there's a serial killer movie coming after this; this segment is about introducing a main character, his circumstances, before putting the kid to a story --
SOUND: Boots crunching old layers of snow.
FADE IN:
To a VAST FIELD, a grey mid-day snow flurry, a wrapped-up BOY jogging, sinking into older snow.
He's dragging a plastic sled from a thin rope around his neck.
Eyes sunk into a face mask scan the snow in every direction. There's snow machines way off, half a mile away; their winding comes over the distance.
He's stopped moving: looks, looks, looks again. Finally he spots a mound in the snow, a football field away; he has young strong eyes - this mound is just a lone mushroom.
The Boy makes for it, the sled popping around behind him.
As he closes in the mushroom changes shape: it is a body, down in the snow long enough to collect a thin blanket of it.
The Boy drops into the snow beside the mound, and swipes snow away..
It's a DOG. A mutt. The Boy's mitten swipes snow out of it's eye. The dog is breathing, but it's gums are lined with hot blood.
The Boy struggles to gently roll the dog onto the sled..
But he does. And wastes no time towing the poor thing off; it's a long field, and telephone lines are just stray hairs on the horizon.
Slow, steady; heavy, deep snow.
Two SNOW MACHINES pass by slow, watching him. The Boy's eyes under the mask are cold hate. The machines fart away, and the Boy chugs along.
MINUTES LATER
The Boy makes it to chunky county pavement and the telephone poles. He turns up the side of the road, trucking along like a cross-country skier.
EXT. MATT'S DOUBLE-WIDE TRAILER -- MINUTES LATER
Beat-up cars and trucks in the yard are like a ragged pack of lionesses, the trailer an elephant cornered.
Here comes Sled Boy down through the gauntlet.
MOMENTS LATER
A mitten comes off, and a fist raps the door of the trailer. A few moments and it opens, and a face peeks out of the murk; a pocked face with a greasy bowl cut, a thin beard, and wired eyes -- this is MATT.
The Boy pulls down his face mask. His eyes are glassy, the cold, tears, both. His name is MICHAEL.
The dog and sled is down in the driveway behind him.
MATT
What happened?
MICHAEL
Snowmobile hit him.
MATT
Alright, Kiddo, hold on a minute.
MINUTES LATER
Matt is outside now with the kid, pulling the sled out around the trailer to a big shed. Matt pushes the canvas flap open, and they pull the sled up into junk storage.
Matt has a look at the dog; the boy patting it's head. It's a long quiet moment -- the dog's breathing is so weak it's barely reading.
MATT
Sorry, kid.
MICHAEL
Yeah?
MATT
Sorry.
MICHAEL
Aw'Right then.
MOMENTS LATER
The dog has been pulled out behind the shed, to the tree line. The boy is knelt beside him.
Matt comes back from the house carrying a towel.
He kneels beside the boy. Places the towel on the dog.
Matt unfolds the towel revealing a .38, and two loose bullets.
Tens seconds, and Matt takes the revolver and a bullet.
MICHAEL
I'll do it.
Matt looks over at the kid. Puts the weapon down. He gets up, pats the kid on the back, and heads back in the direction of the house.
The Boy, Michael, kisses the dog. He shifts the towel over the dog's head.
The revolver unfurls. The Boy's hand plucks a round.
The white towel: the dog's shroud.
MICHAEL
I love you, Oldy. Okay? Sorry I weren't paying attention enough.
UP BY THE HOUSE
Matt is resting over the hood of a truck, watching the corner of his place, the route to the kid, and waits for the sound.
And waits.
The kid, Michael, peeks around the corner. He waves. Matt waves back, rubs his red nose.
BACK ON THE KID
Michael points the weapon on the towel. And fires a hole through it.
MOMENTS LATER
Matt and Michael carry the dead dog back inside the shed.
INSIDE SHED
They mummify the dog in an old brown military issue blanket..
Matt pops the roof of a big old freezer.
They hup!- the doggy up and in.
INT. MATT'S DOUBLE-WIDE TRAILER -- LATER
The windows are all blocked by hanging afghan blankets. Michael the Kid is stretched out on an ancient recliner, in la-la land, daydreaming.
A brown cube that maybe in 1991 was called a television is airing out an action movie the kind syndicated on Saturday afternoons on the local Maine station: depressing stuff.
