There’s a small sound of pencil and paper colliding. It grows louder as time passes. After a beat, it stops.
The silence is broken by the sound of a piece of paper being torn in half.
INT. A DARK OFFICE SPACE
There’s a pair of feet in a pair of slippers underneath a desk. Ripped pieces of paper fall to the floor. There are multiple sheets of torn pieces of papers also on the ground, all filled with illegible script.
The rapid scribbling noise starts up again.
The pair of feet begin tapping along with the scribbling.
Another rip. More paper falls. One sheet reads: Thomas in a barely legible script.
At the desk is an unnamed WOMAN. She’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. There’s also a wedding band on her finger. She places a shaky hand on her forehead and begins drafting on another sheet of paper lying on her desk.
Around her are a lamp that lights the room, neatly stacked book, a bunch of boxes and a photograph depicting a handsome man and the beautiful woman grinning widely at each other.
Another rip. Papers fall to the ground.
The foot tapping begins again.
Another rip. More papers fall.
The woman looks up from her project and sits up straight. The sheet of paper in front of him reads: FOR THOMAS in an even messier script than before. She holds the sheet of paper against the light, squinting his eyes at it. She lowers the paper and turns away before ripping the piece of paper in half and tossing it to the floor.
She gets up and walks along a long corridor. She runs her hands through his hair and enters the bathroom.
She runs to the sink and turns it on, splashing water on his face. Around her is an empty tube of toothpaste and an empty bottle of prescription medication. She looks into the mirror at her wet, hollowed out face and touches her face, inhaling and exhaling sharply.
EXT. HOUSE – THREE MONTH EARLIER
The woman and man from the photograph are holding boxes and walking into an apartment together, smiling.
INT. OFFICE – THREE MONTHS EARLIER
The woman is sitting at her desk writing and the man comes and sets a hand on her shoulder.
BACK TO PRESENT.
She dries her face off.
The woman clicks the light on. The kitchen is also barely lit. There are a couple of appliances, a table and some chairs and nothing more. The sink is filled with dirty dishes and an empty cat bowl lies on the ground.
She opens the fridge. It’s empty except for an orange and a jar of grape jelly. She closes the fridge and slumps over to the cabinets.
On the countertop is an almost empty bag of bread. She grabs the last two pieces and the jelly from the fridge and sets them on the table.
She opens a drawer. It’s empty. She sighs, rolls up her sleeve and dips a hand into the sink and feels around for a knife.
She pulls one out and it’s extremely dirty. She washes it off with a bit of water and dries it off on her pants. She makes a sandwich and begins to eat, chewing awkwardly.
After finishing the sandwich, she looks to her wedding ring and pulls a phone from her pocket. There are several missed calls and text messages.
Are you okay?
Honey, it’s been a month already.
Have you been taking your meds?
Have you seen your doctor?
She sets her phone on the table face-down.
She sits back down at her desk, the swarm of paper still at her feet, and turns back to her work. She hunches over a blank sheet of paper notebook and begins to write: FOR THOMAS, MY LOVE, GONE TOO SOON.
She sits upright and looks to the photograph to her ring and then, she stands up.
The top sheet of stack of papers on her desk reads: BY JANIS IAN.
She picks up that page and the next reads: CHAPTER ONE.
She places her newly written page on top of that one and the other on top of that. She looks over her work and places a hand on top of the manuscript. She takes the ring off of her finder and sets it on top of the desk, near the photograph.
She starts picking up the sheets of discarded paper on the floor. After after picking up the rest of the mess, she starts towards the door.
Taking one last look at her workstation, she closes the door and walks away.
The sound of a pencil lightly scribbling on a piece of paper echoes over the black screen. As time goes on, the sound begins to grow louder and angrier, like nails on a chalk board.
Until suddenly, it stops…However, after a beat, the sound of a piece of paper being torn in half fills the silence and a pair slipper covered feet underneath a desk replaces the once black screen. A balled-up piece of paper falls to the ground near the pair of feet and the mad scribbling noise fills the air once more. A single foot begins to tap rapidly and anxiously on the floor as the scratchy scribbling becomes even more frantic than it was before, until once more, everything stops.
