Human Nature

FADE IN:

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Bird's-eye view. We circle lazily above the forest.

Through a break in the trees, we catch an occasional glimpse

of a prostrate form on the ground. As the circling camera

gets closer we see that the form is a human body.

CUT TO:

EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF LILA TALKING TO THE CAMERA

LILA:

I'm not sorry.

A bead of sweat trickles down her cheek. Then: a blinding

flash of light obliterates her face.

CUT TO:

EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF PUFF TALKING TO THE CAMERA

PUFF:

I am sorry.

A tear wells in Puff's eye and runs down his face. Another

blinding flash of light.

CUT TO:

EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF NATHAN TALKING TO THE CAMERA

NATHAN:

I don't even know what sorry means

anymore.

As Nathan speaks, a trickle of blood drips down his face

from his out-of-frame forehead. Another blinding flash of

light.

CUT TO:

EXT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT

It's a frenetic hand-held shot as Lila is pulled from a police

car and dragged into the precinct house. Cameras flash.

Reporters shout questions. Lila attempts to shield her face

from view, but she is handcuffed and can only manage to hunch

her shoulders.

CUT TO:

INT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT

A ratty interrogation room. Institutional green walls.

Beat-up file cabinets. Dark. A bit of fluorescent light spills

in through the frosted glass door. Lila, thirties, sits at

the end of a long table. A reel-to-reel tape recorder whirs

in front of her. She is smoking. Three fat, mean-looking

cops sit in shadows at the other end of the table. One of

the cops eyes her lasciviously. Lila's hand shakes as she

brings the cigarette to her mouth.

LILA:

I'm not sorry. So I spend the rest

of my life in jail. So what? I've

been in jail my whole life anyway. A

jail of blood and tissue and coursing

hormones...

One of the cops sighs and massages the bridge of his nose.

It's going to be a long night.

LILA:

...a jail called the human body.

The lascivious cop smiles lasciviously at Lila's reference

to "human body."

LILA:

My soul held prisoner in this reeking,

stench-ridden bag of bones and

entrails. A bag of feces and piss

and fibroid cysts in my tits and

precancerous moles on my sun-damaged

back...

The lascivious cop gags, then vomits on the floor. Lila drags

on her cigarette, calmer now.

LILA:

At least now I'll be able to blame

the state, not God, for my

incarceration.

CUT TO:

INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY

Puff, thirties, dirty, scraggly hair and beard but in a crisp

business suit, testifies before a congressional committee.

The auditorium is filled with reporters and spectators. Puff

sits in front of a microphone, counsel at his side. He pours

himself a glass of water, drinks, clears his throat, then

speaks:
stentorian, confident.

PUFF:

I am sorry, gentlemen, sorry for all

of us. Your's is a complicated, sad

world.

This is a revelation to the assembled crowd. People whisper

to each other.

PUFF:

And I never knew that. I was living

a life of simplicity, of purity,

when I was ripped out of my Eden and

immersed in this harshness. Some

would argue that the life I was living

was not a human life at all. And,

gentlemen, I don't have any clever

retort. I am not a philosopher. The

only thing I know is that I am sorry,

sorry for my expulsion from Eden,

sorry for my Lila rotting in her

jail cell, and sorry for Nathan...

rotting in his grave.

CUT TO:

INT. WHITE SPACE - DAY

Nathan, thirties, in a white robe, sits alone at a white

table. Everything is white except for an oozing bullet wound

in Nathan's temple.

NATHAN:

I don't even know what sorry means

anymore. It's odd. When I was alive

I knew -- maybe it was all I knew --

but here sorry is meaningless. Love

is meaningless. Jealousy is

meaningless. Ambition is meaningless.

Everything that motivated my every

breath while I was alive is

meaningless now.

(beat)

I guess that's how I can be sure I'm

really dead.

CUT TO:

INT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT

Lila watches the slowly churning tape recorder reels, fixated.

The cop who vomited is mopping it up. The other two are

sipping coffee. Lila talks.

LILA:

My story begins when I was twelve.

Rate this script:5.0 / 2 votes