A bleak, grey landscape. The snow isn't fluffy; it's a jagged, refrozen crust that scrapes against everything.
SOUND: A bitter WIND whips through a gap in a chain-link fence, smelling of wet asphalt and dead pine needles.
TOBY (10), swallowed by a blue puffer jacket, lies face down in the ice. He is perfectly still except for one boot kicking weakly at the air. His other boot is wedged in the V of a frozen oak root.
MINA (10) stands over him. She wears a bright yellow coat with a grease smudge on the pocket. A hat with untied ear flaps flaps against her cheeks like sad bird wings. She regards him with the solemnity of a graveyard statue.
Her voice, meant to be deep and commanding, cracks on the last word.
The crusty snow scratches his cheek. He doesn't care.
Toby squeezes his eyes shut. The memory is too fresh.
She isn't being mean. It's a fact. A rule of the Wasteland. No lies. She sniffs. A drip hangs from her red nose. She wipes it with a mitten already stiff with frozen snot.
The "darkness" is a reddish-brown spaghetti sauce stain frozen into armor plating on the knee of her jeans.
Toby lets out a long, rattling sigh. He tugs his stuck boot. It doesn't budge.
She grabs the back of his jacket and PULLS. Her boots slip. She goes down on one knee with a loud CRUNCH.
They stay there, a huddled heap in the grey light. The sun is a pale, watery thing behind the clouds.
SOUND: A crow CAWS from a telephone wire. The distant roar of the highway.
Toby gasps, pushing himself up on his elbows.
Toby slumps back down. This is indeed a dark timeline.
Mina gets a resolute look in her eye. She stands, brushing ice from her knees.
She grabs Toby's free ankle and YANKS.
Mina switches targets. She grabs the stuck boot with both mittened hands, plants her feet, and grits her teeth.
She pulls with all her might.
There is a sucking sound, a tearing noise, and a POP.
Toby flies forward, face-planting into a drift of softer snow.
Mina flies backward, landing hard on her butt and sliding until she hits the fence with a metallic CLANG.
Silence.
Toby scrambles up, wiping snow from his face. He checks his feet. Both boots are on. A miracle.
Toby rushes over, offering a hand.
Mina takes his hand and hoists herself up, rubbing her lower back.
They stand together, breathing hard, clouds of vapor puffing from their mouths.
Before them: a steep, twenty-foot embankment leading to a convenience store parking lot. It is covered in a sheet of ice that looks like a glazed donut from hell.
She pats her pockets.
He zips his jacket up to his chin and approaches the hill.
Toby slams his boot into the ice. It bounces off. He slides sideways, grabbing a handful of dead weeds that rip out of the ground.
He scrambles, digging his fingers into the frozen mud. The cold bites at his fingertips. He grunts, heaving himself up, using a frozen soda can as a stepping stone.
Mina follows, crawling on all fours like a spider in a snowsuit.
They reach a small ledge halfway up where an old tire is half-buried. They sit on it, panting.
He wipes his nose on his sleeve. The snot freezes instantly.
He touches his head under his hat.
She doesn't sound convinced.
Toby nods. He knows the feeling.
They sit in silence. The wind howls. A plastic bag dances past like a ghost.
He reaches into his pocket.
He pulls out the smashed granola bar. He peels open the wrinkled wrapper. It has crumbled into oat dust and raisins.
Toby pours a handful of crumbs into his gloved hand and offers it to Mina.
Mina leans forward, sticking out her tongue to lick the crumbs.
At that exact moment, a GUST of wind blows a cloud of oat dust straight into her face.
Mina GAGS. She COUGHS, flailing.
She lets out a massive, explosive SNEEZE that echoes off the embankment. Her head snaps forward, her hat sliding over her eyes.
Toby stares. She looks like a mushroom that just exploded. A piece of oat is stuck to her eyelash.
A weird sound bubbles up in Toby's throat. A seal BARK.
Mina pushes her hat up. Her eyes are watering. She looks furious. Then she sees the oat. She crosses her eyes to look at it.
Mina tries to brush it away, misses, and hits herself in the nose with her stiff mitten.
Toby starts to shake. A high-pitched GIGGLE leaks out.
But her mouth is twitching.
He falls backward onto the tire, LAUGHING so hard his stomach hurts.
Mina looks at him, then lets out a rusty laugh of her own. It opens up, and soon they are both howling, lying side by side on the frozen slope, gasping for air. The sadness isn't gone, but it feels lighter.
Fueled by laughter, they scramble the rest of the way up the hill.
Toby hauls himself over the top, rolling onto the blacktop. The smell of gasoline and old dumpster juice. Victory.
He reaches down a hand.
She grabs his hand, and he pulls her up. They stand in the glow of the buzzing 7-ELEVEN sign. A beacon.
Toby pats his pockets. Panic flashes across his face. He checks his secret inside pocket. His fingers brush a crumpled bill. He pulls out a FIVE-DOLLAR BILL, holding it up like a holy relic.
The automatic doors WHOOSH open.
A wall of warmth hits them, smelling of hot dogs and floor cleaner. It's the best smell in the world.
Their boots squeak on the linoleum.
ANGLE ON a drink cooler's glass door. Toby sees his reflection. The haircut is bad. Really bad. His ears stick out like handles. The shame returns.
But then he sees Mina in the reflection behind him. She has a smear of dirt on her forehead. She's holding up a bag of gummy worms.
She catches his eye in the glass. She sticks out her tongue. It is already bright blue.
A genuine SMILE spreads across Toby's face. He looks like a radish, but he's a radish with a friend.
She hands him a blue worm.
Toby eats it. It's so sour it makes his jaw ache. It's perfect.
Share This Script
