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1st draft, no editing done.

MARY (22), a a petite women swollen up like a bloody tick comes screaming into view.  She is strapped to a gurney bleeding from the waist down.  She has a bruised swollen belly, a small poking hand is visible against the bloody distended wound that seems to bisect her in two.  Like each half of her is part of a writhing flower painted by OíKeefe, dying in the first strong wind.  The womanís voice is in a distorted le mans mantra.    
Keep us, keep us alive.  Keep us, keep us alive.
MEDICS alert and calm, storm towards her like godís last forgiven infantry.  HOWARD (32), a young looking doctor bristling with tools such as a PDA, stethoscope, and pens rushes past the throngs of people.  Some of them grimace and some cheer.
If the bastard who did this to her comes, let him die.  I wonít touch him.  No one touch him.
Yes sir.
Iíll fucking kill him.
I wonít accept them, you are going to have to save them both.  You hear that, you bastard?  Letís rock.
Get out of here Oscar, you ainít no doctor.
Donít say that Angie.
OSCAR stands back as the entire crowd with MARY in the center of it rushes past him leaving him outside in the snow.
MARY is rushed into an operating room that obviously just held a large biker from a bicycle accident that is now in the hallway being operated on, he is conscious.  He looks over with the one eye he has control over.  In seeing her, he begins crying fully in his one eye and his body leaps forward.  Entrails fall out of the side of him.
(Actor can make up slurred profanity admonishing the staff strongly to help her)
BIKER collapses.  HOWARD catches him and plops him and his parts back onto the gurney.  A BEVY OF NURSES scramble to help push his guts back in.
Every hand, heart, or mind is welcome to help here, friend.
RICHARD (45), a short bespectacled man with a pot-bellied figure and an anhistous cross between a nose and a red sponge comes walking in a wide fast gait upon the scene. A BEVY OF NURSES stop to listen to RICHARDís directions.  
You two get this man out of pain and a step closer to heaven.  I trust you all and so does he.  Now the rest of you go help Mary and her baby.
Half of the nurses go immediately into the operating room
Glad to see you pal, you got any miracles left?
Miracles are for the weak.
You are up to it tonight, right?
Yeah, yeah.
God to hear it, I meant good.
Donít mention that name here, now you too go, go!
From the operating room people begin calling out orders and requests.
Get Howard cleaned up, where is Richard?
RICHARD stands all alone in the hospital corridor as they wheel away the biker looking at the bloody scene in the operating room he fumbles in his pocket for a moment and pulls out a desert camouflage flask with military markings on it that has a brighter portion of the printed camouflage where a Christian cross was once affixed.
RICHARD makes the signs of the cross and enters the operating room.  Lying on the cold operating table she snaps her body upward.  Her eyes glint in the operating lights unfocused.  Everyone gasps.  ANGIE (26), a sexpot blond with a back tat showing grabs OSCAR (31), a raven haired Goth boy as white as linen and drags him toward the door.  She is the only one without her eyes on MARY.  
Angie let go!
Get him out of here, now!
Are you people ready we are going for the baby first.
SECURITY GAURD in doorway motions at OSCAR, he looks one last time upon the scene and relents with his shoulders hunched forward leaves the room.
Late model riced out Japanese car with an absurdly large wing and racing stickers pulls up through a drive through atm.  The parking lot is littered with pine needles, old cans, and wet newspapers.  The ATM screen is burned in from an old video games high scores.  You cannot see the man in the car.
What the fuck, I canít read the screen.  I canít read the screen man, what the fuck.
GARY (62), is a rotund man on the verge of being able to see the outline of a swollen majestic liver through a soaked wife beater underneath an open bowling alley shirt that has a detailed rendition of a 1950ís biker hell FARTS HEARTILY.  He sits smoking a cigarette behind a 1 and 1/4 size large newspaper on a stool behind an ancient mechanical cash register at a 12 lane bowling alley sweating with a profuse trickle down the front of his face.    
