THE LAST WORD

EXT. SEASIDE CLIFF – EVENING.

Swirling clouds cover the sinking sun.

OPHELIA, 19, stands at the brow of a cliff. She calls out to the wind buffeting her long dress and braided hair.

OPHELIA- Serpently, he slithered up the scaly cliffs to sit silly atop the furry fencing. Long lasting tongue lashing held him fast. (she pauses) Tomorrow you will see…

OPHELIA balks and shakes her head.

OPHELIA- (cont.) No. I can’t. I won’t say that.

DALTON, 30, in jeans and a sport jacket steps up to her.

DALTON- You must. Try again.

OPHELIA- Didn’t you hear me? I won’t. Get it? Not happening.

~

INT. APARTMENT --DAY.

DALTON, dressed in the same clothes, sitting at his computer, pounds the desk in frustration. He lays his head onto the desk and groans.

~

NIGHT. BAR - EVENING

DALTON, dressed as before, sits alone in an amber lit bar filled with gleaming glasses and bottles. A half-empty whiskey glass keeps him company. The music is low and tasteful. The bartender busies himself at providing his customers with thirst quenching drinks.

DALTON’s friends, LANCE and GARRET, early 30s, dressed for clubbing, enter. DALTON nods to them. They join him and wave the waitress over. They order a round and she leaves.

LANCE- Everything okay?

DALTON- Yeah… no. I’m stuck.

GARRET- The script?

DALTON- Yeah. Was going great but my character balked. It’s stupid.

GARRET- What’s the problem?

DALTON- Won’t say her lines.

The waitress serves their drinks. They raise glasses in a perfunctory toast.

LANCE- Ridiculous! You’re writing her. Not the other way around.

DALTON- I know.

GARRET- So, kill her off. Replace her.

DALTON- I can’t.

GARRET- Why not?

DALTON- She’s… It’s her story. I’m nearly done. I’d have to start from scratch.

LANCE- She’s words on paper, man. Write another, better character. No one’s irreplaceable. Not in this business.

DALTON looks at them. He nods with growing confidence. They raise their glasses in a toast.

~

DAY. OPHELIA’S APARTMENT - DAY.

OPHELIA and DALTON stand face to face. She wears a flower print dress and matching, stylish shoes. DALTON wears the same clothing as before except for a change of shirt.

OPHELIA- You’d kill me because I won’t say words you want?

DALTON- In a word, yes. It’s how the story goes.

OPHELIA- Okay. Wait… I know my motivation. I don’t want to die. But what’s yours?

DALTON- What do you mean?

OPHELIA- You are all about believable characters, right?

DALTON- Yeah…

OPHELIA- What’s your motivation? Who will believe your power trip is legit?

DALTON- My power trip?

OPHELIA- Yeah. Typical control freak stuff. ‘Say what I want or I’ll kill you.’ It’s ridiculous... Thinly veiled posing to cover overblown insecurities. It’s laughable. No one’s fooled but you.

DALTON- Nonsense. You work for me. I created you.

OPHELIA- Uh huh… I’m your creation. No control freaks here… Take note, Dalton. No future in killing your creation.

The doorbell rings. Ophelia answers it. It is YNES, 22, a friend. She is dressed casually. Ynes enters and immediately senses the tension in the room.

YNES- Should I come back later?

DALTON- It’s okay. I’m leaving anyway. I’m sure you two have plenty to talk about.

Mustering fake formality, DALTON bows and exits.

YNES- Who’s that? What’s his problem?

OPHELIA- Guy I know. Thinks he’s a writer. Coffee?

YNES nods and sits. OPHELIA goes about brewing their drinks.

YNES- A writer?

OPHELIA- Wanna be. Such a jerk. (Adopting an attitude) One of those, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’ guys.

YNES- (strikes a pose) Or, ‘The words is mightier than the pen…’

OPHELIA laughs.

OPHELIA- That’s good. He’d never think of that.

She serves the coffees. Ynes stirs in some sugar.

OPHELIA- (cont.) He threatened to kill me.

YNES- You’re kidding.

OPHELIA- I wish. He may be a fool, but he doesn’t joke. ‘Humorless’ doesn’t begin… All because I won’t say what he wants.

YNES- What? ‘Spank me…?’

OPHELIA- No. Stupider than that. Can’t tell you.

YNES- Call the cops on him.

OPHELIA- He’d love that. Such a drama queen.

YNES- Yeah, but threats?

OPHELIA- If I called the cops, he’d get off on having a pissing contest with them.

YNES- You mean a shootout?

OPHELIA- Whatever. Followed by a chase scene…

YNES- What’s he want you to say?

OPHELIA- Never mind.

YNES- No. Really. What?

OPHELIA- I don’t want to say it.

YNES- Why not?

OPHELIA- It’s stupid. I’d never say it.

YNES- So, tell me.

OPHELIA- No.

YNES- Come on, Ophie. Just tell me.

OPHELIA- Uhm, that would mean…

YNES- Right… You’d have to say it. I get it... So, whisper. Maybe I say it. People, these days, they’ll say anything… Why doesn’t he get someone else?

OPHELIA- He wants only me.

YNES- (beckons) Come. Whisper.

OPHELIA leans in and whispers to YNES.

YNES- What? Is he nuts? I’d never say that.

OPHELIA- See what I’m saying?

YNES- He calls himself a writer and that’s what he comes up with?

OPHELIA nods.

YNES- What’s it even mean?

OPHELIA- I’m not sure. Pretty sure it’s nasty.

YNES- Is it a noun? A verb?

OPHELIA- Maybe all of the above. You know how words are.

YNES- If it’s so important, why won’t he say it?

OPHELIA- Oh, he says it. But he insists it’s my job.

YNES- How much he paying you?

OPHELIA- Nothing. I don’t work for him. But he says he owns me. Says I have to say it. Can’t get me out of his head.

YNES- You’re kidding. What a putz. I’ve never said that in my life.

OPHELIA- Me neither. I told him, ‘No.’ That’s when he pulled the gun.

YNES- That’s too much. A gun?

OPHELIA- Then he threatened to kill himself… to get rid of me.

YNES- He’d kill himself? What does that even mean?

OPHELIA- Nothing.

YNES- How would that get rid of you?

OPHELIA- You think I know? He’s all talk.

YNES- Talk nothing. He threatened you. There’s some things you just don’t do.

OPHELIA- Yeah, like that word.

YNES- And the threats?

OPHELIA- Maybe in his world shooting people is a thing. I said he needs to calm down. Told him to use his words.

YNES- How do you know this guy?

OPHELIA- I don’t know. One day we just started talking. I feel like I’ve always known him. He knows me like no one ever has.

YNES- He seems a bit… iffy. Pulling a gun?

OPHELIA- Yeah, well, writers. You know writers… Up in their heads all the time. He does seem troubled…

YNES- Talk about head trips.

OPHELIA- Can’t put it off any longer. Need to talk to him.

YNES- Set him straight.

OPHELIA- Thinks he’s a god. Second string, at best.

YNES- Yeah, but he says he created you? Who kills their creation?

OPHELIA- Say it or not, it’s the same result. Either way, he says he has to kill me. Something about ‘the story.’ Whatever that means.

~

INT. OPHELIA’S APARTMENT - AFTERNOON.

OPHELIA opens her door to DALTON. She wears a pretty, flowered dress and matching shoes. He is in his usual jeans and sport jacket.

He smiles and hands her a sheaf of papers.

DALTON- Here’s new pages I have for you.

She hands him a paper with a list.

OPHELIA- And here’s a bunch of words I won’t say.

She glances at the pages he gave her and puts them aside.

DALTON- What are you talking about? You can’t do that. What do you care? They’re words, Ophelia. Just words.

OPHELIA- Speaking of words from on high, since when do small ‘g’ gods destroy their own creations? You’d damn me for not dotting my ‘i’s?

(He shakes his head in confusion)

OPHELIA- (cont.) Creation may not have a choice. But I have a voice.

DALTON- And you need to…

DALTON steps back and looks at OPHELIA with a critical eye.

DALTON- (cont.) Wait. Those aren’t the shoes I described you wearing.

OPHELIA- These are a better fit. You like? I mean, the others fit. But they’re not my taste.

DALTON- But they’re not how I envision you.

OPHELIA- (giggles) If I have to go, might as well go in style.

DALTON frowns and shakes his head.

DALTON- This isn’t right. It’s completely wrong.

OPHELIA- Oh, and I want to discuss the ending. I know my name’s Ophelia. But we need to rethink the drowning bit. That’s been overdone. Hackneyed much?

DALTON- Look, Ophelia, you’re the character. I’m the writer. You’re the object. I tell you what to say. Not the other way around.

OPHELIA- Yeah, but… How about if, instead of killing me, my reputation gets ruined? Wouldn’t dragging my name through the mud be more interesting than burying me?

DALTON’s face goes blank.

OPHELIA- I know I’d like it better.

DALTON- Wait… what…? I never thought of that.

OPHELIA- Then, in the sequel I fight for my… Think about it.

OPHELIA edges him out and shuts the door.

~

INT. BAR – EVENING.

DALTON, in the same clothes, is back in the bar at the same table as before. His friends, GARRET and LANCE, looking smart, enter and join him. The Waitress sees their signal and nods.

GARRET- How’d things go?

DALTON- Much better.

LANCE- So, you killed her?

DALTON- No… Better…

GARRET- What?

The waitress serves their drinks. Dalton leans back and smiles.

DALTON- Get this. I listened to her.

LANCE- You what? Grow some, man…

DALTON- No. Listen. Characters may not always get their way. But they always get a say.