A Catalogue of Faded Cures
From her perspective, Leaf sees stories, not just decaying signs. As she and Leo wander through Osborne Village, a ghost sign for a long-dead pharmacy sparks a conversation about their own remedies for life's uncertainties.
EXT. OSBORNE STREET - DAY
A sweltering, sun-bleached afternoon. Heat haze shimmers off the asphalt. The street is a mix of old brick architecture and trendy new storefronts.
SOUND of city traffic, a distant siren, the oppressive hum of summer.
LEO (21), pragmatic and anxious, cranes his neck, studying the side of a three-story brick building. Above a sleek VAPE SHOP, a massive, faded advertisement is painted directly onto the brick. A GHOST SIGN.
LEAF (21), a thoughtful observer, stands beside him. She isn't looking at the sign, but at the people passing on the sidewalk, her gaze distant, imaginative.
CLOSE ON - THE GHOST SIGN
The paint is cracked and peeling. We can just make out the words: "BALSAM OF LIFE" and below it, "Cures All Nervous Afflictions."
LEO
"Balsam of Life. Cures All Nervous Afflictions."
(a small smirk)
Sounds like something you'd sell.
Leaf snaps out of her reverie, swatting his arm playfully.
LEAF
Hey, my advice is free. And probably more effective than whatever snake oil they were pouring into that bottle. Probably just sugar and trace amounts of poison.
LEO
The best cures always are. So what's your Balsam of Life? What's the prescription for the modern nervous affliction of being twenty-one and completely adrift?
Leaf leans against the hot glass of the vape shop window, a thoughtful look on her face.
LEAF
Okay, prescription for Leo: one dose of spontaneity, to be taken immediately. A six-month course of not making a five-year plan. And a lifetime supply of admitting that sometimes a cool old sign is just a cool old sign.
LEO
(scoffs, but smiles)
Doctor Leaf's Miracle Elixir. And for you?
LEAF
Oh, that's easy. A mild sedative to deal with people who ask me what my five-year plan is.
She looks up at the sky, a private, contented smile on her face. She doesn't look adrift. She looks free. Leo watches her, a knot of concern in his brow.
INT. COFFEE SHOP - CONTINUOUS
The blast of AIR CONDITIONING hits them as they step inside. It’s a physical shock. The space is cool, dark, filled with the scent of roasted coffee.
SOUND of an espresso machine hissing, quiet indie music, the clatter of ceramic.
They sit at a small table by the window, holding plastic cups of iced coffee beaded with condensation. Outside, the traffic on the Osborne bridge shimmers.
Leo swirls his cup, rattling the ice cubes.
LEO
Seriously, though. Doesn't it bother you? Not knowing?
LEAF
Doesn't it bother you that you're trying to map out a country you've never been to? You have this whole itinerary for your life, but you haven't even packed your bags. What if you get there and you hate it? What if the place you're 'supposed' to go isn't nearly as interesting as the weird detour you find along the way?
LEO
Because the detour might be a dead end. The detour could be a disaster. The map is safe. The map has been tested.
LEAF
(leaning forward)
The map was drawn by someone else!
A GUY at the next table glances over. Leaf lowers her voice, but her intensity remains.
LEAF (CONT'D)
Your parents, your profs... they all handed you their old, folded-up maps with their routes highlighted. Don't you want to draw your own? Even if you get lost? Especially if you get lost?
Leo stares down into his cup, shaking his head in a small, frustrated motion. His voice is quiet, vulnerable.
LEO
You think getting lost is romantic. Getting lost is just... being lost. It's not fun, Leaf.
The words land. Leaf’s passionate certainty falters. She looks out the window, at the shimmering heat, her own reflection staring back. For a moment, the romanticism fades, replaced by a flicker of doubt.
EXT. RIVERWALK - LATER
The oppressive heat clamps down again. Leaf and Leo walk along a path near the river.
SOUND of cicadas buzzing, growing louder than the traffic.
A tense, thoughtful silence hangs between them. Leo turns her words over in his head. Leaf watches him, opens her mouth to say something—that logic isn't the point—but closes it. She lets the silence be.
A PHONE BUZZES.
Leo stops. He pulls his phone from his pocket.
ANGLE ON LEO'S FACE
His easy-going posture vanishes. His shoulders tense, his jaw sets. His entire body language transforms into something rigid, anxious.
LEAF
Everything okay?
He doesn't look at her. His eyes are locked on the screen.
CLOSE ON LEO'S THUMB
It hovers over the screen, trembling slightly. The abstract debate about fear has just become terrifyingly real.
Leo takes a sharp breath, like a man about to dive into ice-cold water.
FADE TO BLACK.
A sweltering, sun-bleached afternoon. Heat haze shimmers off the asphalt. The street is a mix of old brick architecture and trendy new storefronts.
SOUND of city traffic, a distant siren, the oppressive hum of summer.
LEO (21), pragmatic and anxious, cranes his neck, studying the side of a three-story brick building. Above a sleek VAPE SHOP, a massive, faded advertisement is painted directly onto the brick. A GHOST SIGN.
LEAF (21), a thoughtful observer, stands beside him. She isn't looking at the sign, but at the people passing on the sidewalk, her gaze distant, imaginative.
CLOSE ON - THE GHOST SIGN
The paint is cracked and peeling. We can just make out the words: "BALSAM OF LIFE" and below it, "Cures All Nervous Afflictions."
LEO
"Balsam of Life. Cures All Nervous Afflictions."
(a small smirk)
Sounds like something you'd sell.
Leaf snaps out of her reverie, swatting his arm playfully.
LEAF
Hey, my advice is free. And probably more effective than whatever snake oil they were pouring into that bottle. Probably just sugar and trace amounts of poison.
LEO
The best cures always are. So what's your Balsam of Life? What's the prescription for the modern nervous affliction of being twenty-one and completely adrift?
Leaf leans against the hot glass of the vape shop window, a thoughtful look on her face.
LEAF
Okay, prescription for Leo: one dose of spontaneity, to be taken immediately. A six-month course of not making a five-year plan. And a lifetime supply of admitting that sometimes a cool old sign is just a cool old sign.
LEO
(scoffs, but smiles)
Doctor Leaf's Miracle Elixir. And for you?
LEAF
Oh, that's easy. A mild sedative to deal with people who ask me what my five-year plan is.
She looks up at the sky, a private, contented smile on her face. She doesn't look adrift. She looks free. Leo watches her, a knot of concern in his brow.
INT. COFFEE SHOP - CONTINUOUS
The blast of AIR CONDITIONING hits them as they step inside. It’s a physical shock. The space is cool, dark, filled with the scent of roasted coffee.
SOUND of an espresso machine hissing, quiet indie music, the clatter of ceramic.
They sit at a small table by the window, holding plastic cups of iced coffee beaded with condensation. Outside, the traffic on the Osborne bridge shimmers.
Leo swirls his cup, rattling the ice cubes.
LEO
Seriously, though. Doesn't it bother you? Not knowing?
LEAF
Doesn't it bother you that you're trying to map out a country you've never been to? You have this whole itinerary for your life, but you haven't even packed your bags. What if you get there and you hate it? What if the place you're 'supposed' to go isn't nearly as interesting as the weird detour you find along the way?
LEO
Because the detour might be a dead end. The detour could be a disaster. The map is safe. The map has been tested.
LEAF
(leaning forward)
The map was drawn by someone else!
A GUY at the next table glances over. Leaf lowers her voice, but her intensity remains.
LEAF (CONT'D)
Your parents, your profs... they all handed you their old, folded-up maps with their routes highlighted. Don't you want to draw your own? Even if you get lost? Especially if you get lost?
Leo stares down into his cup, shaking his head in a small, frustrated motion. His voice is quiet, vulnerable.
LEO
You think getting lost is romantic. Getting lost is just... being lost. It's not fun, Leaf.
The words land. Leaf’s passionate certainty falters. She looks out the window, at the shimmering heat, her own reflection staring back. For a moment, the romanticism fades, replaced by a flicker of doubt.
EXT. RIVERWALK - LATER
The oppressive heat clamps down again. Leaf and Leo walk along a path near the river.
SOUND of cicadas buzzing, growing louder than the traffic.
A tense, thoughtful silence hangs between them. Leo turns her words over in his head. Leaf watches him, opens her mouth to say something—that logic isn't the point—but closes it. She lets the silence be.
A PHONE BUZZES.
Leo stops. He pulls his phone from his pocket.
ANGLE ON LEO'S FACE
His easy-going posture vanishes. His shoulders tense, his jaw sets. His entire body language transforms into something rigid, anxious.
LEAF
Everything okay?
He doesn't look at her. His eyes are locked on the screen.
CLOSE ON LEO'S THUMB
It hovers over the screen, trembling slightly. The abstract debate about fear has just become terrifyingly real.
Leo takes a sharp breath, like a man about to dive into ice-cold water.
FADE TO BLACK.