There’s another rip and another rejected piece of paper falls to the floor. Through the scribbling, the word: THOMAS can be made out in bold letters from in between the cracks and crevices on this rebuffed piece of paper.
The room is void of anything except the desk, the objects occupying it, a couple of packed boxes lying in a corner and a bunch of lonely scraps of unwanted paper lying on the ground next to the desk.
Sitting at the lonely desk, hunched over a notebook is an unnamed WOMAN. Her face is hollow, her hair is thrown up into a messy bun and she’s wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants and on her finger lies a small, gold wedding band. With a shaky un-manicured hand on her forehead and a pencil gripped tightly in the other, she begins writing something illegible onto a fresh piece of paper. The room is barely illuminated with the only source of light belonging to a small lamp on the woman’s desk. Sitting next to the lamp are several books stacked neatly on top of one another, a large stack of papers and a single framed photograph of the woman and a handsome man, smiling next to one another.
The frantic scribbling still echoes, bouncing off of the room’s empty walls, slowly becoming more and more agitated as time goes on. And moments later, the woman’s foot tapping against the hardwood floor begins to echo along with it. There’s another rip and another piece of paper is discarded to the floor.
It’s then that the scribbling and tapping stop. The room is silent and the woman looks up from her project and sits up straight. On the sheet of paper in front of her are the words: FOR THOMAS. The script is almost as illegible as the one on the previous sheet of paper that was discarded on the floor.
She holds up the paper and examines it against the light, squinting her eyes to get a better look at the two words on the piece of paper.
She lowers it somberly and swiftly tears up her work, turning her head before she can see what she’s done. She swiftly tosses the paper on the floor and looks to the photograph on her desk and to the ring on her finger, stands up from the desk and walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
She walks down a long, dim, corridor, running a hand through her hair, and then through a door to enter the bathroom. She turns on the faucet and throws her hands underneath the water. On the countertop is an open, empty bottle of prescription medication. She splashes some water on her face and looks into the mirror, staring at her wet face. There’s a flashback to her and the man from the photograph holding boxes and walking into a building, smiling. Then it cuts to another one of him standing over her as she sits at her desk, writing. After drying her face off with a towel, she walks into the kitchen and turns the light on.
It’s a simple kitchen with a couple of appliances cabinets, and a table and some chairs, but nothing more. The sink is filled to the brim with dirty dishes and an empty cat bowl lies on the floor next to the sink.
She opens the fridge and looks into its bright white abyss, but the shelves are bare except for a jar of grape jelly and an orange. She closes the fridge and slumps over to the cabinets.
Each one is empty. Next to the microwave, she discovers an almost empty bag of bread. She grabs the last two pieces of bread and the jelly from the fridge to make a sandwich. She opens a small drawer to look for a knife and there’s nothing inside. She sighs, rolls up her sleeve and sticks a hand into the mound of dirty dishes and searches blindly for a knife. After pulling one out of the mess, she runs some water over it and dries it off on her pants. She makes the sandwich and sits down at the table and begins to eat, chewing awkwardly. After eating, she strokes her ring finger and pulls a phone out of her pocket. The screen is cracked, and there are several unread messages reading things like: ARE YOU OKAY, IT’S BEEN A MONTH ALREADY HONEY and HAVE YOU BEEN SEEING DR. FRANKLIN and missed calls from MOM and ANGELA. She scrolls through a couple of the notifications and then locks her phone and sets it face-down on the table.
She gets up and walks back into her office and sits back down at her desk; the swarm of paper still lying on the floor. She turns back to her notebook and hunches over it once more, preparing to draft some more. She writes out the words: FOR THOMAS, MY LOVE, GONE TOO SOON and sits up straight. She looks to the photograph and stands up. The page on the top of the stack of papers reads: UNTITLED BY JANIS IAN. She picks up that page and the next reads: CHAPTER ONE. She places her newly written page on top of that one and the other on top of that. She looks over her work and places a hand on top of the manuscript. She takes the ring off of her finder and sets it on top of the desk, near the photograph.
She starts picking up the sheets of discarded paper on the floor and after picking up the rest of the mess, she starts towards the door. Taking one last look at her workstation, she closes the door and walks away.