A Short Film
INT. HALLWAY — DAY
Open on the hallway of a college dormitory. It’s daytime, though it’s difficult to tell. The electric lights are all off, and there aren’t any windows nearby. Nobody’s walking around. All the doors are closed. A couple of them have DIY signs on them: “Occupied.” “Still Here.” “Alive.”
Most don’t.
INT. DORM — DAY
A college dorm room, a little odd looking. The door is locked with the chain pulled. The walls are completely barren. In the room’s center sits a dresser with two seats (a folding chair and an exercise ball) around it, an attempt at a dining table. There’s a desk pulled next to the sink, topped with a fire extinguisher and a porcelain plate, which is overflowing with charred paper scraps and ash.
LUKE cooks dinner at the table, opening several cans of meat and vegetables and stirring them together in a bowl with a butter knife.
Further from the door, AUSTIN leans by a frost-covered window with a phone in hand. He and Luke both wear winter coats, hats, and gloves. He glances out the window: the world below is an icy wasteland. Austin removes a glove and blows at his hand to keep it warm, then taps one of his contacts: “Dad.” He buries his unprotected hand in his coat pocket while the phone rings. And rings. And rings.
Nobody answers it. Concern falls over Austin’s face. Luke’s stirring continues at pace. Austin tries the next number in his contacts: “Dani.” It rings. And rings. While it does, Luke picks up two smaller bowls filled with their dinner. He starts toward the dresser-table.
LUKE: Austin, can you grab that?
Austin glances up. Luke gestures to the larger bowl, sitting near the sink.
AUSTIN: Yeah. Just a sec.
LUKE: Just put it in the center of the table.
Austin watches his phone. “Dani” never answers his call. He stands and makes his way to the table, where Luke is setting down the larger bowl. Austin looks back to the sink, then back to the table. Luke’s done his job for him.
AUSTIN: I was gonna do it.
LUKE: Well now it’s done.
Luke takes a seat at the exercise ball.
AUSTIN (98% joking): Oh, fuck you. Taking the good seat. I can’t have it today, even?
LUKE: Well I cooked dinner, so.
AUSTIN: Yeah, I guess. (pause) What is today?
LUKE (mouth full): Seventeenth.
AUSTIN: How’d you know that?
Luke points at a wall calendar on “April,” still filled out and crossed out to that day.
LUKE: How’d you not?
Austin doesn’t answer. He looks down at his bowl and frowns at it. He stirs through it with a plastic spoon.
AUSTIN: Luke. What is this?
LUKE: Buncha shit. Why?
AUSTIN (holding up a spoonful): No, no. What is this? Are these green beans?
LUKE: Yeah. (pause) What? They’re healthy.
AUSTIN: A dinner with green beans in it is not worth the good seat.
LUKE: Better than no dinner. Then where would we be? Not alive, that’s for damn sure.
AUSTIN: A life eating green beans is no life at all.
Austin pauses, waiting for Luke to laugh.
AUSTIN: I think Descartes said that, right?
LUKE: Look, if you don’t like the dinner and you want the good chair, maybe try making dinner for once.
AUSTIN: I make dinner.
LUKE: Aha-ha, you fucking do not.
AUSTIN: Well I could. I could make better dinner than this. The seasoning is for shit.
LUKE: We used up the garlic salt, what do you want from me?
AUSTIN: Well… not green beans.
LUKE: That’s what we fucking found, dude. You were there. I’m using what I’m given, okay?
AUSTIN: I can pick around them.
LUKE: Or you can help make dinner once in a while instead of wasting all your time calling everybody from before.
AUSTIN (meek, and after a pause): It’s not a waste of time.
LUKE: Nobody’s calling back.
Austin eats in silence, not making eye contact with his roommate. Luke eyes him. After a moment, his shoulders sink.
LUKE (guiltily): Has anyone called you back?
AUSTIN: Is that supposed to be a joke? You’d know if they had. We’re always in the same room.
Heavy pause.
LUKE: You’re right, (points at bowl) the seasoning’s fucked in this. I’ll look for stuff. Tomorrow I was thinking we can go up to the eighth floor and scavenge a little bit, that sound good? You remember, uh, Leah Caldwell? She lived up there and she said her roommate liked cooking, so… maybe there’ll be something. … And, uh, we need to look for new comforters soon. These ones are starting to smell like cattle for some reason.
AUSTIN: They really are.
LUKE: Yeah, so I’ll dump ’em in the laundry room like last time. … And, uh, I’m sure you could use some new wiring and batteries and whatever, right? To help keep the phone charged.
