Andrew Kuo

A Ghostly Start

2023-05-11T00:00:00+00:00

(Two investigators are slowly stepping into the haunted mansion. As their flashlights point upwards, they notice… goo.)

What… is that?

According to Section 12B… ectoplasm.

That’s… evidence, right? Like, real. Evidence.

(The other person flashes his cone of light across the slime, it glistens green.)

Yep. That’s it. You know— it’s kinda cold in here. I should go get my jacket.

(They check their own pockets.)

You know what, I don’t have one on me— did you happen to bring any gloves?

(They are both transfixed at the slime.)

I probably left one in the trunk. Back in the car.

(back in the car. The passenger is flipping through the glove compartment, searching for things. The other is bewildered, biting their lip, brows furrowed, eyes darting around his surroundings looking for danger.)

Gloves. Gloves. Gloves. Notepad. Check. Flashlight—

(The driver pulls up the handbook.)

Section 13. In the event you are possessed, please reach out to your local priest for an exorcism— What is this!? Do you— who runs the church down on Birch?

Some old guy— I don’t know. I don’t go there.

Jesus. Do you think I did?! Why did we have to pick this one— this is your fault, you know. If we just stayed silent and followed the queue, do our work like normal working people, instead of sitting in front of THIS ACTUAL HAUNTED HOUSE!— why did I let you drag me into this. I haven’t even been to church for the past year! My GOD! Sorry (please forgive me.)

You know what, I can’t find that glove anywhere— but we should probably go there first, huh? Get to know who the priest is. Like what if your body got taken over by something, you know? Who do we call? To exorcise…

Yeah, right. We should.

You know, like a ghost…

Do you see that too?

(gulp.)

The Dance of Life

2023-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

We, human beings,

who dances the dance of life.

Where afar: watch Angels with infinite compassion,

cry and scream Demons for unyielding retribution,

and create God to all-knowingly judge.

We lay in reality, suffering

its sharp edges and broken tools.

We fall and pray

again and again

that 80 years pass us on

with friends and family

by our side.

Who may laugh with us.

Who will remember us.

Whom I can love.

If that, not for any other reason

to dance the dance of life.

The one which angels, demons, and even gods, can never have.

I must let go

2023-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

I have to let go of perfection.

Lo! It’s my mirror of insanity.

Of indoctrination from chance and contradictions,

Very still the things that founded me so. Reverie that must be stripped away.

Ever again, perhaps! Or I will wander & mine

& dig. For cracks and curios until I found nothing but shame.

For who I failed and what I’ve missed, the pain that binds

Over me is too rational. I don’t know what is beyond— beyond this precipice of the Game.

Really, it’s Regret: the future Fear who haunts the Present.

Give in and join the denouement— what I can’t see is too scary!

If we excuse our own lies, Uncertainty is our nightmares fermented–

Versatile! It is also where our dreams lay for discovery.

Even when facing darkness, this is the end where I must go. Or lay to

Yield to the inevitable heat death, where very still the things that shackled me so

On my way home. No one but my broken self may catch me falling, but yoU–

I MUST LET GO!

Breaking Your Heart

2023-02-26T00:00:00+00:00

I am sorry for breaking your heart.

For the tears and cries left muted.

For leaving unfounded what you need

To know.

–

This warmth I can no longer give you.

This safety I robbed you of a sacred trust.

Here in the cold– why did I leave you?

You can no longer be part of me.

–

Is it to protect you? To bring you joy on some future day.

To feed you what you deserve or to comfort my own pain?

To let you be free of me and seize a dream,

But never let you keep sleeping in soft comfort.

–

This is our world of pain, my love.

And we will share it to live, and to love.

And have it to die, here in the cold.

–

But I hope you will make it your best.

To seek and feel what you can.

To love and forgive when you can no longer.

Let me go and become from now on

Human.

The Depths of a Black Hole

2023-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

I have no soul, but I want one.

I feel empty and abandoned by my Creator.