BILLY(29), a fair skinned farm boy with red face and neck is decked in the hippest 70ís attire except for a 4-H Greenwade county 1st prize T-Shirt.         
Can you turn down the heat, old man?
GARY does not put down the newspaper but reaches out for a paper cup of beer that he sips and places back down on the counter.
Whats it to you kid, youíll be sweating up in the back of that old Chrysler in no time with George over there, and donít tell me I didnít see you ram that boy raw last Wednesday, part of an initiation into the ĎQueersí?  
BILLY grabs the inside front pocket of his jacket.
Iíll slice open your face and lick your brain you old motherfucker, catch some of that war wisdom you yammer about and see myself through.  Ahhhhh.
A hole appears in the side of the plywood U-shaped desk GARY is at the helm of.  A SHADOW CREATURE MAW SOUND OF SPINNING THROUGH GRISTLE AND BONE.  People throw their bowling balls askew into lanes and what not and than stop moving.  GARY looks from behind the newspaper a Neanderthaloid forehead barely contains enough nose to hold the immense smudged reading glasses he wears.  GROWLS LIKE AN APE.  Sweat breaks off his head, mucus and spittle come flying out of his mouth.    

COP drives slowly by than stops and gets out of his car.  He quickly draws his gun, aims up at the man and fires.  He hits the side of the ATM spraying cheap plastic bits into the driverís side window.  MIKE, (27) a sweating stark white face filled with brown plastic shards screams through the fresh blood and accelerates madly through the hedges surrounding the bank parking lot.
Fuck, I canít handle this.  Oh shit man, fuck this.  That bitch caused all of this.  Bitch, shit, fuck, Bitch!
MIKE severely distraught physically takes a wild turn down an alley, turns off his lights, and than slams into a trash can before you hear the PARKING GEAR SLIP IN.  MR. WILMKINS (43), a muscular bald man in his underwear and a slightly stained white t-shirt leans over his second story railing with PHOEBE (16), a flat chested brunette dressed up in a thrift store evening dress holding a plastic champagne glass with a mimosa in it.  PHOEBE, obviously drunk falls over the railing into the jacuzzi breaking a leg open on the edge of the wet deck.     
MR WILMKINS leans over the rail almost falling himself.  PHOEBE is SCREAMING HYSTERICALLY.  She sees who is driving the car.
Mike you fuckwad, Iím going to kill you!
Mike regains control of his bloodied head but is still seeing stars and is now hearing VOICES LIKE POLICE SIRENS.  He slowly backs up the car out of the alley/
MIKE drives frighteningly down through a small town square hitting DRUNKS outside of a bar smoking cigarettes.  They moan on the ground appearing to be alive still.  MIKE swings wide into a statue in the center of the town square.  A BARTENDER (65), brimming with tattoos and muscle storms out into the streets leading a party of people.  Some of the people begin to help the drunks that were hit outside the bar calling out their names, but most follow the bartender toward the now well-smashed up car in the town square.  
Heís the one, heís the bastard they are talking about on the TV.  He cut up the Howardís girl, she is at St. Lukeís now.  I have served two generations of those good people.  I donít know who the fuck this person is, or thinks he is.  Come into my town and kill my customers, motherfucker.
The BARTENDER rips a post that holds up a sign for a farmerís market out of the ground and leers onward.  CROWD begins tearing car apart and smashing windows in large commotion.  BUSTLING CROWD CHANTING KILL HIM  
Jesus, Jesus fuck you all!
MIKE is torn, punched, and buckled from the weight and force of the crowd.  The BARTENDER heaves the post high in the air and brings it down on MIKEís head.  THUNK OF WOOD AND SKULL.  MIKE looks up and opens his mouth wide.  BARTENDERís second strike ends jamming into his mouth breaking his jaw open like a snake.  MIKE is still alive and his eyes scan the crowd vengefully.  
OSCAR rolls a marijuana cigarette from an Altoidís Ginger can that has a few choice marijuana buds in it and a pack of Zig-Zag Kutcorners.  After taking a few puffs of the joint and slouching over on the curb a hand shockingly white in the halogen comes from behind him and grabs a piercing in his ear. HENRIETTA (19), a twiggy if not emaciated Goth in a 50ís poodle skirt that has a skeleton dog jumps on OSCARís back and makes vamp noises as she snuggles his neck.    
Donít bite  me, ahhhh.
OSCAR tries wildly to dismount her but she holds on to him like a cowboy with rigor mortis riding the last bull on earth down into the dirt.  After a fit of giggling she leaps off him and impales her leg on a rusty iron gate.  A spurt of bright red blood runs down the length of the spire.  HENRIETTA holds back screaming but cannot hold back tears.  She is holding herself upright with all the strength of her arms.  If she were to release she would fall ass over tits into a subterranean loading bayís ramp 30 feet below.     
Henry, hold yourself steady.  Keep your back straight.  I need to go inside to get some tools.  Aw, fuck should I just take you off there.
(Looking up at the shadows in the operating room curtains)
No Iím doctor.  Regular MD.
HENRIETTA shows him that she is biting her tongue so as not to speak.  OSCAR goes to the back door and looks over all his pockets before he sees that his keys and still burning marijuana cigarette are on the curb.  He grabs both and puts the cigarette in his coat pocket.  Reaching the door he puts out the key and not even touching the knob with his hand opens the door.
RICHARD looks down on a metal tray with a blood flange running around its lip.  Inside are pieces of a baby cut to pieces like Kentucky Fried Chicken.  His eyes show a young girl growing up montage style as the scene behind him rages through different colors of red, yellow, black and grey.     
MARY is heaving on a table as MARYíS PARENTS, a sweater wearing father and a blouse wearing mom smile onward.  Maryís vagina opens wide and a child rears its heads outward.  The babyís skull is like jelly and contorts as it slides out eventually making it pop.
A birthday cake with a solitary cartoon character #3 candle on it sits on a checkered picnic tablecloth.  MARYíS DAUGHTER (3) is at the head of the table signaling everyone to be quiet.  She looks directly outward into the audience, past the crowd of Birthday hat wearing children.  As someone slices the cake it begins to look more and more like MARYíS DAUGHTER until at the head of the table sits a human size chicken with its head cut off.  Feathers begin to disappear from his body in clumps, the scene turns yellowish white.
The linoleum floor hallway of the hospital races by.  MARYíS DAUGHTER (7), leans her head over a gurney to look at her reflection.  She sees RICHARDís reflection staring at her grimacing instead.     
MARYís DAUGHTER (14) slips on her bra as she sits on an examination table.  MARY is talking with RICHARDís body, congealed in shadow the inner working glow like electrical circuits and heaving webs of material.  The only real part of the shadow figure RICHARD has become is the eye which hangs with its nerve endings going into a very dark red brain the reflection is being seen in that eye is the movie theater crowd.  {TECHNOLOGY: Put web camera in every theater to do real time modelling of that particular crowd with a real time digital editing box sold to the theater} This goes on for 10 seconds.  SHRILL INDISCERNIBLE VOICE
RICHARD is rigid beyond belief leering over the side of the metal tray.  ANGIE reaches out for his shoulder.  It appears there is a forest fire in the distance if you pay real close attention.   

Doctor doctor, are you there?  Jesus he is traumatized.  Never you know about these types, but we nurses can keep on trucking.  You there?  Huh?  Holy shit!  Jesus, look!  Forest Fire call CDF, I got to call my honey!
ANGIE lets go of RICHARDís shoulder.  She appears to run like DAREDEVIL a long stream of motions and their echoes visually captured in each frame.  Almost instantly she is gone as the other people continue to react to their own grief.    

ANGIE sits talking on the cord she has stretched to its maximum so she can keep watch in the operating room down the hall from a horse-shoe shaped nurseís station replete with forms, barren of workers, and cute with stickers and childrenís artwork.          

