[img]2689|right|Eugenia Mansell||no_popup[/img][Editor’s Note: Ms. Mansell, introduced to readers earlier this month, is a burgeoning writer and a deeply searching thinker. Today she begins a two-part script offering.]
Interior. Morning. Mr. Smallking’s bedroom.
The alarm rings. Loud annoying music. 6 a.m. Mr. Smallking opens his eyes. He gets up instantly from his bed, fixes it, puts on his robe on, kisses the portrait on the wall [a large black-and-white framed photo of a lady in her late 50s. Woman’s face is crooked with a wide, fake smile. She is wearing the same small, round glasses we noticed on Mr. Smallking. The picture is hanging on the wall right above his small bed. He adjusts the short sleeves on a tight jacket – his moves are fast and robotic, automatic.
Exterior. Day. On the concrete outside of Mr. Smallking’s house.
Shells crack. Wet spot on the concrete from the cracked snail.
Creepy smile.
Interior of a bus. Day .
Mr. Smallking is turning the pages of a newspaper without reading. The bus arrives in Downtown.
Exterior. Day. Downtown Los Angeles.
The Court House. Busy streets. People.
Interior. Day. Office.
Mr. Smallking sharpens a pencil. Checks the edge with his finger to see if it’s sharp enough. He puts it next to other perfectly sharpened pencils. Lines up the pile of papers on his small desk. When he stands up to reach them, the sleeves on the jacket get too short – now he has to adjust them. The jacket of the suit is a little bit small for him.
Right next to his desk, we see a door with frosted glass, which is closed and has a nametag: “Mr. Bossman.” [It’s the office of the big boss in the Court House]. We see only the silhouette of a big tall man inside the room behind that frosted glass door.
People come into the office. They stop by reception where sits Mr. Smallking.
He smiles to those who seem pretty rich, and he accepts formal written requests from them. After they hand their requests to Mr. Smallking – he immediately delivers them to the BIG BOSS, putting them in a mailbox attached to the wall next to the matt door. [Mr. Smallking does not go to BIG BOSS directly. He does not interact with him or with anybody except the visitors.]
With some people, Mr. Smallking isn’t so nice and helpful. With those who look poor and more vulnerable, Mr. Smallking is especially ignorant.
The door opens. A visitor enters the room. Fear, anxiety, hope, and leftovers of anger come in the room right after him. He is here to ask for help. He will beg for it if he needs to. He will fall on his knees. – And that is what Mr. Smallking is dying to see. The more desperate the visitor, the more unresponsive Mr. Smallking becomes.
From that type of customer, Mr. Smallking takes requests reluctantly, then, waits until the visitor is gone. As soon as the door shuts, Mr. Smallking looks around to make sure that nobody can see him.
He opens a privately sealed envelope and reads a letter… smiles… With a devilish grin, he carefully puts the opened envelope straight into his SECRET DRAWER where we see hundreds of undelivered messages stored maniacally in alphabetical order.
Exterior. Evening. A park for kids a few blocks from Mr. Smallking’s apartment.
Mr. Smallking is walking home alone, carrying his suitcase. He passes by two swings, a sandbox. He looks at the ugly wood man-toy, left by some kid in the sand, likely on purpose rather than by accident.
Interior. Morning. Mr. Smallking’s bedroom. [Repetition of earlier scene.]
Sound of a loud alarm, the same annoying music. Clock shows 6 a.m. Man’s foot (Mr. Smallking’s) get into home shoes underneath the bed. Creepy black-and-white picture is smiling from the wall. The mirror reflection of one hand pulling down short sleeves of grey suit.
Exterior. Morning. Park in front of Mr. Smallking’s apartment.
[img]2721|left|||no_popup[/img]Mr. Smallking is about to leave. He takes a deep breath before he opens the main door of his apartment complex. He seems very excited. He walks out, picks up with the usual gesture a fresh newspaper left on ground. It’s a little wet from the morning’s dew. He will look into it a little bit later, but now…
Now standing at the beginning of the concrete path, which leads towards a busy part of the street, Mr. Smallking barely breathes watching a tiny creation slowly crossing the path. He smiles and licks his dry lips. He gets closer. He approaches the little thing slowly, like he is more afraid to lose his excitement rather than a small victim. Mr. Smallking knows for sure it cannot run away. It is now all in his power. Its life unconditionally belongs to him. Now he is the boss. He is a king.
