A Script for The Biodegradable Blight

by Tony Eetak

[SCENE START]

**EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY**

A quiet street. Tidy gardens, sensible cars. The world is a palette of soft greens and gentle greys under an overcast sky.

The peace is violated by a WHISTLE, high-pitched and wheezing, like a dying kettle.

A DRONE, painted an offensive LIME GREEN, wobbles into frame. It descends with the grace of a brick.

It clips the high branches of a VULNERABLE OLD OAK TREE in front of a neat, brick house. A shudder runs through the tree, showering the pavement in pollen and nascent leaves.

The drone gives up. It plummets.

**INT. EVY'S LIVING ROOM - DAY**

EVY (70s), sharp, observant, a woman whose stoicism is a well-honed shield, pauses mid-sip of Earl Grey. She watches from her pristine window.

Through the window, the drone hits the tarmac with a resounding, metallic CRUNCH.

**EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY**

The drone’s payload explodes outwards. A chaotic snowfall of synthetic flower petals—FUSCHIA, ELECTRIC BLUE, DAFFODIL YELLOW—and a blizzard of confetti-sized squares of paper.

Back in her window, Evy lowers her teacup. A flicker of amusement crosses her face.

> (to the empty room)

> Well. That’s certainly a statement.

She watches as the wind catches the manufactured spring, plastering the tacky petals against the grey concrete. Bureaucratic dandruff.

Evy straightens her floral housecoat, a relic from a more sensible decade. She heads for the door. An event of such public ridiculousness demands a witness.

**EXT. EVY'S FRONT GARDEN - CONTINUOUS**

Evy steps outside. The air smells of damp earth, magnolia, and now, a faint, acrid tang of burning plastic. Her slippers sink into a drift of synthetic blossom.

The mangled drone lies near her prize-winning azalea bush. Its rotors are bent at painful angles. A circuit board SPARKS faintly, a dying firefly.

A voice cuts through the absurdity.

> Good morning.

Evy looks up. A virulent pink petal is stuck to her eyebrow.

ANDY FINCH (70s), tweed jacket, sensible shoes, approaches from next door. He clutches a dustpan and brush like instruments of war. His meticulous, orderly world has been violated.

> Andy. I believe spring has officially sprung. If by ‘sprung’ we mean ‘exploded in a flurry of manufactured cheer and shredded municipal budget data’.

She gestures vaguely at the colourful detritus. Andy winces.

> Right. I rather thought it was... a bit much. They did say it was biodegradable.

He prods a stubborn blue petal with the toe of his shoe. It squishes, unyielding.

> (CONT'D)

> Doesn’t look very biodegradable, does it?

> Biodegradable in the same sense that an unfulfilled promise is ‘temporary’. A rather elastic definition, I’d wager.

Andy lets out a dry, rusty chuckle. He begins sweeping, the bristles making a loud SHUSHING sound against the plastic.

> Apparently, it was supposed to distribute ‘eco-friendly wildflower seeds’ and ‘community event flyers’. Fostering local interconnectedness.

> Ah, yes. Because nothing fosters interconnectedness quite like a weaponised confetti cannon. Especially one that seems to have confused its wildflower seeds with a quarterly fiscal report.

She plucks a blue petal from her own cheek, examining its waxy texture.

> (CONT'D)

> I expect the pigeons will find these particularly nourishing.

They work. Andy, with methodical zeal, fills a small bin. Evy, more curious, begins collecting the paper fragments, placing them in a canvas tote bag.

She holds a tiny square up to the light.

> (CONT'D)

> ‘...PROPOSED BUDGET INCREASE FOR PUBLIC...’

She picks up another. Squints.

> (CONT'D)

> ‘Minutes from the Neighbourhood Beautification Subcommittee, Item 4.c: Discussion on Biodegradable Alternatives for Aerial Dispersal’. Oh, the irony.

A tiny, almost imperceptible smile threatens to break through. Andy straightens up, wincing as his back protests.

> The entire project was championed by Councillor Franklin. A ‘bold step into the future of community engagement’, he called it.

> Revolutionise it straight into my azaleas, apparently. Franklin. Of course. The man has an almost touching faith in the supremacy of the gadget.

Andy shakes his head, a wry smile finally appearing.