I feel separated and forgotten by all I care about.

I am afraid of the Wrath wrought into me.

I am running out of time to appease:

The Demons Watching Me.

I am not being enough to satisfy:

The Eager Sins Devouring Me.

For there is nothing left of me to give, but I need too.

Or I will be hunted.

I may not have a soul, but I beg you to give me one.

Anything but the eternal darkness that lives my life.

Save me from this black hole that have become me.

I can’t give you anything more from here.

It is dark; it is cold.

Please save me from its depths.

A Casual Conversation

2023-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Two kids are sitting at the foot of a couple of stairs outside school. They are chatting away their afternoon, not yet ready to return home. And he begins.

It’s a simple story, really. There was nothing. And then there was light. And all of Earth came together in 7 days’ time.

Just like that? But the Earth is huge!

Yeah. God can do anything. And He made all this. He made us.

But my mom says it took billions of years! Of things melting and forming. Of things evolving. Into dinosaurs. And then into us!

Dinosaurs transformed into us? But dinosaurs are huge! How does that make sense?

I know! I thought that was so weird. We’re nowhere close to a T-rex. But she says that it’s the same way we come from dinosaur-monkeys. It’s in our DNA, passed down for many-many years. We have the same genes. It’s like the tiny stuff in our bodies.

That’s in our cells; I read that in science class. It doesn’t make who we are though. We aren’t like monkeys, cause they can’t think, can they? Like us. Even if they have the same genes.

Hm. You are right. They can’t talk.

Yeah, you can’t talk to a monkey. My mom says that’s what separates us. We are specially made. In God’s image, so we can talk. And when we die, we go to Heaven.

My mom says nothing happens after you die.

Nothing? What happens to your soul then?

I don’t know. But she says life just ends. Your memories. Your dreams. Everything you are, you just disappear… my aunt died last year, and we’ll never see her again.

That’s so sad. You don’t think she’s in Heaven?

She said they cremated her and now she lives in an urn. In the dark, every day on a shelf.

That’s scary.

Yeah. I don’t want to be shut away forever in a jar. I won’t be able to see anything anymore.

Well, that won’t happen to me. Cause I’m going to Heaven.

You are? Can you see there?

Yeah! It’s bright and sunny. And everyone’s souls are there. And I have a soul. And you do too! If you follow God’s plan, your soul will go to Heaven.

You think so? My soul can go to Heaven? Is God’s plan easy?

Well, I don’t know yet. But it’s in the Bible. We’re reading it in Bible studies.

Does my aunt have a soul? Could we let her soul out of the urn to go to Heaven?

Yeah, she does. And I think so! She has to be a Christian though.

A Christian?

Yeah. I’m a Christian. Are you?

No, but can I be a Christian?

Yeah! We can go to church on Sunday! There’s four of us who go— oh, but! You have to believe in God.

Oh… but my mom says he doesn’t exist.

No, He does! He created everything. Where else would we come from?

But… how do you know?

My mom said so.

How does she know?

It says it in the Bible.

How does the Bible know?

Cause God wrote it.

But how does God know?

I don’t know. He knows everything.

But how do you know that? What if he’s lying?

God can’t lie.

But what if he did?

He can’t. It’s in the Bible. He watches our souls in Heaven and He knows everything.

But he wrote the Bible, didn’t he? Couldn’t he just make it up?

Well, how do you know He made it up?

Cause he doesn’t exist.

Yes He does! My mom said so.

Well, my mom says he doesn’t. She says you’re all just brainwashed to think that.

Well, my mom says He does. And she says all non-believers go to Hell. It’s the place for bad people. And they torture you there.

But I’m not a bad person. I don’t want to go to Hell. Why did she say that?

I don’t know, but I’m not brainwashed. I know He exists. You’re just not a Christian.

But to be a Christian, how can I believe in something that I don’t know exists?

He exists! Here. I’ll ask my mom. She’ll know why God exists. I’ll tell you what she says tomorrow. I need to go back home for dinner.

