A vast, flat park under a bruised, late-autumn sky. The air is still, holding a deep chill. The colour is drained from the world, leaving only muted browns and concrete greys.
BRIAN (30s), an architect, sits alone on a long park bench. He's wrapped in a scarf and a decent coat, but he still looks cold. His focus is absolute, fixed on a single branch of a large, otherwise healthy OAK TREE.
The branch DROOPS, its handful of shrivelled, brown leaves clinging on with theatrical desperation.
SOUND of distant, muted traffic hum
Brian squints. Trying to diagnose the tree from fifty feet away.
SOUND of gravel CRUNCHING nearby.
Brian shifts, breaking his concentration. He tries to look casual, like he was just enjoying the view.
SIMONE (30s) settles at the far end of the long bench. She wears a dark coat pulled tight, thin wire-rimmed spectacles catching the dull light. Her hair is pulled back severely from a face with a strong profile. A worn leather SKETCHBOOK rests on her lap.
She doesn't look at Brian. Her gaze is fixed on a skeletal willow tree in the distance. The space between them on the bench feels vast.
A long beat of shared silence. Brian glances at her, then back at the branch. He can't help himself.
His voice is too loud in the quiet. Simone turns her head slowly. Her expression is unreadable. A small, faded SCAR sits just above her left eyebrow.
He makes a vague, half-hearted gesture. She follows his gaze, considering the branch with an artist's intensity.
A twitch at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile. Her eyes hold a weary amusement that Brian finds unnerving.
He tries for a light tone. It lands with no weight.
She runs a thumb over the soft, buttery leather of her sketchbook. Brian feels a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest.
A gust of wind sends a spiral of dead leaves skittering across the path like nervous animals. Brian shivers.
She gives a small, cynical shrug. She finally looks at him properly. Her brown eyes are direct, making him feel suddenly exposed.
He picks at a loose thread on his scarf. A nervous habit.
The scar above her eye seems to stand out more. Brian exhales, his breath a white puff in the air.
She looks out at the empty spaces of the park.
A single, shrivelled leaf, identical to those on the dying branch, detaches from a tree overhead and drifts down, landing silently on the cover of her sketchbook.
She turns the leaf over with a gloved finger.
She looks at him, her gaze steady, questioning.
SOUND of a distant JAY screeching, harsh and ugly.
Brian looks away. He does feel it. Every day. A subtle tremor starts in his right leg.
The question hangs in the cold air between them. Brian scratches the back of his neck. The silence stretches.
SOUND of a shopping cart's SQUEAKY WHEEL approaching.
A HOMELESS MAN shuffles past on the path behind them, pushing a rattling cart. Neither Brian nor Simone breaks their intense focus on each other. The squeaking wheel fades.
She finally opens her sketchbook. With a precise, surgical movement, she draws a single, sharp, clean line down the center of the blank page with a charcoal pencil.
Brian watches the black line bisecting the white page. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, surrendering.
Simone looks at the line she drew. Her sharp edges seem to soften. The cynicism falls away, revealing something underneath.
She looks up at him. For a fleeting second, he sees past her walls. He sees a profound, almost desperate sadness. A tiny tremor in the hand that holds the pencil.
A small red ROBIN lands on the bench in the space between them. It chirps once, then flits away into a thorny bush.
The moment of shared vulnerability hangs in the air. Brian opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come.
Simone gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. The moment is over.
She snaps the sketchbook shut.
The sound is sharp. Final.
Without another glance, she pushes herself to her feet and walks away, her pace brisk and determined.
Brian watches her go, a storm of agitation and regret churning inside him. He wants to call out, to ask her name, to finish the conversation. The words are stuck in his throat.
She turns a bend in the path, disappearing behind a thicket of skeletal trees. The shadows there seem deeper, darker.
He is alone again. The silence she left behind is heavier than before.
And then, from just beyond the bend where she vanished...
A SOUND.
Low. Guttural. A deep, resonant MURMUR that is utterly unnatural. It seems to vibrate in Brian's bones, a sound of profound emptiness. It sends a spike of ice-cold dread down his spine.
He stares into the deepening shadows, his heart pounding. He is frozen to the bench, utterly terrified of what she just walked into.
FADE TO BLACK.
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