky enough to be comedic; you’re not self-aware enough to be tragic. You don’t help the protagonist.”
Hank: “I’m not the protagonist?”
Andrew: “Or maybe it’s just that your situation isn’t dire enough…or that you’re too complacent.”
Hank: “Complacent?”
Andrew: “Don’t you ever have any desire to get out of this job? Do something greater with your life?”
Hank: “In this economic climate?”
Andrew: “What are your hopes, Hank? Your dreams? Your quirks?”
Hank: “I have an incurably itchy ass-hole.”
He itches away.
Andrew: “Hmm. It is funnier on the page.” {then} “Look, I’m sorry it has to be this way –”
Andrew types, and Hank continues to change. (More appendages disappear. Some morph into other objects.)
Hank: “Wait. No. I can change.”
Andrew: “Into what, Hank? You don’t have any major character flaw that would logically lead to an arc.”
Hank: “I could stop…itching my ass-hole?”
Andrew: “I considered giving you cancer. Make you more sympathetic, cause you to reevaluate your priorities or something. That’s too easy, though, right?”
Hank: “Cancer?”
Andrew: “And your dialogue. Your dialogue is always so repetitive. It’s like you just repeat in question form what another character just said to you.”
Hank: “I repeat in question form? What?”
Andrew: “I’m sorry, Hank.”
Andrew is about to push the BACKSPACE key — but Hank grabs the laptop.
Hank: “No, Goddamnit. You created me; you have an obligation to me.”
Andrew: “I told you: I put you in two different projects.”
Hank: “Maybe you just don’t understand me yet.”
Andrew: “What’s to understand? You’re inconsistent.”
Hank: “Here.”
Hank starts typing. Suddenly, they’re in –
EXT. OUTER SPACE
Both of them wear space suits.
Hank: “I’m an astronaut.”
Andrew: “That’s a little expensive.”
Hank: “No problem.”
Hank types them into –
EXT. A SOUTHERN FARM – DAY
– where Hank is in a stereotypical farmer’s outfit.
Hank: “I’m a farmer.”
Andrew throws feed to several CHICKENS.
Andrew: “I don’t really know anything about this kind of lifestyle.”
Hank: “Then research it.”
Andrew: “I’m afraid it’d come off condescending.”
Hank: “Well whose problem is that?”
Andrew: {shrugs} “Still yours.”
Hank sighs, pounding the keyboard into –
INT. A STRIP CLUB – NIGHT
Hank wears a thong and a bra.
Hank: {looking for approval} “How ‘bout now?”
Andrew: “You want to be a stripper?!”
Hank: “No, but I have to become a stripper…”
Andrew: {going with it} “Okay.”
Hank: “For $50,000.”
Andrew: “Okay.”
Hank: “By next Tuesday.”
Andrew: “Good.”
Hank: “Or the mob will take my house and kill my family.”
Andrew grabs the laptop and starts typing.
Andrew: “And here’s the kicker: you’re a stripper with only one leg.”
Hank’s leg disappears.
Andrew: {laughing to himself} “Kicker. That’s sort of funny.”
Hank: “Will you please stop removing my limbs?!”
Andrew examines the scene, then sighs.
Andrew: “This isn’t working. You can’t define a character solely by his occupation.”
Hank sits next to Andrew. They think.
Andrew: “Character comes from goals…and conflicts that get in the way of those goals. You don’t have one.”
Hank thinks, opening his mouth to speak, but –
Hank: {sad epiphany} “I’m complacent.”
Andrew: “I’m sorry, Hank. I just…don’t have time to brainstorm with you anymore. I have a job now. And a girlfriend. The only script I have time to work on is the one about the gay policeman coming out of the closet to the rest of his force.”
Hank: “Cop Out?”
Andrew: “I put you in that one, too.”
Hank: “Background. Bland Cop #3.”
They look at each other. This is the end.
Hank: “Andrew: can you at least write a dramatic death sequence for me?”
Andrew cracks his knuckles and readjusts his hat.
Andrew: “Exterior, battlefield, day.”
Hank: “Wait. Make it realistic.”
Andrew continues…
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE – DAY
NOTE: from here on out, Hank’s actions come from Andrew’s voice-over.
Andrew: (V.O.) “Interior, office cubicle, day. Hank sits at his desk, typing. He looks out the window longingly. Squints. Suddenly, he jolts out of his seat and rushes out.”
EXT. OFFICE BUILDING – CONTINUOUS
Andrew: (V.O.) “Exterior, office building, continuous. Hank runs through the streets, pushing his way through pedestrians, barely avoiding oncoming cars.”
Hank: “Excuse me! Sorry!”
Andrew: (V.O.) “In the distance, his motivation becomes clear: a boy is being held up by gunmen. The boy shakes, handing the men his wallet.”
ALLEYWAY – MOMENTS LATER
Andrew: (V.O.) “Alleyway, moments later. Hank runs toward the burly men.”
Hank: “Hey! Get away from him.”
Andrew: (V.O.) “As the men turn around, Hank grabs a nearby pipe, swinging into one of the men and knocking him down.”
Hank: {to the little boy} “Run, Carlos.”
Andrew: (V.O.) “The boy runs off. Back on the remaining man, who pulls out a gun. Hank turns around just as –”
Hank: “Wait.”
FREEZE FRAME on everything but Hank.
Andrew: (V.O.) “What?”
Hank: “I don’t want to die.”
Andrew: (V.O.) “I know, Hank, but like I said –”
Hank: “No. I mean, that’s my goal: to avoid you.”
Andrew walks back into frame.
Andrew: “I’m the obstacle.”
Hank: “And thus we have a conflict.”
Andrew: “So then I have to write myself into the script?”
Hank: “Sure.”
Andrew: “Kind of narcissistic, isn’t it?”
Hank: “What have you written that’s not?”
Andrew: “True. Still, I don’t know if that’s really fodder for a screenplay.”
Hank: “Maybe not, but it could make for an interesting short film.”
Andrew: “You think?”
Hank: “It’s worth a shot. Some people like that self-reflexive, meta stuff.”
Andrew: “But once I decide to keep you alive, you’ll return to your complacency.”
Hank: “Will I? Or will I learn from my past, gaining a new appreciation for life and finding my true self-worth from having hit rock bottom, emerging not only as a new man, but as a hero?”
They stare at each other. Andrew puts out his hand for a handshake.
Andrew: “Welcome back, buddy.”
Hank: “Give me my finger back.”
CUT TO BLACK.