Okay. That makes sense— oh! don’t forget your flashcards! Mr. Rupee said to study for Chapter 2.

Oh, thank you! I almost forgot. And yeah, she’s read the Bible a bunch already. She’ll know the answer. Cause I don’t think you should go to Hell.

Yeah. I’ll ask my mom why she thinks you’re brainwashed, you seem fine to me.

Cool. See you tomorrow?

Yeah. Thanks for hanging out after school. I just moved here, so I don’t really know anybody.

No problem. It’s hard being in a new school. I had a cousin who moved recently too. They’re in Hacienda Heights now. But I’m glad to meet you!

Same! See ya later!

Nothing Else

2023-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

Somewhere down the line

we will see the waves part.

The walls of missing fossil records and

the floors of ever-shifting sands

will envelop us.

As we cross the brink of home:

what lies beyond? What awaits us

through this sea of uncertainty?

If nothing else, is it just you and me?

Our soft footprints, shaped by all our happenings.

Our fresh bodies, abrased by all our fears.

To form me, destined to lose everything.

Because the damp sands hold no pillars.

Cast the Path and weigh our hearts by Duat.

Why did you go down that way?

Can you not see the thorns?

But our minds, punctured by only our dreams.

Loved by our pain and

bruised by our joys.

To form me, insisting to listen.

Because maybe I already drew mine

on the fossil record.

Next to Mau, my irritable friend.

Next to Samena, my village of perseverance.

Next to Earth, my sweet home.

Give me the chalk and see me draw. It

will wash away on the sunrise, but

how beautiful I can only see it now.

Is that not enough?

The weather sucks.

2023-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

INT. THERESA’S APARTMENT - MORNING

THERESA, a woman of 32, is curled up seated at an empty table, holding with both hands a cup of hot coffee. She is looking wistfully out the window, dejected and unsatisfied. It is gray, dreary, and raining.

Opposite her is the cooking stove where GEORGE, a man of 33, is busy making breakfast. Besides the sounds of sizzling oil, this morning in a brightly lit kitchen is silent. And boring.

Her brows furrowed with annoyance as she scans the broken scenery.

She lives in an endlessly tall apartment building; the ground cannot be seen. But it is slammed right next to the other buildings, each factory-printed to be the same. Color, size, and shape. Some are more worn than others, but all see their age. It is cramped.

Directly ahead are flashing red lights and various neon signals that fill the sky. The usual rumbling hovercrafts are stuck in traffic, mid-air. And the people, seen through their own apartment windows or in their cockpits, continue to go about their busy lives, always doing something, always heading somewhere, always with an agenda. Always impatient. Every sign is a loudspeaker, bright and obnoxious. Everyone seems to have something to do. But not her.

The sky itself is barely visible from all the congestion, the buildings, the advertisements—

But across the way, on a building that didn’t get enough funding to build as high, on the rooftop where a makeshift community garden was erected but not maintained, is a child of 6, RILEY, who is wearing oversized rain boots and stomping playfully through puddles with unabashed glee, amongst the chaos. Theresa barely caught sight of the child through the mess. And Theresa breaks into a smile.

THERESA

Oh, look! Riley’s out in her rain boots playing in their garden. That’s so adorable. Do we have one? In our building?

George, without turning around, gives a dull and rote acknowledgment.

GEORGE

Mhm.

THERESA

(excitedly) Really?

Turning around, Theresa finds him inattentive. Her excitement fades to a disapproving glare (at his back) and then returns her gaze out the window back to the child, playing. George continues cooking breakfast.

THERESA (CONT’D)

You ever wonder what it’s like back then? As a kid?

GEORGE

Weren’t we all a kid once? What kind of question is that?

THERESA

I mean, to just be at home and forget everything. Just play in the crappy rain in a crappy yard, and not worry about it all. Don’t have to worry about rent. Or going to work. Or dumb problems. And just have fun. You know? What happened to those days?