Come on, come on.  Why is 911 busy.  Shit, all those nosy neighbors have to be talking up a storm of rumors about that boy.  What was that girlís number she gave it to me.
ANGIE lets the phone slip out of her hand and it goes reeling back into the nurseís station into a pile of medicines sending them every which way.  She grabs into her waist pocket and procures a cell phone.  Rolling the control she scans the numbers one by one at the SOUND OF HER SPED UP HEART.    
The forest fire is so bright outside that you can see the shadowís of things and their color through the fiberglass walls a blue Toyota truck, some wooden lawn furniture with a parasol and a green fiberglass shed can be seen with a dog BARKING FIERCELY and his chain almost off his collar as he backs up in the dirt trying to get it off.    
A dirty sink full of dishes sits with ants crawling madly about them.  Empty cans of food used as ashtrays sit moldy nearby a pack of Camel Lights.  ARTURO (27) a well built Latino man in a form fitting Aís hat and a wifebeater lays crumpled in a fetal position on the kitchen floor littered with bills and want ads but mostly lesbian porn.      
The phone vibrates on the counter and falls on the floor.  HOLLOW SOUND OF PHONE HITTING PLYWOOD FLOOR.  One of ARTUROís eyes opens up and is quickly followed by the other.  One eye is color blind and the other is not.  This makes the second eye opening bring us to a red/green color blind world that is being hallucinated.  MAZZY STAR - HOLAH
The brown parallel stripes in the linoleum turn root-like with the ends as strike anywhere matches and the for them to pervade the whole of the bottom of the trailer as the inside appears to be a glass blown pipe being blown with bits of pigment being added and subtracted all the time.  A scientific poster of the moon and astronomy text books seem to be flipping themselves open to him displaying holographic bits and pieces of information.   
DOG, a huge bull dog with tats, a beer belly and an ear rubbed raw BARKS VISCOUSLY at the trailer.  ARTURO, with eyes completely black opens the door smoking a cigarette.  DOG grabs ARTUROís ankle and GRUNTS  ROXY MUSIC - AVALON  ARTURO humbles over to the truck reaches in and grabs a beer that is in the inside of a hole in his door.  It is wet with dew as the sun rises and the forest fire subsides.  
Dog, it is nothing.  Just my psychosis remember?  Jesus Christ, stop freaking me out.
FOREST FIRE re-emerges slowly at first and seen from a distance that slowly comes closer till it burns away ARTUROís dog still on his leach barking.
ARTURO leaps through the kitchen side with his immense strength like a baby chick bursting forth from a shell he rushes into the fire immolating the whole shed by now.  WIMPER, WIMPER, WIMPER.  ARTURO with half the side of the shed still attached to the chain comes out of the fire with hair and eyebrows smoking.
Throwing the dog on an air mattress inflated on the back of the truck with one arm while he searches for keys with another he trips and falls to ground level.  The dog lands and bounces off the air mattress into the side of the cab stopping the WHIMPERING.  
A 10 foot tall SHADOW CREATURE hanging off the underside of the trailer upside down looking like the one RICHARD had become in the reflection of his eye cocks his head at ARTURO revealing a parasitic mouth full of plywood chips spinning like a kitchen sink motor.  
ARTURO springs up and bolts for the door.  A moon detailed with cities and orbiting craft fills half the sky.
OLAF (38), a small crop haired security guard with a overly wrought mustache and a jockeyís stature walks sternly around OSCAR.   
What do you mean you canít find your keys?  I know you have them.  I know you didnít come through the front door because I find joint butts from you all the time out the back door.
OLAF points at the back door.  
Let us at least wait outside for the police to arrive.  
OSCAR gets up and shuffles towards the door.
A police cruiser with bloody handprints on it and the BARTENDER in the back is parked with the lights rolling but not flashing.  The BARTENDER looks up at the sign of St. Lukeís hospitalís neon sign.  
OLAF is talking with FRANK (24), a squirmy bucktoothed puss of a person with gaping pockmarks and zits running up the back of his neck into his hairline he is wearing only the bottom half of his police uniform with the police badge hanging off a nipple ring poking through a stained shirt with blood only being the freshest part of an off color mess.       
