Panel 1: (Wide) EXT. shot of a small house on the rocky coast of an island in the Pacific Northwest.
Panel 2: (Wide) INT., the home office of FBI Agent DANNY SALVADOR. A flash from a nearby window establishes that it’s raining like crazy outside. The walls are cluttered – insanely, obsessively wallpapered and push-pinned with news clippings, crime scene photos, and whiteboards with important text circled in red. The most prominent thing is a newspaper clipping with DANNY – hand outstretched, trying to fend off the camera, yelling at the photographer – guiding an obviously traumatized young (13-14) girl wrapped in a blanket. The headline boldly proclaims, “SANDMAN SURVIVOR!” and below that “Hero Fed Danny Salvador Saves One!”
Panel 3: (Wide) Still in the office, more clutter: papers and files on the floor. In particular, underneath a dirty ashtray is an opened file is a composite sketch of the SANDMAN KILLER. The image is kind of rough – the sort of thing coming from the descriptions of a scared 13-year-old girl. The cigarette and ashtray are next to a couch, and from this angle we only see DANNY’s hand dangling, holding a still lit cigarette.
Panel 4: Same shot, in close, a black-gloved hand – the hand of SANDMAN – plucks the cigarette from DANNY’s hand.
Panel 5: Same shot again, the gloved hand mashes the cigarette into the ashtray.
Page 2 – 6 panels
Panel 1: (Wide) SANDMAN stands with his back to DANNY who’s still sleeping on the couch. SANDMAN is removing his gloves. He’s smug, seeming happy with himself, checking out the articles about his handiwork on the wall. He’s wearing a black jacket and slacks. DANNY fell asleep in his work clothes – a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki slacks, and the holster for his gun empty. We should establish that SANDMAN is standing next to the desk.
Panel 2: Close on DANNY’s face – his eyes have popped open, and he’s alert.
Panel 3: Medium, DANNY springs up to a sitting position on the couch, looking at SANDMAN.
DANNY: Hey –
Panel 4: Angle on the edge of the desk, with DANNY’s gun on the edge. DANNY is looking at if from where he sits, grim and poised to move.
SANDMAN: You’ll set yourself on fire if you’re not careful.
Panel 5: Medium on SANDMAN half-turning his body to look at the gun on the desk and he seems completely unconcerned.
SANDMAN: Oh. By all means go ahead –
Panel 6: DANNY has leaped from the couch, reaching for the gun as SANDMAN is still in the same pose.
SANDMAN (in a small voice): Don’t bother to thank me for stopping you from setting your house on fire or anything.
Page 3 – Full-page image
Panel 1: DANNY has his gun trained on SANDMAN who has his hands in his pockets.
DANNY: HANDS! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!
Page 4 – 3 panels
Panel 1: Close on SANDMAN, slammed to the floor wincing in pain. His hands are raised above his head. The gun is at the back of his head.
SANDMAN: Easy! I came to you –
DANNY: Shut the fuck up!
Panel 2: DANNY, with the gun still trained on SANDMAN, is leaning back and looking to the side as though checking to see who else is there.
SANDMAN (off panel): I came alone. I came to you and I came alone. (In a small voice) And I think you chipped my tooth.
Panel 3: Back on the floor again, SANDMAN looks annoyed. His hands are still up.
SANDMAN: Stop the hysterics and listen –
DANNY (off panel): I don’t want to hear another word out of you.
SANDMAN: You need to listen because tonight, 6 of the worst people I know…
SANDMAN: … and it’s me we’re talking about here…
SANDMAN: … 6 of the worst people I know are coming to kill every man woman and child on this island.
I just finished reading this yesterday and wanted to comment on a book that may have some influence over one of my future projects.
I liked it, if that's really the best way to describe how I feel about it. I appreciate how not a single character or situation is sentimentalized - it's all matter-of-fact evil fuckers evilly fucking shit up (and ultimately getting fucked up).
Without getting into the plot too much, "Blood Meridian" is a sort of historical fiction tracing the movements of the Glanton Gang - notorious scalphunters, murders, and scoundrels - throughout Mexico and the Southwest. McCarthy uses Glanton's second-in-command, Judge Holden as six foot tall albino upon which to hang the themes of the work.
The Judge has been described in memoirs as "cowardly," and that further (this part I love), "a cooler blooded villain never went unhung." Holden embodies the passion for war, and the belief that violence is the only tangible thing at which man can and should excel. As McCarthy writes him, the Judge is an elemental force - less a man than a shadow that looms over other men. He has neither a beginning nor end and almost off-handedly extinguishes the life of the novel's erstwhile protagonist, The Kid.
As written, the Judge informs the reader that everything will in fact, not be okay. Judge Holden is the terrible force of brutal, unhappy death that stalks and will invetiably annhilate a sort of dumb, plodding humanity that does not know itself.
So what's this got to do with me, you ask? Well, that remains to be seen. I've been toying with the idea of a similar "journey across the West" thing with a similar elemental force attempting to divorce itself of the need for violence. See, I'm hopeful (and I don't know that McCarthy is exactly hopeless) about where this whole humanity thing is going to go.
With profound apologies to my good friend Jarreau, whose name I heinously misspelled in the sidebar in the initial days of this blog.
Actual exchange (via e-mail):
J: YOU SPELLED MY FUCKING NAME WRONG
C: Oh, man, I'm so sorry. Although to be fair, in the last couple of years e-mailing back and forth, I'm pretty sure I misspelled it about every single time.
J: Fair enough. I guess that makes it half my fault, then.
Below you'll find the first five pages of this thing I'm working on - this serialized online comic project (link coming soon) that'll follow Warren Ellis's Freakangels model of 5 or so pages of an ongoing story per week.
I'll be posting more scripts from the same project here with the tag "Monster," the working title for this project.
Show me some love (or tell me how much you hate it) in the comments.
Monster Chapter 1 – Rob and Mouse Summer ’87 Part 1
Page 1: 4 Panels
Panel 1: Through the double lenses of a pair of binoculars we see an early-model sheriff’s car making its way up a dirt path strewn with junk, car parts, and old furniture. A driver and passenger are visible in outline through the window.
MOUSE (Caption): Big pig and li’l pig on the way, Rob.
Panel 2: Close on MOUSE with the binoculars still up to his face – the binoculars are huge and dominating the panel. We can see MOUSE’s mischievous grin below the lenses.
MOUSE: Better not let Ole Hoag see you with that gun after last time.
ROB (off panel): Mouse…
Panel 3: Draw back to a medium shot. MOUSE is lying on his belly on the roof of a trailer, surrounded by toys, knickknacks and snacks. ROB sits cross-legged next to MOUSE cradling an air rifle in his lap with one hand and holding a sandwich with the other.
ROB: Ole Sheriff Hoag sees me this time –
Panel 4: Medium shot of ROB pointing the rifle at the reader looking down its sight. The chapter title is below ROB.
ROB: -- I ain’t gonna miss.
Page 2: 5 Panels
Panel 1: ROB and MOUSE are pressed against one of the trailers, trying to keep out of view. MOUSE still has the binoculars around his neck and ROB has the air rifle at his side. Both are looking around the corner.
Panel 2: SHERIFF HOAG leans against the cruiser while DEPUTY RAMUSSEN stands on the passenger side with his thumbs looped into his belt. A paper bag with a label marking it as “EVIDENCE” with the date (03.22.87) sits on the hood of the car. HOAG is the fat, stereotypical backwoods lawman – mirrored shades, toothpick sticking out of his mouth and sweating buckets. HOAG is pointing his thumb at the bag.
HOAG: Gettin’ so you leave a backtrail of shit I gotta take care of, Jerry.
Panel 3: Extreme close-up on HOAG’s shades with JERRY reflected in them. JERRY is ROB and MOUSE’s dad, and he’s the skinny, union-flag tee-shirt wearing, long-haired tweaker you expect him to be. He’s sort of surly and defiant-looking in the reflection, clutching a baseball bat.
HOAG: I think we need ta –
JERRY: Fuck you fatass. I paid up.
Panel 4: Back to ROB and MOUSE again in hiding. MOUSE is stifling his laughter while ROB is shushing him, deadly serious.
ROB (whispering): Hush, Mouse.
MOUSE (whispering): Daddy called him fatass!
HOAG (Off panel): Now, money ain’t the issue, Jerry. You know –
JERRY (Off panel): Waddle back to town with your little butt buddy here before I curbstomp the both of you.
Panel 5: Two shot with HOAG and JERRY. HOAG is standing now, visibly pissed and dabbing at the sweat on his brow. JERRY is angry, right up in HOAG’s face pointing the bat at him.
HOAG: I got hookers springin’ extra titties. I got boys can’t see no more. I got staties from Tallahassee –
JERRY: Staties can go spin! YOU can talk to the big man in Sarasota ‘bout any of the need-to-know.
Page 3: 6 Panels
Panel 1: Similar setup as the last panel of the last page, but this time, RAMUSSEN is in-panel reaching out for JERRY.
HOAG: He know what this shit’s doin’ to folks?
JERRY: A coupla fucks get sick then that on them, Piggly-Wiggly.
HOAG: But it’s on my –
Panel 2: Close on JERRY’s face being slammed into the hood of the cruiser, nose first. Blood and a tooth explode from the point of impact. RAMUSSEN’s beefy hand is tangled in JERRY’s hair.
Panel 3: ROB motions for MOUSE to stay as he walks purposefully off-panel towards the adults.
MOUSE: Hey, don’t –
ROB: Stay here.
Panel 4: HOAG looks at an expressionless RAMUSSEN with his mouth wide open. JERRY sits on the ground, propped against the cruiser with a hand up to his face. Blood is running down the front of his shirt from his broken nose and he’s obviously missing one of his front teeth.
