A Grating Calculus
Stranded on a desolate summer road, Elias, a quiet young man, confronts the futility of his situation, only to have his carefully constructed detachment rattled by the abrupt appearance of Orion, a caustic stranger. Their immediate friction gives way to a fragile, unspoken understanding amidst the dust and simmering heat.
EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY - DAY
A vast, bleached canvas of SKY hangs over a baking, empty expanse. Heat radiates in visible waves from a black ribbon of asphalt that stretches to the curvature of the earth.
SOUND of oppressive, buzzing CICADAS
An old SEDAN sits on the shoulder, a monument to poor maintenance. One rear tire is completely flat.
ELIAS (20s), intelligent but steeped in a deep-seated apathy, leans against the searing metal of the car. The denim of his jeans is dark with sweat. He holds a plastic water bottle, half-full of warm water. He stares down the empty road.
A single bead of sweat traces a slow path from his temple, past his ear, and into the collar of his faded t-shirt. He doesn’t wipe it away. His gaze is empty. Resigned.
A low RUMBLE, distant. Almost a hallucination.
Elias doesn't react at first. The sound solidifies, grows into a distinct ENGINE THRUM.
Far down the road, a cloud of ruddy dust materializes, swelling.
Elias straightens. A flicker of something—not hope, just biological imperative—crosses his face.
The vehicle resolves into a battered, mud-splattered PICKUP TRUCK. Its paint is a faded, indeterminate blue. Chrome peels from the grille like old dental work.
The truck slows, pulling over a good ten meters ahead of the sedan, kicking up a final puff of dust that hangs in the still air.
The driver's side door CREAKS open.
ORION (20s) unfolds from the cab. Tall, slender, with sun-bleached hair escaping an old baseball cap. He moves with a languid grace that belies the ruggedness of his vehicle.
He pushes the cap further onto his head and saunters toward Elias, hands tucked in the pockets of faded jeans. His eyes, a startling and intense blue, are assessing, devoid of warmth. He stops a few feet away, his gaze falling to the flat tire.
ORION
> A rather unfortunate turn of events. One observes the universe’s particular brand of humour has elected to visit upon you this afternoon.
Elias shifts his weight, the heat palpable through the soles of his shoes. He meets Orion’s clinical disinterest with his own.
ELIAS
> Indeed. The universe, it seems, possesses an uncommonly keen eye for inconvenient timings. And a penchant for puncturing the mundane.
ORION
> The mundane often proves most susceptible to such punctures. Do you possess a spare, or is this particular tragedy to be a more prolonged affair?
His gaze flicks from Elias, to the tire, to the empty passenger seat of the sedan.
ELIAS
> A spare is present. As is the requisite apparatus. Regrettably, the heat conspires against a solo endeavour of such strenuousness.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touches the corner of Orion’s mouth.
ORION
> One surmises as much. Though fortitude, even in the face of meteorological adversity, is generally considered a virtue.
Orion moves to the back of Elias’s sedan.
ORION (CONT'D)
> Nevertheless, I am not entirely without pity, particularly for those who demonstrate a modicum of self-awareness regarding their limitations.
He pulls off his cap, running a hand through slightly longer, sun-streaked hair, then squints at the trunk latch.
ORION (CONT'D)
> You will, of course, be expected to assist. My charitable impulses are not, I assure you, boundless.
EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY - MOMENTS LATER
The trunk is open. A rusty jack and a tire iron lie on the asphalt.
The work is arduous.
CLOSE ON the jack, stiff with disuse. It GRATES against the car's chassis as Orion forces the handle.
CLOSE ON a lug nut, fused by road grit. Elias puts his full weight on the wrench. It doesn't budge.
Orion works with a precise economy of motion, his muscles taut. He grunts as a wrench slips, SCRAPING loudly against the rusted wheel rim. Elias flinches.
ORION
> This particular specimen of automotive engineering appears to have suffered a rather comprehensive neglect. A veritable monument to postponed maintenance.
He wipes a smear of grease from his forearm, leaving a dark smudge on his skin.
Elias, still wrestling with the lug nut, manages a tight, humorless smile.
ELIAS
> My father’s. His philosophy, I believe, hinges on the notion that entropy will eventually claim all things, regardless of intervention. Why hasten the inevitable?
