X-Men

BLACK:

Sounds of a train rolling to a halt, a shrill whistle.

EXT. CAMP - DAY

UP ON the door of a weathered cattle car as a German

soldier steps into frame wearing that familiar gray of

the all-too familiar era.

He throws the door to reveal a mass of huddled and

frightened people inside.

The words are not necessary. The language is not ours

and the images say enough.

Men, women and children are herded off the train like

cattle toward a large open yard. There they huddle until

the Germans begin to shout and shove through the mob.

EXT. FENCE CORRIDOR - DAY

We are looking up at rows and rows of fences topped with

barbed wire all designed to create a separator for the

thousands of Jew who pour through each day.

Then we see the eyes themselves that look up at them.

A LITTLE BOY. A boy who will not die this day. A boy

who will live to see the end of the war and the world of

the future.

He stares at the metal wire with an unusual fascination.

The boy looks up at HIS WORRIED PARENTS - a sturdy-

looking couple who try to smile and comfort him.

The corridor comes to a junction where it splits in

several different directions.

Soldiers here push the mob using rifles as pikes,

screaming and terrorizing the lot of them. Suddenly it

is clear what they are doing. They are dividing the mob

into smaller groups.

Soon, the groups themselves become evident.

Men from women. Children from adults.

The family tries to stay together, clinging to one

another dearly, until finally, they are put upon by a

number of gray uniforms and pulled apart. The boy is

dragged screaming his feet no longer touching the ground.

Two soldiers carry him as they follow the back of a large

column of children being led through a gate of barbed

wire so dense, it resembles wool.

The gate closes and the boy looks back to see his parents

- along with many others - being restrained by a number

of soldiers. The screaming is deafening.

And the boy's can be heard above it all. The soldiers

seem to be having a hard time carrying such a frail

child. The farther they get from the fence, the heavier

he seems to get, until they are literally pulling him as

though he were anchored to something.

His outstretched fingers claw at the thin air and he

screams until the blood in his face is blue.

The soldiers are literally pulled back a step and they

begin to slip in the mud. They look at one another and

then over their shoulders as they hear a sound.

A groaning, creaking sound. And then the unmistakable

twang of wire stretched to snapping.

ANGLE ON:

The fence. The gate that separates the parents. It bows

toward them like iron filings to a magnet, and several of

the strands of barbed wire have given way.

The boy continues to scream as all the other faces simply

freeze and wonder.

One of the soldiers pulls a wooden baton from his belt

and brains the boy violently.

He slumps and the soldiers carrying him spring forward as

through a rope that was holding them back has been cut.

They nearly fall, looking at one another with some

concern, some confusion....

Then they follow the line of children that has gotten

ahead of them.

ANGLE ON:

The boy's parents watch him as he -- as they, are taken

away.

The rest of their story is as you would expect.

EXT. SKY - DAY

Bright, bright blue framing a blinding white sun.

PAN DOWN AGAIN TO REVEAL:

The cracked, drought-stricken soil of nowhere.

TITLES:

KENYA - 1978

A group of children at play. Tribal children who,

without the help of the titles, could be from any age.

They run through a tiny village of tents, playing. Every

child holds a long reed-like stick and they chase each

other playing their version of tag.

As each child is tapped, they chase the others. Each

trying to avoid being "it", though never going far enough

away to miss the fun.

One girl in particular. A PRETTY GIRL OF 12, with

unusual white hair, is tagged and immediately shunned.

She chases kids this way and that, but to no avail. She

is not strong enough, nor agile enough, to win.

She tumbles and lands on her stick, snapping it. She

stands and, when the children see that her stick is

broken, they begin to giggle.

The giggles become laughter and the laughter becomes a

taunt, and before we even realize, the inherent cruelty

of children let loose becomes evident.

They have now formed a circle, at first avoiding her

touch with distance, but now growing tighter with menace.

In the unspoken manner of children at prey, the group

begins to chant in their native tongue - a song we have

not heard but sung in a way none-too inviting. They

begin to poke at her with the reeds, driving her back.

The girl now moves to the center of the circle, no longer

wishing to tag anyone.

ONE DEVIOUS CHILD seems to get an idea. He takes his

stick and smacks it across her shoulder. She turns to

face the child and another swings his stick across her

back with a solid THWACK. Before long, mob rule gives

way and all the kids are swinging at her and laughing.

It grows to the brink of frenzy, the laughing and the

shouting not too unlike the noise of the previous scene.

So much so, we may miss the first flake of snow. The

children certainly do. It is snowing for a good ten

seconds before the last of them stops.

By then, the snow is thick as flies and wafting down to

melt instantly on the hot African soil that has never

seen snow before.

ANGLE ON:

Adults come out of their huts and in from the fields and

the whole of the village is soon gathered around the

little girl, staring up from the clear blue sky and the

snow that falls from nowhere. From nothing.

One by one, all eyes fall on the little girl and the

looks of curiosity become looks of fear. Of

superstition.

Punctuated by a solid thump.

And then another.

AN OLD MAN looks down at his feet and sees a tiny,

misshapen ball of ice, no bigger than his eye. He looks

at it, bites it, then pops it in his mouth - breath

turning to steam.

Another such chunk of ice pops him on the head. THE

CROWD LAUGHS.

They look up again and see that mixed with the snow are

tiny pellets of hail, seeming to increase in number as

the snow mysteriously wanes.

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