127 Hours Page #19

62.

He scoops the boy up with his left arm and balances him

around his shoulders with his right handed stump. The boy

holds Aron's arms in his little hands and they prance around

the sofa, they giggle and shout playing bulls, giraffes,

elephants, jousting knights, pretending to walk downhill

behind the sofa. Like any father in any park. [A PERFECT POP

SONG, BLONDIE MAYBE, PLAYS IN THE DISTANCE]. Like any father

in any park.

Aron watches the image begin to fade. He switches on the

light but its low and feeble.

As the images on the inside of the bag fade so too does

Aron's lamp. He tries to warm it up but it fades to black. He

holds his breath.

CUT TO:

INT. CANYON. DAY.

It's strangely still even by the canyon's standards. He peeks

out from his head bag; his contacts are cloudy and sore to

blink.

You can hear him blink. Eye socket rasping against eyeball.

The head lolls like he's lost control of the neck muscles.

His tongue rasps as he flexes his mouth to prevent sealing.

CUT TO:

TITLE.

" THURSDAY MAY 1st ".

CUT TO:

INT. CANYON. DAY.

He looks at his obituary on the wall. ARON. OCT 75 => APR 03.

RIP.

ARON:

Out of date. May Day. Not dead.

He smirks.

8:
15 Waits for the raven. No sign

INTERCUT WITH:

C/U. DIGITAL NUMERALS.

8:
30. Nothing.

63.

8:
45 No raven.

CUT TO:

INT. CANYON. DAY. VIDEO FOOTAGE.

It's tough looking at him. So long without water. The

dehydration is frightening.

ARON:

No raven today. Everything's

f***ed. Sonja... if you still want

me to play at your wedding... there's

a tape in a box in the basement of

Mom and Dad's Lounge. It's me 1993

or 1994.

We hear the music. Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin - he can

hear it as he played it until...

ARON (CONT'D)

There was a little boy,and he

looked like my cousin Charlie but

he was too young. And I don't want

to die... But I really don't know

what to do.

Pause.

Quietly, deadly:

VOICE:

I did this Aron. I created this.

The boulder did what it was here to

do. It was waiting for me but it

did the only natural thing it could

do. I chose to come here, I chose

to do this descent by myself. I

chose not to tell anyone where I

was going. I chose to turn away

from the women who were there to

keep me from getting in this

trouble. I wanted it to be like

this. Look how far I came to find

this spot.

It's not that I'm getting what I

deserve - I'm getting what I

wanted.

He's empty now. He clicks the camera shut and puts it away.

That's over.

CUT TO:

64.

INT. CANYON. DAY.

He looks at his 'good' hand. It's swollen and angry red like

an inflated prosthetic on top and around of his real hand. He

takes off his shoe and pulls the sock over his hand to

cushion his palm and picks up the black rounded hammer rock

again. Ignoring the pain he starts hammering at the rock

surface. SMASH. MAD NOW.

ARON:

I hate this rock.

The rage blooms purple in his mind.

ARON (CONT'D)

I hate it.

His face swells with anger, nostrils flaring.

ARON (CONT'D)

I hate this f***ing canyon.

A small mushroom cloud of pulverized grit and dust erupts

each time.

ARON (CONT'D)

I hate this cold slab pressing me

against this damp f***ing wall.

Smash, Smash, Smash.

ARON (CONT'D)

I know there's water near coz of

these f***ing mosquitoes.

The sock quickly disintegrates with friction as he hammers

and hammers.

ARON (CONT'D)

I hate this f***ing mess.

Finally he stops but his fingers are paralyzed, fused rigid

around the rock. He pulls them off with his teeth and the

stone drops to his feet.

There's a thick layer of dust across the top of the stone and

his right arm. He tries to blow it away. He fails. Tired,

it's too thick and he's too dehydrated. He picks up his knife

and using this starts sweeping the grit off his thumb. As he

cleans up he accidentally rips away a thin piece of decayed

flesh. It peels back a long way like a skin of boiled milk.

The insects start to gather.

ARON (CONT'D)

Sh*t.

65.

He pokes the thumb with the stubbed point of the blade. On

the second prod the blade punctures the epidermis like soft

butter. There is a clear hiss as gases escape. The stench is

death. He looks at the gangrene attached to him, poisoning

him.

ARON (QUIET, CLEAR) (CONT'D)

Get rid of it Aron, it's dead, it's

garbage.

He drops to his haunches but the webbing stops him at his

waist. He detaches it and drops down again, almost able to

squat. His trapped arm is the only thing preventing that.

His face is suddenly open.

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