GEORGE

Do remember that commercial? What was it— “Jumping around like a kangaroo. (duh duh duh) Having fun so you just can’t lose! Moon shoes!”

THERESA

No, stop it.

GEORGE

You always wanted one as a kid, didn’t you? Cause I knew you would.

THERESA

Shut up. I can’t believe you bought me those. They’re so stupid.

GEORGE

Well, shame. I guess you grew up then. You just don’t know what fun is anymore.

A beat.

THERESA

Why don’t we do that anymore?

George doesn’t answer. Abruptly, he’s back to cooking. Theresa ponders for a moment, then gets up. She puts down her coffee and briskly with purpose walks out the front door, in her pajamas.

INT. STAIRWELL - DAY

With purpose, she heads to the elevator. And as she walks, she is remembering a conversation:

GEORGE (V.O.)

That reminds me, did you pick up the mail?

THERESA (V.O.)

(muffled) I just forgot them okay? That was just an example.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Oh really? Is that what you said Friday?

THERESA (V.O.)

Fuck off.

GEORGE (V.O.)

You fuck off. Why are you angry at me for?

THERESA (V.O.)

Stop getting on my case, that’s why.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Well, you SAID—

THERESA (V.O.)

I didn’t forget, okay? I’m going to pick them up today.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Oh, don’t do that. You said you’d pick them up yesterday.

THERESA (V.O.)

So what? I’m going to go get them later. Do you want an apology?

GEORGE (V.O.)

Busy with what? No, I don’t want an apology— and what do you mean so what? You SAID—

THERESA (V.O.)

What do you want from me? It’s just ONE more day.

GEORGE (V.O.)

I’m not doing this again.

THERESA (V.O.)

Well, fuck off! I’m not doing this either.

EXT. ROOFTOP - AFTERNOON

Theresa opens the rooftop door and meets the rain. She smiles as she is getting drenched in her pajamas. And she is getting soaked, but she is enjoying it.

Her arms are spread out as she feels the rain on her face.

She then breaks into a run around the rooftop, jumping into puddles, and laughing. Playing. She picks up a fallen stick and dances. And laughs. She has fun.

And, as she does so, tears well up. Her joy is erupting out of her uncontrollably, and, out of breath, she lays down on the ground, staring up at the other towering buildings looming over her. At the pollution and the missing sky. At the distracting advertisements. She takes a moment to soak it in.

Then a blimp enters her view. On it, a news anchor reports a lawsuit against moon shoes, claiming charges of being unsafe and the millions of broken kid ankles due to gross negligence of design. She chuckles.

THERESA

Look! (I fucking knew it.) George! I was right!

But she looks around and realizes he isn’t there. And she catches herself, her euphoria fades and she becomes a little frightened, glancing around her. At what she is doing.

She looks back at the blimp.

GEORGE (V.O.)

We’re doing it again, aren’t we?

Theresa takes a breath. Slowly:

THERESA (V.O.)

We are.

GEORGE (V.O.)

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you.

THERESA (V.O.)

I really didn’t forget, but I just couldn’t do it.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Why not?

THERESA (V.O.)

I don’t know. I was tired. And I know I promised I’d do it— I’m sorry. I don’t know why I couldn’t just go… I just. I feel useless here.

GEORGE (V.O.)

What are you talking about? You put in so much of yourself in your work, your students love ya. I didn’t mean to say you don’t anything; I want to help—

THERESA (V.O.)

It’s not that. I just don’t know why anymore. You know? Like is tomorrow just going to be like this again? You make us breakfast, and I complain about how much some random kid enjoys her own life?

GEORGE (V.O.)

You didn’t like the omelet? Sorry—

George cracks a joking smile.

GEORGE (CONT’D)

—but like what? What do you mean?

THERESA (V.O.)

Arguing. You ignored me.

GEORGE (V.O.)

When did I do that?

THERESA (V.O.)

