A pocket of warmth against a grey Winnipeg afternoon. Easels, paint-splattered tables, and jars of colorful water fill the space.
Through large, frosted windows, the wind strips the last yellow leaves from skeletal elm trees.
NATHAN (15), intense, wears a crinkling plastic apron. He stands before a canvas depicting a bleak, concrete playground.
SPLAT. A loaded brush snaps forward. A violent streak of RED ACRYLIC cuts across the grey. He loads the brush again.
SPLAT. Another crimson gash. He steps back, breathing hard.
SARAH (15), pragmatic, doesn't look up from her charcoal sketchbook.
Sarah shades a corner of her page.
He drops the brush into a water jar. The clear water instantly blooms pink.
MARIA (30s), the workshop facilitator, drifts between the easels. She stops behind Nathan, her eyes tracing the angry red lines.
Nathan crosses his arms, defensive.
Nathan frowns.
SOUND: A stool's legs SCRAPE loudly against linoleum as Maria pulls it over.
Sarah finally looks up from her sketchbook.
Nathan glances from Maria to his painting.
Sarah flips her charcoal pencil, intrigued.
A beat. Nathan picks up the wet brush. He looks at the red streaks on his canvas. They don't look like a mess anymore. They look like evidence. A crime scene.
A small smile touches Maria's lips.
Nathan nods slowly. The rage in his eyes cools, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. He isn't just a kid with a grievance. He's an investigator.
The sun dies behind the skyline, plunging the street into cold, blue shadow.
SOUND: The BUZZ of old streetlights flickering on. The HOWL of wind rattling the building's window frames.
Across the street, a dark, unmarked SEDAN sits idling at the curb. Its windows are tinted. No one gets out.
SOUND: The low, steady RUMBLE of the car's engine.
ANGLE ON the sedan, its windshield reflecting the warm light from the community center doors. A silent, patient observer in the encroaching dark.
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