The Abyss.

Here lay all the unfinished, unpublished stories. Paruse and enjoy—and if something catches your eye, tell me about it.

Talk To ME

A man on death row searching for meaning in the last few months of life he has left. Does he find it?

Does he go insane? Maybe he is already insane.

*Intended for animated adaptation.

Nutshell

A cartoon drawing of a man named Humberto, with one full-body view and a separate close-up of his face. He has messy brown hair, a beard, and a tired expression. He is wearing an orange jumpsuit with rolled-up sleeves and pants, and orange slippers. Handwritten text states 'Humberto' and 'character design,' with an arrow pointing to the full-body image.
A solitary metal bed with a thin mattress and pillow sits against a weathered brick wall in a dim, grim jail cell, with smoke or mist swirling around.
Minimalist illustration of a small, enclosed prison cell with dark blue walls and a barred window in the door. A lone gray toilet is in the corner.

Excerpt.

( Oatmeal sides through. He ignores it as he writes )

 

 

                                    I've never been much of a poet. But death really brings the artist out of you.

                                    Memento Mori.

 

( note to self #29)

 

                                   I am regrettable,

                                   But will not regret.

                                   I am shameful,

                                   But will not shame.

                                   I am human,

                                   And I will die.

 

 

(Oatmeal slides through the bottom of the door. He begins to eat, analyzing every spoonful. He draws a line in the oatmeal—the beginning of a letter. Then stops. He stares at the door.)

 

                                   VO- I am lost

                                   I want a drug to take away

                                   The doom and gloom

                                   It's hard to run away

                                   When you are stuck in a room

                                   I don’t expect answers

                                   To come through the door

                                   So I'll write until ….

 

(A guard swings the door open. He quickly hides his makeshift pen and paper. One stands in front of the door. A second guard walks in and stands in front of the adjacent wall. Then, through a blinding white light, a beautiful girl walks in. His gaze locked in on her. Her beauty paralyzes him. Time slows as he watches her. She picks up the tray and leaves along with the guards.)

 

(He paces back and forth in excitement and frustration.)

 

                                     WHAT A WASTE OF PAPER, OF INK, AND TIME! HAS SHE ALWAYS BEEN THERE?

                                 DOES SHE ALWAYS COLLECT MY TRAYS? SHE’S MY LETTER. MY NOTE. MY POEM.

                                 SOMETHING BETTER.

 

[ last note to self]

 

                                      VO- If not to woo

                                      for that would be defeatist

                                      Then to what avail

                                      to have an opportunity

                                      To leave a memory.