JERRY (all of his dialogue occurs behind the speech bubbles for HOAG and RAMUSSEN, as they ignore him as he talks through a broken nose): Da fuck?!
JERRY: Beckerwood Nadzi FUCK! Wad you do to my noze?!
HOAG: Didn’t need to do that, Abner.
RAMUSSEN: Didn’t need to. But wanted to since first year a’ high school.
HOAG: Still…
RAMUSSEN: Should road haul his greasy ass for the trouble.
JERRY (this is the only line NOT hidden by their dialogue): Ima dell Duges ‘bout dis! Dumb fuggers!
Panel 5: HOAG looks at RAMUSSEN; HOAG looks scared, his hat cocked back a little on his head. The most emotion RAMUSSEN shows is a little frown on his face.
RAMUSSEN: Duges?
HOAG: Dukes. Big Billy Dukes down Sarasota-way.
JERRY (off-panel, below them): Duges ig gonna gill y’all!
Panel 6: The same shot at 5, but HOAG is leading down, looking pleadingly at the still off-panel JERRY.
HOAG: Jerry, you don’t wanna go doin’ that. Why you wanna make us –
Page 4: 6 panels
Panel 1: A spray of air rifle pellets pelt HOAG and RAMUSSEN from off-panel. HOAG shields his face while RAMUSSEN looks head-on in ROB’s direction, a scowl twisting his face, pellets hitting him in the chest, nicking him in the neck and arms.
HOAG: Gah! Jerry, get yer damn… yowch! Stop it you li’l…
Panel 2: ROB fills the panel with the air rifle shooting at the reader. He looks incredibly pissed. MOUSE is seen peeking behind him, curious and scared.
Panel 3: RAMUSSEN walks up to ROB and hits him square in the face.
SFX: KRAK!
Panel 4: ROB is flat on his butt, his eye swollen and black, with MOUSE propping him up, simultaneously reaching for the rifle. RAMUSSEN’s fist is in the panel, balled up and ready to smack ROB again.
HOAG (off panel): Dep’ty! Dep’ty Ramussen! Stay off them boys, now hear?
Panel 5: RAMUSSEN has grabbed ROB by the front of his shirt with his fist reared back. ROB has delivered an ineffective punch to RAMUSSEN’s pellet-scarred jaw.
MAGGIE (off-panel coming from the opposite direction as HOAG): Get your kiddie-diddlin’ paws off my boy!
Panel 6: A shocked ROB and RAMUSSEN look towards the house. MOUSE has his hands over his ears and a grin on his face. The SFX below fills the entire space behind the characters, it’s so loud.
SFX: BOOM!
Page 5: 4 panels
Panel 1: MAGGIE, the boys’ mom, stands with a smoking shotgun at her hip and a crying baby on the other in front of the trailer door. She looks youngish – mid 20s or so. She’s really skinny, in short shorts and a tank top with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
MAGGIE: Get off my son, Ram. I ain’t tellin’ you again.
Panel 2: MAGGIE (smirking and still holding both the shotgun and the crying baby), JERRY (holding his bloody nose), ROB grinning and squinting through a black eye, and MOUSE (looking to ROB) stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the house.
HOAG (off panel): You done made yoself a mess a problems, Jerry! A real mess!
Panel 3: HOAG and RAMUSSEN are getting into the squad car. The front windshield has been blown out.
HOAG looks at the hole where the window used to be. RAMUSSEN keeps his jaw clenched in anger.
HOAG: Look what you done to my car you crazy –
RAMUSSEN (whispering): Shut up, Sherriff.
MAGGIE (off panel): Ram, you tell your mamma I said hello.
Panel 4: Front view of the cruiser driving away, HOAG gritting his teeth in anger and gripping the steering wheel while RAMUSSEN leans out the window.
HOAG: -- you ever hit nobody ‘less I say so!
HOAG: You hearin’ me, boy? And don’t think I didn’t hear you tellin’ me to shut up. I’ll damn well…
ROB (Caption): Damn, momma! You showed that ole Hoggie –
JERRY (Caption): What she done is buy us some trouble, Robbie. Whole mess of trouble.
To anyone who's seeing this post for the first time, welcome (although we've probably already met). The purpose of Monster in Your Veins will be to provide an outlet for my writing, and maybe give me a kick in the ass to get more done.
In the coming days, weeks, months (however long this whole internet thing keeps going) I'll be updating this space with new work - short stories, script excerpts (film and comics) and whatever else comes to mind. I'll also be harassing friends, associates, and hangers-on to contribute here as well.
One this space won't be is a linkdump. I've got too much writing to share to waste time with that. This is not to say I won't pass along the occasional article about the philosophical underpinnings of the "Dark Knight," or film reviews that I find particularly interesting.
I could use this post to tell you more about myself, but I hope my writing will do that for me. Comments, criticisms, disagreements, and Nigerian business proposals are all welcome in the comments.
Once again, welcome.
-Charles
P.S. - A little Venetian Snares to start this whole thing off:
