EXT. CITY BACK STREET – LATE EVENING
The weather is bleak – a lightning storm highlights the dark grey sky in angry flashes.
A Man (42, harried, wearing a cheap suit) hurries on his way home from work. He brings his briefcase over his head as fat drops of rain start plopping to the Earth. His mobile phone rings - obnoxious technology in this powerful show of nature - and the Man fumbles to locate it whilst attempting to remain dry.
Once answered, the caller has barely had enough time to say a word before the Man is shaking his head.
MAN: No. No. No Jeffrey. As I already told you this morning, I want the Wilson’s account to be settled first. Yes, then deal with Carrigan and his incessant demands. Why is this so hard for you to understand—?
Lightning bleaches the world in an instant of blinding force, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder.
The Man looks at his phone, shakes it as if reviving it and returns it to his ear.
MAN: Hello? Jeffrey? Jeffrey! Damn it!
He stabs at his phone with his thumb. No signal.
Another lighting white out, this time, as it dissipates, A body is briefly illuminated in the street ahead.
The Man pauses, squinting ahead as if the body is a trick of the storm. The hand holding his phone, temporarily forgotten, falls to his side.
FUUUU-WOKKK!
He startles in fright as another crack of thunder rips the world. His briefcase no longer a suitable shield to the rain, he submits to a dampening.
The body - barefoot, dressed entirely in black, androgynous, and apparently unconscious - is almost impossible to see in the backdrop of the gloom. Only the paleness of its skin gives away its position.
Regaining his sensibility, the Man walks over to the body, approaching cautiously – drunks could be dangerous – even, psychotic drunks, to be out in this weather?
He rolls it over with the least amount of contact – did he really want to soil himself on this possible hobo? The body flops almost lifelessly, a tinge of blood at the corner of its mouth; its eyes blink open slowly… staring past the Man, to the sky above, longing.
MAN: Hey, are you alright?
Neither male nor female, the creature closes its eyes. Impossible to tell tears disguised in rain, its eyes say it all: it mourns.
CREATURE: Father’s angry.
The Man, less scared now and more concerned, wipes the blood from its mouth. He brushes the long dark hair from its face.
MAN: What happened to you?
The worst hurt anyone could possibly imagine has come to pass; inflicted on this poor precious beauty, and evident on its face.
It looks from the Man, to the sky above…
CREATURE (sobbing): I fell…
The Man follows its gaze to the Heavens above: dark grumbling clouds alive with ferocious activity and static power…
FADE TO BLACK.
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