Here Lies Water by Matthew Nemeth

Here Lies Water by Matthew Nemeth

EXT. OCEAN – MORNING

Water. Just Water. Nothing else. Flat, static, unruffled.

Then, suddenly, a YOUNG MAN emerges from the deep. He breaks the surface, gasping for air. Clawing for stability. Panicked.

His trepidation swells as he takes in his surroundings.

EXT. OCEAN – AFTERNOON

The young man swims. His stroke is deft and dogged, albeit frantic. He kicks and paddles as if his life depends on it. And it does.

EXT. OCEAN – NIGHT

Darkness is pervasive. The young man floats. His chest undulates. Ripples emanate from his otherwise inert body.

EXT. OCEAN – MORNING

The sun rises over a ceaseless horizon. The young man is swimming again. His movements are less frenzied, though more belabored. Exhaustion has set in.

EXT. OCEAN – AFTERNOON

More swimming. The young man doesn’t want to, but he’s not yet resigned to his fate. So, he keeps at it, compounding his enervation.

EXT. OCEAN – NIGHT

Land is still worlds away and the young man knows it.

His forlorn gaze turns to the moon, alone in an inescapably black sky. He closes his eyes. Hopeless. And, in that moment, he understands nothing matters.

This feels like the end. Then, something seizes his attention.

An inflatable life raft, drifting past.

He treads water, staring dubiously at the raft.

EXT. OCEAN – MORNING

The young man lies asleep on the raft. Deep in slumber.

EXT. OCEAN – AFTERNOON

The young man paddles with a single oar. His destination is unknown, but he’s committed to getting there.

EXT. OCEAN – NIGHT

The young man reaches into the water, cups his hands and swallows. His eyes forage below the surface. But he finds nothing. He pushes himself back onto the raft and goes supine.

EXT. OCEAN – MORNING

The young man rows. Methodically, relentlessly, repetitively. The sound proves hypnotic. His mind moves elsewhere.

His face suddenly scrunches into a squint. In the distance, there’s motion. It looks like a rock skipping atop the water. Bouncing up and down. Headed directly toward the raft.

The young man watches as it gets bigger and bigger. Closer and closer. Clearer and clearer.

His eyes glaze in disbelief. And, then, something akin to hope.

It’s a motorboat, piloted by an OLD MAN in coveralls.

The boat slows to a stop. The raft bobs in its wake.

The old man groans, as he limps to the bow and looks down at the desperate seafarer.

The old man takes it all in. The young man. The life raft. The eternity of water surrounding them both. He folds his arms across his chest and sighs.

OLD MAN

That’s my boat.

As the two drifters silently regard each other…

FADE TO BLACK.



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