Across from the kid is a strange wispy little woman staring at him from a couch.
Down the other side of the trailer we can spot Matt knelt over the bathroom sink snorting things.
Matt comes back and sits on the couch with the woman.
WISPY WOMAN
How long is he going to be here?
MATT
Come on..
Michael looks at the TV, pretending he can't hear them.
WISPY WOMAN
My Ma's dropping the kids off in an hour.
Fiddlesticks. Matt looks at the kid. The kid wrestles up out of the chair, and goes to the door.
He waves goodbye and leaves.
MATT
Come back later, Mike. If you feel like it.
INT. MATT'S SHED -- MOMENTS LATER
The freezer door rises, and a hand reaches in: he pulls away the top fold of the blanket so he can see Oldy, a bullet hole behind his .
EXT. THE BIG FIELD -- DUSK
Michael drags the sled back the same route.
EXT. SNOWMOBILE TRAILS -- MOMENTS LATER
This is the woods, pine trees closed in around this narrow trail. Michael walks this way, and it is getting very dark.
The lights and sounds of snow machines are suddenly near him.
He makes for the trees, and hides.
Snow machines pass by, a dozen of them, all chatter and fun.
Michael stares out from under a snowy Christmas tree.
EXT. MICHAEL'S TRAILER -- LATER
The lights are on inside this modest trailer, an old place grown into the brush and wood around it; a dilapidated place down a sloping path through the woods.
Michael comes in under the lights, and opens the front door covered in dents.
INSIDE
Michael enters. His mother, JEAN, and sister, THERESA, are eating TV dinners at the kitchen table, both flipping through tabloids as they chew. Both in layers of sweaters.
Michael had started pulling off his own first layer, to hang it by a standing heater in the center of this common room, but he places his hand over the heater first: cold.
THERESA
It's out.
LATER
Michael is at the kitchen table now, in his hat and coats, bundled up, as microwaved fish sticks are placed before him.
His mother sits back down, and enjoys a cigarette while resuming her magazine.
His fish takes a lot of chewing.
His sister is back in the TV area of this common room, with her homework strewn out on the couch. She's watching TV.
JEAN
Did you go to Matt's?
Michael, daydreaming, doesn't acknowledge her.
JEAN
Michael.
MICHAEL
What?
JEAN
Did you go see Matt?
MICHAEL
He was busy.
JEAN
What does that mean?
MICHAEL
There was a lady over there.
Jean's expression goes black. Her cigarette gets shaky. She stands up.
JEAN
Theresa, lock the door behind me. I'll call if I'm coming back.
Jean's in a big rush, grabbing her smokes, her pocket book, her coat -- kisses Michael on the head, before exiting the scene.
Out in the yard a car engine, lights, and off goes Mum.
Michael eats a fish stick. Orange soda.
THERESA
Pathetic.
LATER
Michael is stretched out on the couch in his winter clothes with two quilts. He's reading an old swords and sorcery paperback ..
The shadow of his sister looking over him from the hallway.
THERESA
You okay, Michael?
MICHAEL
I'm reading.
THERESA
Who was the woman at Matt's?
MICHAEL
Oldy died.
THERESA
He did?
MICHAEL
He got hit on the way over.
THERESA
I'm sorry.
He lifts his book up to shield her off of him. Theresa goes back to her room. Her radio comes on.
Michael flips pages, reading by a small light held under his chin.
Words, words, and words click by -- his eyes scan rapidly.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE WOODS -- DAY
Sun. Green grass. Trees and out in front is Oldy the dog leaping over rocks and bramble -- galloping.
Suddenly the dog stops. Ears perk up. Growls.
He has led Michael to an enclave where a semi-circle of snow machines, riders out of some Mainer version of the Road Warrior, have been interrupted.
So these Snow-machiners go bonkers with the threatening mannerisms of Kurosawa bandits.
On the Kid. The Kid pulls a gladius from his side.
Snow machines squeak and fart.
The Kid readies himself. The machines go for it.
The short sword swings. Swings, swings again, and bright blood sprays everywhere: sixteen year old boy fantasy blood unanchored to real injuries, and then the whirlwind over, the boy is knelt over his sword.
The path is halo'd with dead bandits, and turned over machines. The dog is running around barking.. very much alive.
FADE OUT:
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