All Rights Reserved
If found, please return to: –
Sheffield Hallam University
INT. FLAT HALLWAY. NIGHT
A shabby narrow corridor outside a block of flats. The
shoddy paintwork on the balcony flakes, and many walls are
plastered with graffiti.
DEEP BASS several doors down rumble the entire structure of
the building, and a COUPLE is faintly heard shouting and
screaming in the opposite direction.
Ian (aged 36) bangs on the angry red door of flat 70. He
hasn’t shaven in days, and he wears a black trenchcoat
that’s half-intimidating and half-tramp.
He bangs on the door again.
All right, all right!
There’s movement behind the door. Two moments, and it opens
a crack, held back by the security chain attached with
A MAN, similar age to Ian, looks out to him, behind
square-rimmed glasses, His round face is almost child-like,
and his neat hair compliments his well-kempt appearance and
Can I help you?
Silence. An awkward pause. Ian fidgets uncomfortably. He
appears on edge – agitated.
If you don’t want anything, then
I’m closing the door now…
The man slowly closes the door. He murmurs under his breath
from the other side.
Ian looks left and right, up and down the corridor, looking
for something. There’s not a soul in sight. Then he pulls
himself together and bangs on the door again.
The door opens. The man looks back at Ian with annoyance and
hint of anger in his eyes now.
(Again, quietly – almost shy)
Open the door…
(Now more confident and
I said open the door!
I’m not letting you in until you
tell me what you want, Goodby–
The door begins to close, but Ian stops it at the last
Hey! What the hell!?
BANG. Ian rams into the door with his shoulder, breaking the
chain and bursting into the:
INT. FLAT. NIGHT
The man backs up into the equally tidy room, stumbling back
in fear like a trapped deer.
Ian opens his trenchcoat pocket, pulling out a loaded,
deadly HANDGUN. He points it with two hands at the man. In
return, he puts his hands up, completely defenceless.
Woah…Woah, take it easy.
Take whatever you want. I have
money around the flat. Go ahead, I
won’t tell anyone. Just…Just
please, please, don’t hurt me.
I’m not interested in your money or
belongings! I’m–It’s you I want.
Despite his words, Ian sweats unconvincingly and his hand
trembles as he aims.
Please, I’ll do whatever you want.
Just please…please don’t fucking
I wish it were that simple…I was
contracted to do this, to protect
the ones I love.
I have family too, I understand
what you’re going thr–
–Don’t you dare! You have no
fucking clue what I’m going
I’ll help you! I’ll help you
protect your family.
No-one can help me.
And he pulls the trigger.
INT. FLAT HALLWAY. NIGHT
The door of flat 70 opens. Ian slips out. He closes it
slowly and quietly. He heads down the corridor. He doesn’t
look back. His face: a picture of remorse.
EXT. PARK. DAY
Autumn, browned leaves die and fall from the nearest trees.
There’s a chilling BREEZE, breaking the silence.
Ian enters the rusty gates of the park with his collar up
and his head down. There’s a man seated at a nearby bench.
His face is the other way, but his jet black, pin-striped
suit and bowler hat is distinct and recognisable. His name
is Mr. Coral.
Ian takes a seat next to Mr. Coral, but doesn’t turn to face
him. Mr. Coral doesn’t turn to Ian either.
Autumn is a funny time of year,
isn’t it? So much going on, and yet
so many people can’t wait to retire
for the year.
Ian doesn’t say a word.
MR. CORAL (CONT’D)
To me, it’s all about change. From
tree’s leaves, to the people. What
about you? What does it mean to
Hmm. I’m not surprised you say
MR. CORAL (CONT’D)
I don’t approve of killing others,
Ian. But I must tell you, if you
want me to ease you conscience, the
man in flat 70 used to be a killer
himself. Nobody will miss him.
What if they did?
What about his family?
He doesn’t have any.
That’s not what he told me…
Think of it this way: you’ve kept
the balance. One of you lives and
one of you dies.
That doesn’t make it okay! By
killing him, I’m no different.
The agreement was that I’d provide
the cure for–Well, we both know
you’re a little ’under the
weather’, so to speak. But to
obtain something, you have to make
I’m not prepared to betray what I
believe in to save myself. I’m
sorry, but no.
So you didn’t–
No. No I didn’t.
But you’ll die.
Without the cure, I know.
With a start, Ian raises from his seat and looks down at Mr.
Coral, who maintains his unfazed, stiff posture.
He puts the gun down on the bench, next to Mr. Coral. A
gentle breeze whistles through the air and rustles the
breathless ember leaves.
Ian buttons up his coat, pulling it closer around his
skeleton frame. They hold the stare – an unspoken agreement
of their parting ways.
Ian turns and walks away, leaving Coral on the bench.
Where are you going?
Ian pauses, but doesn’t look back.
To say my goodbyes.
And he resumes walking, exiting through the rusted gates and
out into the cold world.