Orion pauses, holding the heavy wrench. He tilts his head, considering this.
ORION
> A remarkably… fatalistic perspective. And one that, in this instance, has deposited you quite literally in the path of my own, rather more pragmatic, philosophy.
He turns back to the wheel, leveraging his weight. The nut gives with a loud CRACK.
ORION (CONT'D)
> Which dictates that one should at least attempt to delay the inevitable for as long as is feasible, if only to spite the universe’s assumptions.
EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY - LATER
The spare tire—dusty and worn—is bolted into place. The flat lies on the asphalt like a carcass.
Both men stand back, wiping sweat from their brows. Their shirts cling to their skin.
Orion stretches, his back POPPING audibly. He walks to his truck, returns with two bottles of water, condensation dripping from them. He offers one to Elias, an obligation fulfilled.
ORION
> A small remuneration for your… presence. And for refraining from rendering the endeavour more arduous than strictly necessary.
Elias takes the bottle. The cool plastic is a shock. He twists the cap with a quiet HISS and takes a long, deep draught.
ELIAS
> My gratitude. Though I confess to contributing little more than moral support and the occasional, ill-timed groan.
Orion gives a short, surprising snort of a laugh.
ORION
> The groans were, in their own way, quite… informative. A rather excellent barometer of the futility we faced.
He finishes his water, tosses the empty bottle into the bed of his truck. His gaze falls on the newly mounted spare.
ORION (CONT'D)
> You are a considerable distance from anywhere that might be termed a ‘convenience.’ And that spare… it appears to be a fair-weather friend at best. Its structural integrity seems rather compromised.
Elias looks at the patched-up, slightly lopsided tire. He knows Orion is right.
ELIAS
> I had rather surmised as much. The intention was merely to reach the next habitation capable of providing a more permanent solution.
ORION
> Indeed. The nearest such habitation, if one can dignify it with such a term, is some sixty kilometres hence. A small settlement known as Blackwood. My present trajectory, fortuitously, takes me directly through its uninspiring environs.
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over Elias.
ORION (CONT'D)
> One could… provide conveyance, if such an arrangement were deemed acceptable.
The offer hangs in the hot air, less a kindness than a logical proposition. Elias hesitates, weighing the options.
ELIAS
> That would be… exceptionally convenient. My appreciation would be considerable.
Orion gives a single, decisive nod.
ORION
> Then it is settled. Though I must warn you, my conversational offerings are generally limited to observations on the lamentable state of humanity and the inherent flaws in all mechanical contrivances. One should not expect effusive pleasantries.
He turns and walks back to his truck. Elias watches him go, then retrieves his duffel bag and locks the derelict sedan.
INT. ORION'S PICKUP TRUCK - LATER
The cab is spartan. Cracked dashboard, sagging passenger seat. The windows are down, but the air is still hot, thick with the smell of dust and diesel.
The truck rumbles down the highway, accelerating with a robust GROWL.
They drive in silence. The sun-scorched landscape unfolds. Scrub brush, gnarled mesquite trees, forlorn fence posts.
Elias studies Orion, who holds the wheel with a relaxed grip, his gaze fixed on the endless road.
ELIAS
> This landscape. It possesses a certain… austere charm. Or perhaps, merely an oppressive emptiness. One struggles to differentiate.
Orion’s eyes remain on the road.
ORION
> Charm is subjective. Emptiness, however, is an empirical observation. This land, it cares not for the ephemeral travails of its inhabitants. It simply endures. And, by extension, ensures that those who choose to reside within its embrace must also endure. A rather fundamental lesson.
ELIAS
> (murmuring)
> And a rather brutal curriculum.
The sun is now a bleeding orange disc on the horizon, painting the landscape in shades of fire and long, purple shadows.
A solitary HAWK circles high above, a predatory silhouette against the darkening sky.
ORION
> Indeed. A brutality, however, that clarifies the mind. Strips away the superfluous. One learns quickly what truly constitutes a necessity. And what does not.
He slows the truck slightly, gesturing with a tilt of his head towards a barely visible turn-off in the distance.
ORION (CONT'D)
> Blackwood approaches. And with it, the potential for further, equally exasperating, complications.
