“The Sto­ry­teller,” a short story about an sto­ry­teller who has stopped telling sto­ries, and a young writer who wants to un­der­stand why.

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INT. HOME - DAY

The sun shines through the win­dows onto the an­cient STO­RY­TELLER be­stow­ing wis­dom to the YOUNG WRITER.

She hangs on his every word.

STO­RY­TELLER

The story wants to be told. It is beg­ging to be told. I can hear the char­ac­ters now, scream­ing in my head!

YOUNG WRITER

Then why not write it, may I ask?

STO­RY­TELLER

I could­n’t pre­sume to, no more than I’d pre­sume to write y­ou.

He shakes his head nos­tal­gi­cally.

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

Some say that when when you write a char­ac­ter enough, they tell you who they are. But it’s the op­po­site: with a flick of a pen, you can rewrite their en­tire life story…

He laughs.

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

And they _want _you to! They _want _to be changed!

He turns to the young writer, sud­denly se­ri­ous.

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

Have you ever asked God for help? Have you ever asked him to make you stronger? To help you over­come those ob­sta­cles ahead?

YOUNG WRITER

Every night.

STO­RY­TELLER

(know­ing smile)

Yes, in­deed you do.

(beat)

They speak to me. They want things. I can give them what­ever they want… But if I do…

He shakes his head.

YOUNG WRITER

I just… I just want to un­der­stand. Please! You used to write the most beau­ti­ful of sto­ries, but then… What hap­pened? Please!

(beat)

Make me un­der­stand…

The sto­ry­teller sighs.

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

Give me three con­cepts, and I will give you three sto­ries. But!

(dra­matic)

Only… Only if you are very sure. If you are to un­der­stand, you must first change, and change… Is an un­pre­dictable thing. I can never know what story I’ll come up with un­til I start. You have been warned.

The young writer hes­i­tates…

She re­solves.

YOUNG WRITER

Three ideas? A man kills for ice cream… Some­one tries to cre­ate utopia… A woman seeks vengeance for her sis­ter’s death.

The sto­ry­teller con­sid­ers.

STO­RY­TELLER

Doable enough, I sup­pose.

(sigh)

If you are ab­solutely sure?

He sighs. Opens a blank book. Be­gins to write.

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

Ask, and ye shall re­ceive. There once was a man. He was­n’t an old man, nor par­tic­u­larly young…

EXT. FAIR - DAY

ADAM, not old, not young, wades through the crowd, smil­ing, care­free.

He sees some­thing on the ground.

ADAM

Cool!

He picks it up. Looks at it. In the glare of the sun, it’s im­pos­si­ble to see quite what the ob­ject is…

He stuffs it into an over­sized pocket.

Strolls to WENDY, ice cream ven­dor.

ADAM

Ma’am, could I have some ap­ple ice cream, please?

WENDY

Three dol­lars.

He searches through his pock­ets. Wendy’s smile fades. A cou­ple of dol­lars. Cou­ple of quar­ters. A penny.

He of­fers it, hop­ing.

WENDY (CON­T’D)

I’m sorry, but you need at least three dol­lars.

He looks around hope­lessly. No­body of­fers to help.

Wendy sighs. Moves the cup of ice cream to­wards the trash.

ADAM

WAIT!

Wendy turns back to him. She drops the ice cream.

He’s point­ing a GUN at her.

ADAM (CON­T’D)

Give me my ice cream!

VOICE (O.C.)

Adam! What are you do­ing?

Adam starts. Turns to­wards the voice– BANG!

He turns back to his arm. The gun. Wendy. The blood.

He faints.

INT. HOME - DAY

The young writer is not pleased.

YOUNG WRITER

That made no sense. And ap­ple ice cream?

STO­RY­TELLER

You asked for sto­ries. If you’re still un­happy af­ter the other two, feel free to com­plain, as much as you’re able, but no more in­ter­rup­tions!

INT. HIGH-TECH OF­FICE - DAY

JOHN sits be­hind the desk, speak­ing to in­vestors.

JOHN

I want to re­turn to The Gar­den of Eden. Pure bliss… Where all can be chil­dren for­ever… Where the in­san­ity of the world can be left be­hind…

He walks over to a woman. It’s hard to make out her fea­tures…

JOHN (CON­T’D)

And to­day, gen­tle­men, it has be­gun! We have al­tered adult minds–minds like those be­long­ing to Eve, here–

He chuck­les at her name. Holds up her hand to show off her bracelet, en­graved: “EVE. Eden, Inc.”

JOHN (CON­T’D)

Back to their child-like states. Our ro­bots…

He in­di­cates ro­bots stand­ing be­hind Eve.

JOHN (CON­T’D)

Our ro­bots are their par­ents. Their guides. Eve is one of two. I have changed the world, gen­tle­men. Noth­ing will ever be the same.

EXT. FAIR - DAY

The woman–DI­ANA–rushes up to Wendy, but it’s too late.

Di­ana takes the man’s gun. BANG! He’s dead.

She searches him. A bracelet. “ADAM. Eden, Inc.”

She looks up. Two ro­bots ap­proach.

DI­ANA

Take me to your boss.

INT. HIGH-TECH OF­FICE - DAY

John COW­ERS in the cor­ner, the muz­zle of the gun point­ing up his chin.

JOHN

Just the two! Just Adam and Eve!

WOMAN

Then where is Eve?

INT. HIGH-TECH OF­FICE - LATER

John lies on the ground, a BUL­LET HOLE through his head.

INT. HOME - DAY

The sto­ry­teller lifts his pen from the pa­per.

YOUNG WRITER

And? What about Eve? This is ridicu­lous! Why was there a gun ly­ing around–

STO­RY­TELLER

Be­cause I wrote it. Do you not see?

(con­sid­ers)

I sup­pose not. Very well. I will change you. I will make you un­der­stand, if only briefly…

The sto­ry­teller turns back to the pa­per. Scrib­bles some­thing.

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

Do you not feel it? Your life chang­ing around you?

YOUNG WRITER

What do you mean?

Feet pound up the stairs.

The door slams open. It’s Di­ana!

STO­RY­TELLER (CON­T’D)

You’re Eve.

Di­ana shoots. The young writer–EVE–falls to the ground.

The sto­ry­teller closes the book.

BLACK.