You dropping off your passenger?
FRANK moves his penis from one side of his pants to the other the end of his gun.  He smiles lewdly at OLAF.  
Well you ainít picking up me.  You get all crazy after a fight with the perps.
OLAF motions OSCAR over who is smoking a joint at the end of the curb looking up at a similar moon that ARTURO saw but normal size.
Fuck you, I ainít giving you the keys.
Oh yes you are, isnít he FRANK?
FRANK shakes his head back and forth at OSCAR.
You have become a real freak you know that.
FRANK twists his nipple ring and fakes a moan.  
I ainít arresting no one else tonight.  If you want to take him youíll have to do it as a citizen.  Now help me get this brute out of the back of my car, he might still be a little blood lusty from him fixing that fellow up.
Who is it?  Itís that gorilla bartender from Vietnam ainít it?  Yeah, nice to meet you too.  I have enough problems tonight, donít you?  
OLAF turns his back on FRANK and
Your sister could of died Frank, how would you like that.  Just as stupidly as your brother.
FRANK punches OLAF squarely in the arm.  
You shut the fuck up, he was doing the speed limit.  I measured those tracks myself.
OSCAR gets in the police car and revs the engine before pealing out of the parking lot through a maze of bushes spelling out the name of the hospital out front.
OSCAR looks in the rear view mirror.
What got into you, did you kill someone?

I would of if that bitch hadnít saved him.  Someone, some nurse from your fucking hospital stood us down and forced us off of him.  Than the police came into my bar, my bar, and told me I would have to come with them.  Little shits, if they werenít so damn small I wouldnít of hurt them.  Whatever happened to a good old Mick cop who could bear wrestle you to the ground when shit got out of hand?  Now we have all these community college police academy mini-dicks.  
OSCAR reaches in his pocket and pulls out a clove and lights it.  He turns up the radio so loud that the man in the back can no longer be heard but he continues talking.  
To give a woman a good fuck is nothing but satisfying all her other urges.  As splendidly as a flatterer and as roguish as the gallows embrace her through the hours.  Till framed raw in your animal instincts you seek beyond all the sorrows, contempts, and fears we humans, we civilized folk have learned never to regret as you come there, there to a choice in your entanglements of moving this or that way, you both agree.  That is union, in more ways than one.     
FRANK shoves his face out the train window and looks back on the tracks the cars from grainers to boxcars are full of people.  HOBOS and TOWNSFOLK are sitting on the top of cars as well, holding on to each other.    
HOBO GRAIN (29), an angular face juts out of a hood layered in 4-5 other hoods with the outside being a normal black sweatshirt hood and the second layer being some of his tagging till at the core there is a tattoo of a girl on his head that he himself did in the mirror is pilot of the train with a stance that looks like a professional gamerís stance in front of a joystick control system.    
GRAY (23), looks outward from the roguish hood he is covered in.  Fancy clothes have been cut up, including silk jerry garcia ties and patched together in a sunset picture on the back of his hoodie. Grease stains up and down his forearms show he was once a grease monkey of some sort.  
The garden is well tended and carrots freshly picked are tied up in a bundle hanging from a branch shoved into the ground.  A red ribbon taut to the point of breaking holds 30 or so carrots over the muddy ground.  GRAY pulls one off the bushel and shoves it whole into his mouth.  
Bears dreaded beyond the reasonable, tied up with flairs, ribbons, and prizes.  A small fog from respiration hangs around the 3 of them.  Long legged white spiders with red eyes crawl freely through their manes.  Critters lost to speculation
A disturbing and sometimes surreal piece about small towns reacting to the presence of depravity, murder, rape, and torture amongst their prized citizens.
oedalis Featured By Owner Jun 13, 2004  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
gotta run to my kiado ryu class but i'll check this out when i get home :aww:
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Submitted on
June 13, 2004
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Mature Content