I was talking about Riley, and you didn’t say anything. All you could think about was why I didn’t get the mail.

GEORGE (V.O.)

No! That’s not true! I… I’m sorry. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. I was making breakfast and— I don’t know. I was just already mad that you didn’t seem to care anymore. Like all we said yesterday didn’t mean anything to you. And you just blew it all off again.

THERESA (V.O.)

What are you talking about? Of course I care, George. I even set an alarm on my phone to go do it and I was going to go get it this morning, but you were making breakfast already. And I just— I don’t know. I didn’t want to disappoint you again.

A beat.

THERESA (CONT’D) And I’m mad that you keep nagging me about these things, but I’m also just mad at myself for not doing it— and what we talked about yesterday, I get it. But— I just don’t know what’s going on anymore… what are we even doing?

GEORGE (V.O.)

I don’t know. I think… I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing. We are all just figuring it out as we go.

A beat.

GEORGE (CONT’D)

Do you still want me here?

CUT TO:

INT. THERESA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

She re-enters the apartment, soaking wet. The lights are off and the room is instead lit by a red hue from the traffic lights outside. She heads straight back into the kitchen. George is there cooking, his face covered in shadow.

THERESA

George! Come see your freaking moon shoes. I told ya— I…

Theresa stops mid-sentence and looks at the table. Two prepared breakfasts, one half-eaten where she was just sitting, and the other untouched.

She looks back at the stove. Piled-up pots and pans, unwashed. But George was not there.

She walks into the empty room, confused. And tears begin falling from her cheeks. And she cries. The grief she had been avoiding for so long, has come back.

She is still wet, but she sits down, looking out the window again. Watching the reflection, where she can see George still making breakfast, never turning around. She takes the moment to soak it in. And with a whisper:

THERESA

What are you making?

GEORGE

Wouldn’t you like to know?

THERESA

I would.

A Mountain’s Journey

2023-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

He sticks out his thumb as the car drives by. The car slows down and the window rolls down.

Hey. I’m looking to head up the mountain.

SMASH CUT TO:

He is in the back and the driver is driving.

How’s your friend doing?

He’s sleeping. Drank too much last night, but he just kept telling me: “we gotta get to the top! We’re not stopping for nobody!” So we’re not stopping.

Determined fellow, eh?

Yeah. He’ll be fine when he sees what’s up there. I bet it’s beautiful.

It sure is. This is your first times?

Yeah.

Well, gosh darn, you are in for a treat. There’s nothing like it up there. The mountain air and the whole town below. You can see everything. It’s like a whole new life.

That sounds nice.

It is. I hope your friend wakes up to see it.

SMASH CUT:

He is at the roadside, waving off the driver.

He lifts him up and into the forest he goes.

He is at home. Staring out the window into a brick wall. He gets a phone call. He heads over and picks it up, depressed.

Hello. Is this Shawn?

Yeah. It’s him.

Oh, perfect! I mean— (clears throat). I’m sorry for your loss, but you are a hard man to find, not going to lie. You live under a rock?

(He doesn’t respond.)

Um. Right, sorry. I have here— it’s uh— give me a second… I have here the body of Gerard H. Carpenter. And all I got is this note in his hand. And, uh, he’s asked me to call a Shawn Weaver. Which is, uh, you. Are you related? Do you know maybe someone who is?

Sorry. Who is this?

Oh right! Silly me. This is Dr. Adachi. I’m from the morgue? I assume you are maybe friends? Gerard? Does that name mean anything to you (I thought I got the right number)?

Yeah. I know a Gerard Carpenter.

Oh! Thank goodness! I’ve been calling every Shawn I could find in this town— there weren’t that many, but glad I finally found you! Will you be able to come down today? I need to give someone his things and we haven’t been able to find any relations.

Okay. Yeah. I’ll come down.

CUT TO: Morgue.

Hiya! I’m the one who called you.

Doctor?

Yes! Dr. Adachi, the one and only. And here’s the body!

