HELLO, ASSHOLE
“Hello, asshole. Come closer. Let her go.”
Beat.
“I used to be a hitman. And yeah... they still haven’t killed me.”
He stares at you. You—the one who just opened this book, or whatever the hell this is. You, who are so goddamn broken you don’t even know what you are.
“I look you in the eyes and ask: Man? Woman? What the fuck are you?”
Beat.
“If you’re not sure, this isn’t for you. Get the hell out. Do it now. Before it’s too late.”
He waits. You don’t move.
“Still here? Your call. But I’m warning you: what’s coming will destroy you. Or maybe you’re drawn to the abyss—if you’ve got the balls to look.”
He leans back, cold.
“Don’t look for filters here. There are none. I don’t know how to write any other way. And I don’t want to.”
He leans forward, voice dropping.
“I’m going to drag you to a place where intentions hurt. Forget about morals. Welcome to my story.”
His eyes lock onto yours.
“It’s called SICARIO. Because that’s what I am. That’s what I’ll be until they kill me.”
A shrug. Hard.
“So whatever you think about this...”
Pause.
“I don’t give a shit. Believe me.”
What you’re holding isn’t a regular novel. It’s not exactly a movie script either.
And if you get lost... congratulations. You’re halfway to figuring out what this is about.
The reader would do well not to trust anything in these pages—not the last ones, not the first ones. Especially the last ones.
The publisher shouldn’t either. Fuck them.
EXT. MARISCAL CANYON — NIGHT — 1915
SARA (20) stares at the Texas shore. She wears a blanket shirt, bandoliers, a COLT PEACEMAKER on her hip. Three RANGERS fire from the ridge above.
OFF-SCREEN:I stay close to Vera. I hear the bullets bite into the sand.
BLAM! BLAM!The Rangers duck for cover.
RANGER:“It’s the Arrow girl! Watch out!”
The wax gatherers reach the reeds. Safe.
Sara grabs the bag of silver, dodges two shots, and throws herself into the water. She disappears with the current.
FADE TO BLACK.
Vera smiles.
“Perfect!” she says. “Don’t you think?”
“Perfect,” I confirm.
She Ain’t Sorry(Ruby Renegade) plays—incoming call.TGMO: Vera. It’s for you. The publisher.
VERA:Fuck them. Fake bastards.
She takes the phone from my hands and hangs up.
TGMO:And the studio?
VERA:What about them?
TGMO:They want you to tone it down too.
VERA:And what did you tell them?
TGMO:That this isn’t a novel. It’s a movie. And nobody in the movies gets offended by a few swear words. They want you to adjust the sex, the insults... you know, the usual fake bullshit.
VERA:The sex? Everyone fucks. The insults? Everyone insults when they’ve been hurt.
Pause.
TGMO:So?
VERA:So fuck them. We’ll send it to someone else. I already have a couple of offers.
TGMO:I call that a triple somersault with a twist. I just don’t know if you’ll land on your feet.
Stop Crying Your Heart Out(Oasis) plays.
I WRITE:
OUT OF FRAME
NO GAME RULES, NO OTHER THINGS
By Vera Swan
PART ONE
THE CAMPUS
FADE IN
ACT I: THE EXERCISE
FADE OUT
A FEW YEARS AGO
Cottonwood Heights. Daniel’s room. Saturday, September 23rd. 9:35 PM
He writes:
NO GAME RULES, NO OTHER THINGS
“Hello, asshole. Come closer. Let her go...”
“...So whatever you think about this...”
“I don’t give a shit. Believe me.”
OUT OF FRAME
Or don’t do it. After all, maybe I don’t know anything about the world out there. Maybe I’m trapped in a time that keeps crawling, thick, between these four walls. What can someone with a valve in their head know—someone who sometimes feels like a whore and other times like a princess? What can someone know who trembles at the touch of the one who changes their bandages?
“Stop, stop. Hold on. Are you really going to leave it like that? Are you going to let him say all that and just leave it?”
“Of course. I’m not saying it. He is.”
“The reader won’t know that.”
“Then the reader shouldn’t read me.”
She laughs.
“I know. Should we keep going?”
Daniel remembers the words his professor had spoken the day before in Dramaturgy class.
“And one more thing. I’ve gotten some suggestions. From above.”
He points to the ceiling. Smiles.
“Use fewer swear words. Make the sex scenes more implied. Don’t offend anyone.”
Pause.
“So write however the fuck you want.”
Adam looks at Sofía. She looks down.
“But these words never came out of my mouth,” Don Carlos clarifies. “This was Denzel. My character—the one who sometimes sits next to me in the passenger seat while I’m driving around.”
That said... Don Carlos turns toward the blackboard. When he turns back to face the class, he’s taken off the mask and says:
“Stop, stop, stop. Hold on—what am I missing here? Daniel, I’m sorry, but you can’t write like that. At least not without getting yourself locked up.”
“Like what, professor? Didn’t you tell us to be honest?”
“Are you fucking with me? Huh, Daniel? I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything.”
RING, RING, RING!—The bell rings.
END OF CHAPTER 1
