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Footprints in the Sand By Maria Mealla

Copyright (C) Maria Mealla 2014 All Rights Reserved

mariamealla@gmail.com


EXT. BAKER’S BEACH- DAY David and Chris walk across the sand with their arms wrapped around themselves. They both wear beanies and coats. It is a gray day. Chris finds a spot to sit and gestures for David to join him. David points at a rocky area ahead and keeps walking. Chris stands up again and follows him to it. They sit quietly, enjoying the ocean through the fog. Chris pulls out two nips of whiskey from his pocket and hands one to David. They take a sip. Suddenly, David throws his head back and lets out a long, deep cry. Chris watches him, unmoved. DAVID I’m feeling pretty hopeless, man. Life is pretty goddamn hopeless. Chris stares out into the ocean. CHRIS It’ll get better. DAVID Where’s the big break? Where’s my discoverer? I fucking sing, I dance, I am the best actor I know. I’m a fucking trained professional. Years, years of training. Chris finishes his whiskey and tosses the bottle into the sand. He looks annoyed. David notices. and quickly finishes his drink, tossing his empty nip near Chris’s. DAVID And you’re break too, you know? You are the funniest motherfucker I know. You should be living off of your routine. What the fuck went wrong for us?!


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Chris searches his pockets and pulls out two more nips of whiskey. He hands David one. CHRIS You know, man, you’re kind of killing the vibe a little bit. They sit quietly for a brief moment. David takes a deep breath and looks out into the ocean. CHRIS I really think it’s going to happen, man. I’ll be booking months in advance, hitting the road, living it big. He tosses another bottle into the sand. CHRIS (CONT’D) Just gotta keep working for it. David smirks. DAVID Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’ll still be legends. CHRIS People will talk about our humble beginning as waiters. DAVID They’ll freak that we didn’t get discovered sooner. CHRIS They’ll auction our autographs for thousands. DAVID We’ll have millions of followers on twitter. Chris pulls out two more nips of whiskey and hands one to David. They clink the little bottles together. DAVID Happy birthday, man. Chris nods a thanks at him.


3. DAVID Maybe we still have a shot. CHRIS We do, man. Someday people will bid for a lock of my hair. David finishes his whiskey. He stares at the little bottle and bites his lips with growing excitement. He spins the bottle in his hand. DAVID I’m going to sign my name on a piece of paper, stick it in this bottle and throw it in the ocean. By the time it reaches China or New Zealand or wherever the hell it’s going, I’ll be famous. Chris smiles, amused. DAVID (CONT’D) Some obsessed teenage fan will find it while she is sunbathing with her friends and they’ll take it to the press. The press will pass a joke story that will somehow make it back to me. And I will confirm to the world that it is indeed mine. From my humble, desperate days. David drinks dramatically. CHRIS Pffff!!! (he finishes his drink) you’re on your own, dude. David places his empty bottle on a rock and smashes it with his boot. He lifts a piece of glass and slowly brings it up to the palm of his other hand. CHRIS Don’t do it, dude. He slides the piece of glass across his palm, creating a slit that quickly fills with blood. He lifts his hand up to Chris. DAVID Give me your bottle. Chris rolls his eyes and hands him his bottle, shaking his head.


4. David tries to squeeze blood into the bottle. A couple of drops slowly slide into it. DAVID It’s going to be hard to fill it this way. CHRIS I’m sure we could find a needle around here if we looked. He squeezes his palm hard creating a new small puddle he pours a couple more drops into the bottle, and abandons the task. DAVID That should be enough. Quick, give me something to write with. Chris sighs, exasperated, and pulls out a pocket moleskin notebook and small pen from his coat. He rips out a page and hands it to him. David signs the paper, rolls it up and sticks it in the bottle. He walks down to the wet sand, taking a minute to stare out at the ocean. He kisses the bottle and throws it as hard as he can into the water. DAVID For you! Future fans! Chris stands up and buttons his coat. CHRIS Alright. I think that wraps up my beach birthday. He walks past David in the direction of the road. David half-heartedly jogs to catch up. CHRIS You sure know how to throw a birthday party. DAVID Fuck you, dude. I’m a Jehovah’s Witness.


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CHRIS Shitty excuse. As the boys walk further away from the beach we see the nip of whiskey with David’s name wash back to shore. The bottle glistens and dances in low water amongst pebbles before a small Asian woman in a surgical mask and latex gloves picks it up, and tosses it into a bag of recyclables.

Footprints in the sand  

Two artists walk on the shore on a cold, foggy day, while one contemplates the meaning of his life, and the other celebrates his birthday.

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