Elias looks from Orion to the endless road ahead. He feels a chill despite the heat. He knows, with an unnerving certainty, this chance encounter has irrevocably altered his trajectory.
A vast, bleached canvas of SKY hangs over a baking, empty expanse. Heat radiates in visible waves from a black ribbon of asphalt that stretches to the curvature of the earth.
SOUND of oppressive, buzzing CICADAS
An old SEDAN sits on the shoulder, a monument to poor maintenance. One rear tire is completely flat.
ELIAS (20s), intelligent but steeped in a deep-seated apathy, leans against the searing metal of the car. The denim of his jeans is dark with sweat. He holds a plastic water bottle, half-full of warm water. He stares down the empty road.
A single bead of sweat traces a slow path from his temple, past his ear, and into the collar of his faded t-shirt. He doesn’t wipe it away. His gaze is empty. Resigned.
A low RUMBLE, distant. Almost a hallucination.
Elias doesn't react at first. The sound solidifies, grows into a distinct ENGINE THRUM.
Far down the road, a cloud of ruddy dust materializes, swelling.
Elias straightens. A flicker of something—not hope, just biological imperative—crosses his face.
The vehicle resolves into a battered, mud-splattered PICKUP TRUCK. Its paint is a faded, indeterminate blue. Chrome peels from the grille like old dental work.
The truck slows, pulling over a good ten meters ahead of the sedan, kicking up a final puff of dust that hangs in the still air.
The driver's side door CREAKS open.
ORION (20s) unfolds from the cab. Tall, slender, with sun-bleached hair escaping an old baseball cap. He moves with a languid grace that belies the ruggedness of his vehicle.
He pushes the cap further onto his head and saunters toward Elias, hands tucked in the pockets of faded jeans. His eyes, a startling and intense blue, are assessing, devoid of warmth. He stops a few feet away, his gaze falling to the flat tire.
ORION
> A rather unfortunate turn of events. One observes the universe’s particular brand of humour has elected to visit upon you this afternoon.
Elias shifts his weight, the heat palpable through the soles of his shoes. He meets Orion’s clinical disinterest with his own.
ELIAS
> Indeed. The universe, it seems, possesses an uncommonly keen eye for inconvenient timings. And a penchant for puncturing the mundane.
ORION
> The mundane often proves most susceptible to such punctures. Do you possess a spare, or is this particular tragedy to be a more prolonged affair?
His gaze flicks from Elias, to the tire, to the empty passenger seat of the sedan.
ELIAS
> A spare is present. As is the requisite apparatus. Regrettably, the heat conspires against a solo endeavour of such strenuousness.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touches the corner of Orion’s mouth.
ORION
> One surmises as much. Though fortitude, even in the face of meteorological adversity, is generally considered a virtue.
Orion moves to the back of Elias’s sedan.
ORION (CONT'D)
> Nevertheless, I am not entirely without pity, particularly for those who demonstrate a modicum of self-awareness regarding their limitations.
He pulls off his cap, running a hand through slightly longer, sun-streaked hair, then squints at the trunk latch.
ORION (CONT'D)
> You will, of course, be expected to assist. My charitable impulses are not, I assure you, boundless.
EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY - MOMENTS LATER
The trunk is open. A rusty jack and a tire iron lie on the asphalt.
The work is arduous.
CLOSE ON the jack, stiff with disuse. It GRATES against the car's chassis as Orion forces the handle.
CLOSE ON a lug nut, fused by road grit. Elias puts his full weight on the wrench. It doesn't budge.
Orion works with a precise economy of motion, his muscles taut. He grunts as a wrench slips, SCRAPING loudly against the rusted wheel rim. Elias flinches.
ORION
> This particular specimen of automotive engineering appears to have suffered a rather comprehensive neglect. A veritable monument to postponed maintenance.
He wipes a smear of grease from his forearm, leaving a dark smudge on his skin.
Elias, still wrestling with the lug nut, manages a tight, humorless smile.
ELIAS
> My father’s. His philosophy, I believe, hinges on the notion that entropy will eventually claim all things, regardless of intervention. Why hasten the inevitable?
Orion pauses, holding the heavy wrench. He tilts his head, considering this.
ORION
> A remarkably… fatalistic perspective. And one that, in this instance, has deposited you quite literally in the path of my own, rather more pragmatic, philosophy.
He turns back to the wheel, leveraging his weight. The nut gives with a loud CRACK.
ORION (CONT'D)
> Which dictates that one should at least attempt to delay the inevitable for as long as is feasible, if only to spite the universe’s assumptions.
EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY - LATER
The spare tire—dusty and worn—is bolted into place. The flat lies on the asphalt like a carcass.
Both men stand back, wiping sweat from their brows. Their shirts cling to their skin.
Orion stretches, his back POPPING audibly. He walks to his truck, returns with two bottles of water, condensation dripping from them. He offers one to Elias, an obligation fulfilled.
ORION
> A small remuneration for your… presence. And for refraining from rendering the endeavour more arduous than strictly necessary.
Elias takes the bottle. The cool plastic is a shock. He twists the cap with a quiet HISS and takes a long, deep draught.
ELIAS
> My gratitude. Though I confess to contributing little more than moral support and the occasional, ill-timed groan.
Orion gives a short, surprising snort of a laugh.
ORION
> The groans were, in their own way, quite… informative. A rather excellent barometer of the futility we faced.
He finishes his water, tosses the empty bottle into the bed of his truck. His gaze falls on the newly mounted spare.
ORION (CONT'D)
> You are a considerable distance from anywhere that might be termed a ‘convenience.’ And that spare… it appears to be a fair-weather friend at best. Its structural integrity seems rather compromised.
Elias looks at the patched-up, slightly lopsided tire. He knows Orion is right.
ELIAS
> I had rather surmised as much. The intention was merely to reach the next habitation capable of providing a more permanent solution.
ORION
> Indeed. The nearest such habitation, if one can dignify it with such a term, is some sixty kilometres hence. A small settlement known as Blackwood. My present trajectory, fortuitously, takes me directly through its uninspiring environs.
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over Elias.
ORION (CONT'D)
> One could… provide conveyance, if such an arrangement were deemed acceptable.
The offer hangs in the hot air, less a kindness than a logical proposition. Elias hesitates, weighing the options.
ELIAS
> That would be… exceptionally convenient. My appreciation would be considerable.
Orion gives a single, decisive nod.
ORION
> Then it is settled. Though I must warn you, my conversational offerings are generally limited to observations on the lamentable state of humanity and the inherent flaws in all mechanical contrivances. One should not expect effusive pleasantries.
He turns and walks back to his truck. Elias watches him go, then retrieves his duffel bag and locks the derelict sedan.
INT. ORION'S PICKUP TRUCK - LATER
The cab is spartan. Cracked dashboard, sagging passenger seat. The windows are down, but the air is still hot, thick with the smell of dust and diesel.
The truck rumbles down the highway, accelerating with a robust GROWL.
They drive in silence. The sun-scorched landscape unfolds. Scrub brush, gnarled mesquite trees, forlorn fence posts.
Elias studies Orion, who holds the wheel with a relaxed grip, his gaze fixed on the endless road.
ELIAS
> This landscape. It possesses a certain… austere charm. Or perhaps, merely an oppressive emptiness. One struggles to differentiate.
Orion’s eyes remain on the road.
ORION
> Charm is subjective. Emptiness, however, is an empirical observation. This land, it cares not for the ephemeral travails of its inhabitants. It simply endures. And, by extension, ensures that those who choose to reside within its embrace must also endure. A rather fundamental lesson.
ELIAS
> (murmuring)
> And a rather brutal curriculum.
The sun is now a bleeding orange disc on the horizon, painting the landscape in shades of fire and long, purple shadows.
A solitary HAWK circles high above, a predatory silhouette against the darkening sky.
ORION
> Indeed. A brutality, however, that clarifies the mind. Strips away the superfluous. One learns quickly what truly constitutes a necessity. And what does not.
He slows the truck slightly, gesturing with a tilt of his head towards a barely visible turn-off in the distance.
ORION (CONT'D)
> Blackwood approaches. And with it, the potential for further, equally exasperating, complications.
Elias looks from Orion to the endless road ahead. He feels a chill despite the heat. He knows, with an unnerving certainty, this chance encounter has irrevocably altered his trajectory.