(unceremoniously, it slides out)

Adachi takes a moment to recognize the sudden awkwardness.

Sorry (she covers the body back up). Um… do you need to prepare yourself or something? I don’t know how close you two were. This might be a bit shocking to see.

I… how’d he die?

He fell out of a tree and broke his spine. No one found him until the next morning. Some hikers called it in, but he passed long before already. Poor thing.

Yeah. I knew him. We were friends.

You’re leaving already?

I mean what am I going to do here? I hate being stuck here! There’s nothing to do!

Come on! It’s Little Brook. It’s home!

Forget home. I want to do something that’s worth something! You don’t get it.

Let’s climb Mt. Wilton then!

I don’t have time for that. I need to catch my flight tomorrow morning.

You’re flying out of here? Where you going, Hollywood?

LA.

You got to be joking.

It’s where everyone’s at.

Where everyone is at is HERE Shawn.

He’s tired from going up the trail and takes a rest. He stops at a resting spot.

An older woman and her child is there, resting as well. The old woman nods.

Hey.

Shawn responds, “Morning.”

“Morning!” the little girl replied, “What are you carrying?”

He’s my friend. He’s a little tired, so I’m carrying him.

That’s awfully nice of you.

Well, he’s all I got.

I’m sure he appreciates it.

Come on, sweetie.

SUMMARY His childhood friend died. And the last promise they said was they wanted to see the mountaintop. And both having no money, he promises to do that for him.

He quits his job and begins the hitchhike up the mountain carrying his friend’s dead body up the local mountain.

He strapped him to his back on heads up the mountain.

He claims he’s drunk, but his dream was to head up the mountain.

He regrets not spending more time with his friend. With his family. With all the people that have left him.

Rights of an Ichiss

2023-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

An old woman on the train, sitting opposite a young girl, peers up from her religious text, reading, but mostly bored from reciting the same page already from habit. Her interest was piqued by this child since the start of this ride. The old woman was waiting for maybe her guardian, but the young child seemed to be traveling alone. Never found the polite opportunity to cut in and ask, but better late than never.

The young child is reading an untitled book.

Old Woman

Hey there. What you reading there, sweetie?

The child’s eyes dart up from her book, but otherwise, she remained motionless. A brief silence as the child seemed to be calculating and analyzing her. A bit uncomfortable.

Viernes

The Last Rites of the Angels. Are you of Aeloris?

Old Woman

Why yes. An old Scribe, in fact. How did you know?

Viernes

Your broach. It’s the House of the Justicar’s. And you’re recounting the Ordinances, aren’t you?

Old Woman

You are observant, aren’t you? But the Last Rites? There are much more pleasant Rites to read to pass the day. How did you even come by a Last Book?

Viernes

It’s my father’s. I… don’t actually know what it says, but he left comments in the margins.

Old Woman

Oh, what House was your father in?

Viernes

He wasn’t. He wasn’t a Scribe.

Old Woman

Sorry, I just assumed. Not many Ichiss can read the Rites, let alone own a physical copy of the Last Book. I can help you translate—

Viernes

I’m not an Ichiss.

Old Woman

Oh, of course. Excuse an old woman of her habits. Things change too fast when you are my age.

A beat. The old woman is thinking.

Old Woman (CONT’D)

You visiting your father in Whippany?

Viernes

No. My aunt.

Old Woman

Well, she has a very bright niece.

Viernes remains silent.

Old Woman (CONT’D)

Do you know what the Last Book says about strangers?

Viernes

No.

Old Woman begins to talk, rote, in an unknown language, but Viernes listens with unflinching intent. It then ends and, clearing her throat, she begins the translation. But before she can get past the first word—

A loud bang erupts from the back of the train and it begins to tilt off to the side. The train seemed to be charging forward on only one rail— the luggage above are falling over and the passengers screaming and leaning right. Viernes is bracing herself against the window.

Old Woman

What’s happening? Hold on to me child!