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Topic: Of Shadow and Light, Part 2
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Posts: 141
Join Date: Mar '03
Part 1

This part is only slightly longer than the first (3 pages vs. 2) [edit -- after reveiwing how long part 1 was, this is a hell of a lot longer]. I feel it's a bit better than part 1. You decide. Knowing how I work, the next and final part will be up by tomorrow night. I'm not 100% sure I'm gonna finish it, but I have ideas.

Of Shadow and Light, Part 2
Looking up. Six or seven old, rusty metal steps, a landing, and an old white wall beyond. The paint is chipping. A pattering of wet feet on cold metal rings out above.

With a yell of anger the man jumps over the railing, landing a mere half-foot in front of the camera. A thud from hitting the concrete floor is heard.

He moves to the left. Camera pans to follow.

A gray door closes as we see him run down the hall.

Back in the dark room. Camera pans left back to the door as the man pushes open the door with a force that sends it into the wall. A crash of wood breaking fills the air.

He rummages through the dark with periodic grunts. He gets up and goes over to the desk.

He slams down a shot glass and fills it with a brown liquid.

The camera follows the glass up as the man downs the liquid.

He throws the glass at a wall with a yelp of pain. Glass breaking.

He turns around and heads for the door. He grabs what appears to be a black jacket.

Camera is looking down from the roof. It moves away from the building, over the edge.

The man comes into view from under the awning above the entrance. He is walking steadily, yet slow. Engulfed with passion, but with a purpose. He puts on the jacket.

Camera pans up and follows him to the sidewalk on the other side of the road.

The view from the passenger seat can be seen as the dark green car slams on its breaks.

The sound of a car horn fills the night. The man walks in front of the car. Shielding his eyes from the headlights, he gives the driver the finger with his free hand.

He’s wearing a golden ring.

As he bursts into the lobby, the camera follows behind him. The potted plants, red carpet, off white walls, and gold around the elevator all tell you it is a hotel.

The camera turns to the left to reveal the front desk. Everyone is staring at this figure, too shocked to move.

Still moving forward, the camera turns back to the man. He calls for the elevator.

The door opens. The elevator is the same off-white as the lobby with wooden walling that goes up around 4 feet, golden railings, and a green carpet.

The man stands alone. The door closes and the elevator begins its ascension.

The man growls at the elevator music. He looks up, rips off the metal grate that was shielding the speaker, and rips the speaker out of the ceiling. He then continues to break the wires, silencing the music.

The elevator reaches floor 7. A bell rings and the door opens. The four people standing in front of the door, upon seeing what the man has done, cease their chatter and back away from the shaft. The door closes and the ascension continues.

Floor 9. The door opens and the man walks out, camera in tow. He goes to the far left of the hall and begins counting doors.

The 7th door. The camera is against the opposite wall, looking straight at it.

The door is wooden. Room number 923.

The man’s head walks in front of the camera. He presses his ear to the door. A shower is running. He knocks once. Twice. A third time.

He waits.

With a scream of anger he throws himself at the door, breaking it out of the frame.

“What the hell is going on here?” a man in a red hotel bathrobe demands to know.

The camera is on the other side of the room, on the ceiling.

The man with the dark pants and the black jacket takes two steps in and then turns and walks toward the man in the bathrobe. The camera follows.

The camera is along one of the walls when the man is slammed up against it, a hand around his neck.

The camera quickly cuts right. A woman stands in the doorway to the bathroom in another red hotel bathrobe. Her wet, brown hair clings together and falls close to her head. Rather thin, around average height, and with a chest that is more-or-less proportional to her size, she is rather attractive despite not wearing any make-up.

She screams. “What are you doing here?”

The camera swings back to the man on the wall. He is gasping for air. His attacker moves closer to the man’s face. “The same can be asked of you,” the man in the black jacket shoots back, not even for a split second taking his eyes off his prey.

The camera now shows the side of the man in the dark pants and jacket. He is fidgeting with his left hand.

The fidgeting stops. The hand opens. The ring falls to the floor.

“Two weeks,” He says. ‘Two Goddamned weeks. You couldn’t wait for two weeks!”

The camera is over the left shoulder of the man in dark. The man in the robe is in his mid thirties. Blonde. Perfect hair. The type of person you can tell is loaded just by looking at them.

Camera travels along an arc to the man in the robe’s right shoulder.

The face of the man in dark is revealed. Late forties, early fifties, yet still chiseled and good looking. Bloodshot blue eyes. He had been crying. His dark brown hair is shaggy. His stubble borders on a beard.

“Two weeks and the divorce would of gone through and I would be gone from your life forever.” He sniffles.

He drops the man in the bathrobe. The man falls to the floor with a thump. The man inhales and exhales deeply.

“Did she tell you?” he asks.

“What are you talking about you psycho?” The man replies softly between breathes.

The man in dark turns to the woman. She is shaking. He walks toward her, camera following behind him.

“Tell him what you did!” he demands. He raises his fist and punches the wall eight inches from the woman’s head.

He pulls his hand out of the hole he left. Blood drips from his knuckles.

Close up on the woman’s face. The bleeding hand reaches out. He runs his fingers across her lips, under her chin, down her neck, and out of frame.

“Tell him what you did to me,” he says softly, holding back tears.

 


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