THANK YOU, AMELIA EARHART Written by Al Mertens Post Office Box 14455 Oklahoma City, Oklahoma 73113
[email protected] (405) 312-2074 FADE IN: EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - NIGHT - FLASHBACK The town DEPUTY navigates a belching vintage pick-up truck on a meandering country road as OPENING CREDITS roll. Smoke billows from the end of his hand-rolled cigarette held by fat fingers at the of hairy forearms. CUT TO: EXT. HOUSE - NIGHT The Deputy kills his lights as he pulls to a Depression-era farmhouse. He idles, observes faint movement in the faintly- lit inside. He lights another smoke, then pulls something from his side, holds it up in the moonlight. A shotgun. CROSSFADE EXT. HOUSE - DAY Same house, no truck. INT. HOUSE - CONTINUOUS All is quiet in the living room on the sparse first floor. Cardboard boxes are scattered amidst the merely adequate furnishings: a sofa, coffee table, chair, an ancient tv. The room has three entrances: the front door to the porch and two interior doors. A sturdy staircase oversees all. The vague femininity of it all makes obvious that an old lady lives here. One who likes to read, given the bookshelves on the walls, the books in ideal order. A KNOCK on the front door. Then another. The door opens. SEASON, a girl in her late teens, enters. She looks around, distracted from her apparent usual disinterest. SEASON Hello? No answer. 2. She ambles to the chair and sits, nervous. Hears NOISE from somewhere in the house. Cranes her neck. Was it through the door behind her? Or through the other one, maybe? SEASON Hello? Whatever.