AUSTIN: Yeah. Once I get that stable maybe we could get some music going, too.
LUKE: Eh. That doesn’t really seem necessary, you know? Um, what else? I think it’s your turn to collect paper for the fire. So that means I’ll get the comforters. Yeah.
Austin smirks.
LUKE: What?
AUSTIN (between laughter): Sorry… I… I’m trying not to laugh, sorry. I just, I just didn’t think the end of the world would still have so much housework. Chores and all that, you know?
LUKE: It has to be done. You know it does.
AUSTIN: I know, it’s just funny.
LUKE: It’s necessary, dude. Without the paper for the fire, we’ll fucking freeze to death in here.
AUSTIN: Yeah. I know.
LUKE: Do you though? When you joke about it, it seems like you don’t. It kinda seems like I’m the only one trying to keep us alive.
AUSTIN: Well shit. That’s kinda dark.
LUKE: No, I’m serious. I don’t think you would’ve made it this long without —
AUSTIN: Wait, are you… you’re serious? That’s bullshit, I could’ve survived.
LUKE: I don’t know… I —
AUSTIN: I could’ve survived. And I’d be a lot happier about it than I am now.
LUKE: What’s that supposed to mean, you’re not happy now? Nobody’s happy right now. The fucking world ended, dude, nobody’s happy about it.
AUSTIN: I’d have music, at least.
LUKE: Yeah, and no blankets.
AUSTIN: I’m not stupid. I’d have blankets. And I wouldn’t have to deal with you telling me that it’s a waste of time to be calling my dad.
LUKE: You’d be a fucking ice cube right now! You know it as well as I do.
AUSTIN: That’s not how anatomy works!
LUKE: I know that’s not how anatomy works!
AUSTIN: No shit! Obviously! I was kidding! God, don’t you laugh anymore? It’s not fun to be around you anymore, man! I used to like talking to you. And now you’re just… blah. All the time. And I get it’s the end of the world, but come on! It’s like living with a rock! Every day is the same day! It’s the same joyless day over and —
LUKE: It’s called a routine, it’s what kept us alive this long! I could care less if you get joy out of it, you’re not … um, that Tidying Up lady!
AUSTIN: Marie Kondo!?
LUKE: Yeah, Marie Kondo! We don’t have room for joy, or happiness, or sadness, or whatever! Not here! Survive! The present — that’s all! If you don’t like that, too bad. Your other option is to go and die somewhere!
AUSTIN: Or I can go and live somewhere, right? Because this shit isn’t living, I’ll tell you that right now. It’s the same day, every day. Go to a different floor, rummage through somebody’s shit, take some paper, burn it, eat canned tuna like we’re cats or something, and fucking green beans, do it again tomorrow, I can’t take it anymore, dude! If not today, when?
LUKE: What’s that mean? What’s today?
AUSTIN: The seventeenth is my birthday. I thought you might know. You’re usually on top of that shit. I thought we might’ve changed your precious little routine. Just barely. Something. And —
Austin flaps his arms in defeat. A silence passes between them. Luke stares at him, cold, unimpressed.
LUKE: I have an extra can of green beans if you want ’em.
AUSTIN: You’re a piece of shit, man.
Austin stands, the chair scraping loudly behind him. He storms toward the door and unlocks it. Luke stands.
LUKE: What? It’s a birthday, Austin. You want a cake or something? Why don’t you go outside and make one out of the fucking snow!
Austin throws the door open.
LUKE: Where are you going?
AUSTIN: I don’t fucking know, man. Some place you aren’t.
LUKE (sarcastically): Well good luck out there.
Austin shuts the door.
LUKE (cont’d): Oh, and happy birthday! Don’t forget to grab some blankets!
Luke sits in the silence, staring at his food. He laughs, a terse, mean-spirited laugh, and shakes his head. He takes the last bite of his food, then stands as he’s chewing and starts to clear the table.
A song starts to play. Luke freezes. He looks frightened. His eyes dart around the room for the source, and find it: Austin’s phone, near the window, left behind in a hasty exit. Luke approaches it and picks up the phone. The call is from “Gabby.” Luke stares at the call. His eyes twitch a little. His lips are pursed tight. His jaw trembles. He’s visibly trying to keep his emotions restrained. He squeezes his eyes shut and tenses every part of his face.
The call goes to voicemail, and the song cuts off mid-word.
Luke opens his eyes and sets the phone down. He doesn’t move for a moment, then returns to cleaning the table. He carries both small bowls to the sink. He takes a minute to wipe something from his eye, then begins washing dishes.
End.