Experimental Screenplay: A Perfect Circle

INT. Tautology – Afternoon

ERIC (Mid-20’s) sits down at his typewriter. He stares at the screen for a long time, pondering. He rubs his chin, then his forehead.

He scans the room. He looks at the clock on the wall. He gets up. He sits down again, a new idea coming.

The sky is white and bored as the idea leaves him.

Damn it.

He stares out at the sky, fingers restless. He gets up to make tea. Just as he does so, he stops. He sighs and screams. Thoughts of infinity flash before his eyes.

The birth of the universe; the big bang; Dinosaurs eating each other; splitting cells. He shrugs at how generic that is. He sees two people talking. He see them at a cafe, having what appears to be a deep conversation.

The conversation is just beyond his hearing. Snippets of dialogue:

You would say that.

You don’t know me.

He shrugs. Too generic by far. Suddenly a science-fiction story blossoms in his mind. Space Battles, ships crashing into each other. Lasers flying, death, destruction. High drama.

No Characters.

He bangs his head against the rough table. He grabs advil. He paces the wooden floor. He sees a cross form in the shade of the window. Golden. Brown. Religion?


He leaves the room. The TV starts playing. He wanders in periodically. Frustrated, and tired. He stares at his watch.

Can’t miss this deadline.
Another story. Experimental. Yeah. That’s it. He stares out of his window. Reality has broken down. There are demons crossing the street. Eric shakes his head.

The teapot whistles. The monsters fly and scream and shriek. There is a tornado in the distance coming for him if he doesn’t solve this problem.

Tears form on his cheeks, salty and angry. His foot taps too loudly. Springs creak above him and he flickers disgust.

A man stares at him. His face brooks no question. Eric bows to the face and its infinite sorrow.

He’s defeated. He prepares to turn off his typewriter. Prepares to call his editor and tell him he’s done. No more. No more of this struggle. His finger hovers over the red button. His eyes no longer scrunch. He can let it go.

Finally,  an idea comes. He sits down one more time and begins typing:

INT. Tautology – Afternoon


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