The big foot rises.
Crack!
A small wet spot on the concrete. The same thing will happen to the rest of the snails.
Interior. Day. Bus. NT
In great spirits, Mr. Smallking gets on the bus and opens the newspaper, speeding through the black chains of words on a white reprocessed surface. Nothing catches his eye.
The bus arrives at Downtown. Mr. Smallking gets off.
Interior. Day. Office.
Mr. Smallking adjusts his tight jacket, sits down and starts his daily routines: He checks emails, organizes everything around him. After everything reaches its perfection, Mr. Smallking starts his ritual: he sharpens a pencil. [repetition*2.] He checks the edge of the lead to test whether it’s sharp enough. After it is perfectly sharpened he puts the pencil aside right next to the other already sharpened pencils. All in one line. In a particular order.
Suddenly the front door opens and A WOMAN runs into the room!!
She is wearing a long skirt and her dark long straight hair, that was so patiently tied in a bun earlier this morning, now is sticking out in a chaotic way, framing her thin, tired face, making it look even thinner, more exhausted. She looks worried, but we can tell that if it was not for the stress she is in right now, she would have been a very charming, intelligent lady with good manners and great sense of humor. WOMAN goes straight to Mr. Smallking. She needs to see The Big Boss!
Mr. Smallking takes his time.
He slowly stands up from his desk. His face is still. It seems as if no emotions have ever touched it.
He looks through the Lady, not at her.
Not rushing anywhere and being very calm he explains to the Lady that it’s impossible to see BIG BOSS unless the visitor writes a formal request with her name and the reason of visit. After this procedure is done, the letter will be handed to The BIG BOSS for further inquiry.
The WOMAN is confused and disappointed. But she sees no other option than doing what she was told.
WOMAN writes the letter fast. She is now full of hope and appreciation. She wishes Mr. Smallking a good day, smiles to him and leaves the office, carefully closing the door.[repetition *1.]
After the WOMAN is gone, Mr. Smallking opens a sealed letter and reads it. Camera shows few written-in-a-hurry words: “My son. In prison. Very sick. Needs medications. Help.”
Mr. Smallking smiles.
He licks his dry lips. He looks around – nobody can see him. He opens the small SECRET DRAWER and puts the letter in there. Now it’s buried forever among hundreds of opened envelopes, perfectly organized in the alphabetical manner. Those letters never will be delivered to their addressee.
Interior. Morning. Mr. Smallking’s bedroom. [repetition *2.]
Sound of a loud alarm, the same annoying music. Clock shows 6 a.m. Man’s feet get into the home shoes, which are on the floor right next to the bed. Creepy b/w picture is smiling from the wall. The mirror reflection of one hand pulling down short sleeve of the grey suite.
Sound of a shell’s crack.
Interior. Day. Office.
Mr. Smallking sharpens the pencil. Checks the edge with his finger – it’s sharp enough.
Door opens and the same WOMAN we saw once, now enters the room. Her kind, beautiful face looks very upset and frustrated. She approaches Mr. Smallking. She stands right in front of him, staring at his balding head. He pretends he doesn’t see her.
She asks about her yesterday’s request. Mr. Smallking explains that yesterday’s request wasn’t enough, that the boss requires another one, more detailed.
Woman sighs and writes it again.[repetition *2.] Puts the letter in an envelope, seals it and gives it to the clerk.
She leaves now – very upset and worried. The door shuts kind of loud but it’s clear that there was no intention or sign of anger – it’s done in more of absentminded manner.
Exterior. Morning. Downtown Los Angeles.
Mr. Smallking is cleaning the soles of his shoes – the snails’ shells got stuck in between the slots. He is standing at the corner of the building on the intersection of two streets, one side of which is a dead end.[!] He is a block away from the Court House building. He seems like he is hiding behind that corner, very anxious and uncomfortable. He keeps checking time on his watch. We can tell that he is in a hurry yet still needs to finish cleaning his shoes. His face is red because of bending down over and over, taking a small piece off the shoe each time. He isn’t having a good time – his round belly gets in the way.
(To be continued tomorrow)
A rising author, designer, artist and entrepreneur, Ms. Mansell may be contacted at zazazu.zazazu@gmail.com