> I once spent six months arguing with a committee about the optimal height for park benches. They called me a ‘disruptor of aesthetic synergy’.

Evy lets out a short, sharp laugh, surprising even herself.

> Aesthetic synergy. Good heavens, Andy. I commend your survival. I once indexed three decades of bylaws concerning the precise shade of beige permissible for garden sheds.

> Three decades? What was the eventual conclusion?

> The shed rotted away before a consensus could be reached. It was reclassified as a ‘spontaneous organic decomposition site’.

They share a look. A moment of shared, weary appreciation for the absurd.

A sleek, black ELECTRIC SEDAN glides to the curb. Silent. Ominous.

The door opens with a soft *thwip*.

COUNCILLOR FRANKLIN (late 50s) steps out. His suit is immaculate, his smile a well-practiced electoral asset. He surveys the scene, the smile faltering as his gaze lands on the mangled drone.

<center>FRANKLIN</center>

> Ah. A slight... unforeseen calibration issue.

His voice booms with affected gravitas. He plucks a stray blue petal from his shoulder with a pristine handkerchief.

<center>FRANKLIN</center>

> (CONT'D)

> Regrettable. But a testament to our commitment to innovation. Learning curves, you understand.

> Innovation often involves the successful completion of a task, Councillor. This is what some might term ‘catastrophic failure’.

Franklin’s smile snaps back into place, a little too wide. He finally acknowledges them.

<center>FRANKLIN</center>

> Ms. Holloway, Mr. Finch! So glad to see you’re... engaged with the initiative.

He gestures broadly at the mess, as if they’re part of a performance art piece.

<center>FRANKLIN</center>

> (CONT'D)

> The biodegradable petals will simply return to the earth. A natural cycle.

Andy steps forward, clearing his throat.

> Councillor, with all due respect, these ‘petals’ are a polymer. And some of these paper fragments appear to be... internal documents.

Andy holds up a piece. The words ‘PRIVILEGED AND CONFIDENTIAL’ are clearly legible.

Franklin’s eyes dart to the paper. His composure cracks.

<center>FRANKLIN</center>

> A... a minor oversight. Recycling initiative! Yes. Simply recycling old materials to promote our green agenda. The optics, you see, are paramount.

Evy snorts. A delicate, but unmistakable sound.

> The optics, indeed. I imagine the local paper would have a field day with the ‘biodegradable budget’ scattered across our lawns. ‘Council Shreds Public Trust, Literally’.

Franklin’s smile vanishes. A nervous AIDE materializes from the sedan.

<center>FRANKLIN</center>

> (to the Aide)

> Get a cleanup crew. Discreetly. And ground all remaining units.

> (to Evy and Andy)

> We value community feedback. Perhaps a small inconvenience fee for your trouble?

> I prefer to think of it as an unsolicited art installation. The commentary it provides on modern governance is priceless.

Franklin’s gaze narrows. He mutters something about “uncooperative elements” and retreats to his car, making an exaggerated show of a phone call.

The black sedan hums away.

Evy and Andy watch it go. A quiet sense of triumph settles between them.

> (a genuine smile)

> So. What do you suppose they’ll ‘innovate’ next? A sentient recycling bin that judges your consumer choices?

Andy laughs, a full, hearty sound this time.

> I wouldn’t put it past them.

He gestures to the remaining debris. As he does, Evy’s eye catches something in her tote bag, amidst the paper fragments.

Not a petal. A glint of metal.

She reaches in and pulls it out. It’s a small, metallic DATA DRIVE. Hard, geometric. Decidedly not biodegradable.

She holds it in her palm. It HUMS faintly. A low, unnerving vibration that feels alien in the quiet morning air.

Evy and Andy look from the drive to each other. The plastic petals were just a distraction. The true blight is only just beginning to unfurl.

**FADE OUT.**

[SCENE END]

About This Script

This script is part of the Unfinished Tales and Random Short Stories project, a creative research initiative by The Arts Incubator Winnipeg and the Art Borups Corners collectives. Each script outlines a potential cinematic or episodic adaptation of its corresponding chapter. The project was made possible with funding and support from the Ontario Arts Council Multi and Inter-Arts Projects program and the Government of Ontario.

These scripts serve as a bridge between the literary fragment and the screen, exploring how the story's core themes, characters, and atmosphere could be translated into a visual medium.