Days of the Weak

Luke Perkins

Deakin University

EXT: WALKING TRACK (DAWN)

We see the distant silhouette and shadows of a young couple walking hand-in-hand down a bushy, suburban footpath. The pair speak to each other and laugh, albeit incomprehensibly, as everything sounds hazy and distant. The camera slowly closes in on its subjects and the conversation becomes more audible.

CURVE:

God, I’m on a downer Wilbur, my head feels like fucking Chernobyl. You still got those poppers?

WILBUR:

[Laughs] You haven’t even taken anything, loser.

CURVE:

Right, I’m just fucking wasted. Two days of sobriety lost in a bottle of Hennessy.

WILBUR:

Come on cowgirl, live a little.

CURVE:

I’ve never been accused of not living before. Who else can honestly say they’ve swallowed a musician’s load backstage?

WILBUR:

Yoko Ono?

CURVE shoves a cigarette in her mouth.

CURVE:

treeLight?

The camera pans out to focus on an upcoming tree. A red balloon drifts out to the right of the tree. The vague outline of a human shoe is exposed from behind the tree.

CURVE:

Did you see that Wil?

WILBUR:

See what?

CURVE:

That balloon!

CURVE points in the direction of the stray balloon and follows its path with her finger. The camera EYELINE MATCHES her.

CURVE:

It came from that tree, just over – Hey, a shoe!

CURVE drops her cigarette and runs over to the tree, WILBUR following closely behind. CURVE arrives first and stops dead in her tracks.

CURVE:

Sweet Mary, virgin mother of Jesus!

WILBUR:

Well what is it Curve?

CURVE:

It’s a fucking cadaver, that’s what.

The camera cuts to a body pushed hard up against the tree, starting with an exposed shoe and gradually scaling the entire body – an Asian woman wearing a pleated skirt, still holding a briefcase in her left hand.

As they inspect the body, a young man appears from the dense bushes behind, running quickly towards CURVE and WILBUR.

FISH:

Hey! [Panting with hands on knees] Too bad you guys had to see that Japanese tourist girl too.

WILBUR:

Yeah, she’s a keeper … Wait, what makes you so sure she’s Japanese?

FISH pulls his eyes in an upwards slant.

FISH:

Her eyes go this way. Chinese eyes go like this, man. [Pulls eyes downwards]

CURVE:

My God, are you fucking kidding me? That is so racist!

WILBUR:

Well maybe she’s got some ID on her.

WILBUR bends down beside the body and opens the briefcase. The camera focuses on the briefcase momentarily to reveal that it is filled with several thousand dollars in Yen. Dramatic lighting (unrealistically) illuminates the case.

WILBUR:

God damn, the girl’s a gold mine!

FISH:

I told ya she was Japanese.

CURVE:

Fuck, what do we do?

FISH:

Only one thing to do …

Split the diff. [Pointing at the others, followed by himself]

One, two, three.

CURVE:

No! We can’t do that …  Right?

The three stand still, looking at each other. The camera individually frames FISH, CURVE and WILBUR (in that order), before cycling rapidly between them.

Camera shows the open briefcase, and the three simultaneously pop into frame behind the case, wide-eyed.

FISH closes the briefcase before stepping back.

FISH:

Aw, man … She’s still holding it.

WILBUR:

I dunno dude, this feels kinda wrong …

CURVE:

Oh you fucking pussies, I’ll do it myself.

CURVE grabs the briefcase from the girl’s hand, but it soon becomes apparent the body has a firm grip on the case.

CURVE:

[Exuding effort] Let go you little witch!

CURVE gives one great heave and the girl’s arm snaps off along with the case, making an exaggerated snapping sound. She plummets to the ground with the arm and case atop her body.

CURVE:

[Shrieks] EWWW! Get it off me!

WILBUR and FISH look at each other, giggling which builds into laughter.

CURVE stands up and dusts herself off.

CURVE:

It’s not funny, you gaping, haemorrhoidal assholes.

FISH:

[Between laughter] The bitch is still holding it!

WILBUR:

Well we can’t just leave the arm here Curve; your fingerprints are all over it.

CURVE:

I don’t think we could get rid of that fucking arm if we tried.

CORPSE:

UGHN!

CURVE, FISH & WILBUR:

ARGH!

“The Pink” by Medicine plays. The trio run off with the case and arm. PULL BACK SHOT to overhead of dense bush and the walking track. Camera fades to a similar overhead shot but with a car now in view parked alongside the track and the three fast approaching it.

FISH:

Get in!

The doors are closed and the car pulls out of view. A cluster of red balloons drift by. FADE OUT.

 

INT- FISH’S CAR (EARLY MORNING)

The camera displays a frontal view of a car interior, originating from the windscreen. FISH is in the driver’s seat, WILBUR is in the passenger seat and CURVE is in the back with her bottle of Hennessy. A dog sits beside her. An open highway is visible through the rear window.

CURVE:

You didn’t tell me we’d be riding with a mutt. It’s awfully crowded back here with a suitcase, a limb and a bitch.

FISH:

Her name’s Ice-blink … And there are two bitches in the back, apparently.

CURVE:

[Sticking her finger up] Drink from my menstrual cup, spawn of Satan.

FISH:

Menstruation would explain why you’re being such a damn moody bitch.

WILBUR:

Don’t mind Curve, man, she’s a bit aloof with strangers is all. And she’s still drinking. Don’t you think you’ve had enough by now babe?

CURVE:

Enough … Such a subjective word.

CURVE takes one last mouthful of drink before screwing the top on the bottle and letting it slide to the floor. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back.

WILBUR:

Oh, uh, we never got a chance to introduce ourselves back there, did we [scratching his head]? Not every day you find a dead body, huh? I’m Wilbur and this is Curve.

FISH:

Charmed. Call me Fish.

WILBUR:

Will do, Fish.

A beat.

FISH:

[Looking over his shoulder] Hey Wilberforce, your girl’s out cold.

The camera focuses on CURVE lying across the back seat, eyes closed. She stirs gently before abruptly thrusting upright and vomiting over herself, the severed arm and the suitcase. ICE-BLINK crawls over her body and begins to lick up the mess. The camera assumes a frontal view of the car again.

FISH:

Ice! Bad, bad dog!

WILBUR:

Christ, we’re sorry [putting a hand to his head].

FISH:

Don’t stress yourself man, it’s nothing.

FISH removes his shirt, bunches it up in a ball and tosses it at CURVE’s head.

FISH:

Get yourself cleaned up you little fucknugget.

A beat. CURVE does not move and is seemingly out cold again, with the shirt covering her head. The camera cuts to a new angle – starting at FISH’s left hand (WILBUR’s EYELINE) and rising to reveal several tattoos covering his torso and a pierced left nipple. FISH makes direct eye contact with the camera.

WILBUR:

Uh … Sorry, I-uh, didn’t mean to stare. I’ve just never seen so many tattoos on one body.

FISH:

Have you ever touched so many tattoos on one body?

FISH grabs WILBUR’s right hand and moves it along his body. WILBUR begins to breathe heavily. FISH moves WILBUR’s hand down his chest towards his pubic region.

FISH:

I bet you’re wondering what other tats I’ve got down here, aren’t ya?

WILBUR nods several times in quick succession. His breathing becomes more laboured as his hand reaches a lower position. The music suddenly stops and Curve sits rapidly upright.

CURVE:

What the fuck are you two cocksuckers playing at?

WILBUR AND FISH quickly and rigidly move as far apart as possible.

WILBUR:

We, er …

FISH:

He was down there looking for … Well, we were …

WILBUR:

Fish’s cassette collection!

FISH:

Under the seat … [clears throat] And my cigarettes – they’re in my pocket, see [pulls out cigarettes].

CURVE:

Mmhm. [rolls eyes]Where are you taking us anyway? Don’t go all Ivan Milat on me now.

FISH:

There’s a motel just out of town.

CURVE:

A 5-star portrait of prestige like yourself, no doubt.

FISH:

Hey, wasn’t that your liver I saw on my back seat five minutes ago?

CURVE:

Eat my fuck.

WILBUR:

Come on guys, you’re being way hostile. We’ve got a few thousand quid in the back and we’re on a road trip! You always wanted to go on a road trip, right babe?

WILBUR reaches his hand to the back of the car for CURVE to hold. She lightly intertwines her fingers with his for a moment before slowly letting go.

***

Luke Perkins is an unambitious, part-time student from the borderline ghetto of Geelong North. He has a penchant for occasionally distasteful dark humour and a fond admiration of anything approaching the realms of highbrow pretentiousness.

Image by Kathryn Rowan, Deakin University