Not My First Rodeo
No, this isn’t a full leap into NaNoWriMo – but an exercise. Like a sketchbook, or a collection of doodles, but, ya know… with words.
Muffled Sirens. Indistinct chatter. Traffic.
Fade up:
INT. CORRIDOR – DAY
Swimming into focus: we are close on a BACKPACK, sitting on the floor. The main compartment slightly unzipped:
Inside, we see WIRES snaking around and into plastic PACKAGES WRAPPED WITH ELECTRICAL TAPE, grafted onto a MOUSE TRAP, and a CELL PHONE – on the screen, a timer races down.
In the background: CAUTION TAPE has been strung across the hallway, red and blue lights bounce across the walls.
rack focus to:
Behind the tape, a BOMB DISPOSAL TECHNICIAN arrives, carrying a TOOLBOX.
The Bomb Tech stops. Breathes in for four… holds for four… out for four… Calm. Steady.
Breathes Again – the background sounds melt away.
The tech ducks under the tape, and sets their tool box down.
Opening it, they snap on a pair of LATEX GLOVES.
Moving slowly and smoothly, they cautiously unzip the backpack fully.
Breathes in, 2, 3, 4… Another set of box breathing as they assess the device in front of them… and out, 2, 3, 4…
The bomb tech takes a neatly folded DISH TOWEL from their kit, and lays it on the ground beside the backpack. Calmly they remove WIRE-CUTTERS, SCREW DRIVERS, a DENTAL MIRROR, TWEEZERS etc. and arrange them on the towel.
Close focus, on their steady concentration as they begin dismantling – carefully separating components, gently removing them, and neatly laying them on the towel.
Gently they detach electrical wires from one side of a mousetrap, using a set of insulated pliers to hold the sprung side open…
The wire is coiled tightly, and is being a pain to remove…
Success! The trap is freed, and can be set aside…
SNAP!!
The trap fires as it touches the towel!
The bomb tech closes their eyes, and exhales that spike of adrenaline…. 2, 3, 4, hold, 2, 3, 4, and in, 2, 3, 4…
Reaching into their tool kit, they produce a set of disposable WOODEN CHOPSTICKS, and break them apart.
Using the chopsticks to lift loops of wire out of the bag, they carefully separate three coiled strands: RED, GREEN, and BLACK.
rack focus to:
The cellphone timer slips below Ten Seconds…
Inhale – grasp Wire cutters – Exhale – Eight Seconds…
Inhale – blades around black wire – Exhale – Six Seconds…
Beat.
The bomb tech’s eyes dance across the mass of wires – tracing their paths… Three Seconds…
Their grip on the cutters tightens – their eyes widen… Two Seconds…
The bomb tech releases the black wire, and hurriedly replaces it with the green…
snip.
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.
A toilet flushes. Running water.
fade up:
INT. BATHROOM – DAY
The bomb tech stands at the sink, scooping up water and rinsing their mouth. They splash the water onto their face, and look at themselves in the mirror: ashen and exhausted, with sweat-matted hair, and water dripping off their nose.
A long, slow exhale of relief.
They reach for a paper towel – but the DISPENSER is empty.
On the counter sits their tool kit – dishtowel scrunched up on top.
Grabbing the towel, the bomb tech dries off their face, then rubs the back of their neck with the damp towel.
Breathes in for four… holds for four… out for four…
Ok that helped…
The bomb tech looks back at their open tool box: on the underside of the lid there is A DEEP VERTICAL SCRATCH, about the length of a fingernail.
The tech considers the scratch, then reaches into the tool kit.
Picking up a screw driver, they add a second scratch:
The beginnings of a tally.
Titles:
“Not My First Rodeo”
Fade to black.