NOTE: This is another extremely short script I wrote awhile back that I decided to share. Not a lot to say about this one. I remember I wanted to do something revolving around the theme of “Identity.” This is a piece I’ve wanted to revisit for quite some time, so please share your opinions and let me know what you think.
INT. BATHROOM- NIGHT
A light flicks on illuminating a small, disheveled, apartment bathroom. The cheap tile floors are covered with stacks of old newspapers and various magazines, and the rim around the tub and sink is covered in a thick layer of dust. A man stumbles into his bathroom and leans over his sink throwing more periodicals onto the floor. He hangs his head over the sink breathing heavily as his shoulders slowly rise and fall with every breath. He lifts his head and stares at his face in the mirror above the sink. His hair is a tussled mess of unruly blonde strands and his eyes are dark and sunken into his skull; he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He continues to stare emotionlessly at his reflection.
I fucking hate you.
His expression remains one of bored neutrality as he reaches into one of the bathroom drawers and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, he sets it on the counter in front of him and returns his gaze to his reflection.
I know this is what you want. Don’t even try lying to me you conniving mother fucker. We both know how fucking amazing this would taste right now. You would kill to have this roll down the back of your throat like candy flavored lubricant. But it’s so much more than that. You don’t want this, you fucking need this. This bottle represents your entire life source. You’re a parasite, and this bottle is a rotting carcass. So, what’s your choice?
The man returns to staring at his reflection in silence.
You’ve really got nothing to say? Now, in your most dire moment, you have run out of things to say? Well that’s a fucking first.
The man grabs the neck of the bottle and rips the cap off. He brings the bottle to his lips, smelling the whiskey inside, he stops and looks back at his reflection still clutching the bottle.
This is what you want. This is what you’ve always wanted. I guess there’s no point right? You’ve got no one in your life, you live alone, and half the people your work with don’t even know your fucking name. Shit man, it could be days before anyone finds your body. So answer me this, why the fuck not?
The man’s eyes widen and his nostrils begin to flare as he starts screaming at his reflection.
Answer me right now go dammit! Don’t you dare sit there in silence thinking you’re somehow superior to me! You’re fucking weak! I dare you, I double dare you mother fucker take a drink right now! I know this is what you want!
The man’s hand attempts to bring the bottle to his lips but his hand is quivering so badly he has to set the bottle down. Exhaustedly, the man leans over the counter again and tilts his head towards his reflection.
People have a nasty habit of assuming nightmares only occur when we’re asleep, but I know what you’re going through feels like a constant nightmare that you can never awake from, and honestly, you’re right. This life can get exhausting and it sucks that you have to go through all of this alone, and as much as I wish and pray that I could say things will get better, they rarely ever do. So really, the only semblance of supportive words I can provide are: Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops.