Law of the Wood [4]
An Original Motion Picture - Script
Written by: L T Hunter
[Flying over mountains, the trees slowly
turning from large majestic spruce, to smaller,
more spindly and sparse ones. The blue sky
slowly fades to growing cloud masses. Tight shot
of man in cabin with camera taking pictures out
the windows from the rear of the cabin.]
Narrator:
‘As we headed further and further north, the weather began to move in which made the sight-seeing a little less than perfect. I put my camera away and decided to catch up on the news.’
[The clouds rolling by, and the sky
suddenly overcast. Tight shot of the
newspaper with large photograph of
girl on the cover, next to another
large photograph of the world’s most
infamous terrorist and a caption in
huge bold faced letters, ‘CAUGHT’.]
Narrator:
‘I was flying into some little known place deep in the backcountry where I was going to meet my guide. His father had been a hunter and trapper of some note.’
[Plane banking tightly, as the inserts of
the newspaper spill out of the inner folds
and scatter across the floor of the cabin.]
Pilot:
‘Oh shit. Are you buckled in back there?’
[Several alarms began howling through the cabin.
The cockpit panels were suddenly lit with blinking
yellow, then red lights. Several dials fell to zero.]
Pilot:
‘Shit, shit, shit, shit….’
[The aircraft began to shake violently, with the distinct smell of oil present, a banging noise grew louder to a crescendo, with the once invisible spinning propeller, churning out three final revolutions and locked with a stutter in a slightly less than diagonal position in the view of the windshield. The two sides of the propeller, each slowly swivelled outward, whirring with its electric actuator to the ‘feathered’ position.]
Pilot:
‘Brace yourself for a rough landing. This is Cessna november-eight-two-six-whiskey, anyone copy? Hey man, listen to me! Strap in dammit. Strap in tight. We’re gonna’ be coming in hot. This is Cessna two-six-whiskey declaring an emergency, mayday mayday mayday, this is Cessna two-six-whiskey declaring an emergency, copy…’
[The mountains below came up fast,
then the spindly trees, as the sleek
aircraft barely spit past large rocky
outcroppings and the tops of bushes
barely three feet from the snowcovered
frozen dirt.]
Pilot:
‘This is Cessna two-six-whiskey declaring an emergency, mayday mayday mayday, anyone copy?’
[A clearing came out of nowhere. A broad and expansive
area rimmed with rather deformed, even surreal trees.]
Narrator:
‘I never really think about death. Perhaps I’ve always been distracted by the busy routine, or the accomplishments I seek to realize. It is something that is always a surprise, since the flood of regrets soon follows.’
[The aircraft hits the ground hard, as the pilot had a difficult time judging the distances and altitude with the white canvas of sky, against the white carpet of snow. Both landing gear and wings folded, in a chorus of bending metal and shredding ice with aircraft. Aerofuel immediately spilled everywhere, inside and out as both tanks ruptured, the plowing aircraft tumbled through the snow. The pilot had not found the time to buckle himself in, and was gruesomely impaled on the yoke, his head snapped back lifelessly, as the aircraft came to its final resting place at the center of a lake in the middle of nowhere.
Narrator:
‘Am I alive?’
____________________________________________ End of scene
