Home Screenwriting Products Screenwriter Community Screenwriting Store
ScriptBuddy - Screenwriting Software for the Web

Screenwriter Community

Back to List of Published Screenplays
View/Leave Feedback

As Words Grow Wings (WIP)
by Ronnie Maszk

Rated: R   Genre: Westerns   User Review:

After his father is killed, Cort Seward is unsure of whether he should pursue the killer, or let the old, bitter ways die and transcend to a higher understanding of life, family and, ultimately, vengeance.

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.


We see flat, open terrain. Desert-like. The wind howls, and
then dies down. Starts and stops, over and again.

A man sits cross-legged on the cold, hard ground. The last
streaks of light dying on the horizon behind him. He stares
down the barrel of a rifle at something we don't see. He
waits for a long time. He fires.
He walks slowly, darkness swallowing him. A few rabbits
dangling from his right hand. He breathes heavily, continues
He approaches the beaten up shack sitting out in the middle
of nowhere.
The door opens, and he steps in. He sets his things down
before noticing a DEAD MAN sitting in a chair in the corner.
He stares for a long time before speaking.
No response. We ZOOM on the ragged, festering face of the
old, dead man. His eyes sit open, staring off a thousand
yards. A half-smile on his face. Two oozing bullet holes in
his stomach.

The MAN searches for something in the worthless clutter that
engulfs his one-room shack. He pulls out a LANTERN.
He carefully examines the dirt outside the door, and around
the front of the house. Several pairs of footprints lead in
and out. He hunkers down to examine them closer.
The MAN has wrapped the DEAD MAN in an old blanket, and has
closed his eyes and cleaned his face off.


He sits and roasts the skinned rabbits over an indoor fire,
staring deep into the flames. He pulls a pack of crumpled
tobacco out of one of his many pockets, rolls a cigarette
and lights it up.
He hastily eats the rabbits, spitting often. He stares over
at his dead father often, as well.
He smokes another cigarette on a bedroll. He kills it, and
lays his head down.
The MAN enters, the door dinging, nodding at the BARTENDER
that sits quietly behind the bar. He turns to the corner,
where another MAN sits with his heels on the table, guns sit
next to his feet.

As he approaches, the man stands and speaks.
                       MAN 2
Well, hell, Cort. You finally show
leavin' me sittin' for almost an
hour and a
Sit the hell down, Buford, and
finish your drink.
After that we can talk, and then I
won't feel so sorry for having to
hit you a couple times to settle
you down.
BUFORD smiles. CORT doesn't reciprocate.
Goddamn, if you ain't lookin' like
a Mary that just dropped her ice
Had to bury Pa.
You what? What the hell are you
talkin' about?


I said I had to bury Pa.
BUFORD frowns, all color, and humor draining from his face.
How did he go? Time just catch up
to him?
Fella's name mighta been Time, I
'spose. He had a few friends.
So he was killed?
CORT nods, removing his hat and setting it on the table.
Jesus Christ. No idea who?
If I had one either you'd still be
waitin' or I'd have an end to this
Goddamn it. What do we do?
I don't know. I don't know if
there is anything to do.
Where were you?
Getting' supper. Came back, he was
twice gutshot, still sittin' in
that damn chair he never leaves. I
couldn't find anything of use then
or this morning. Whoever it was
seems to have gotten away clean.
So that's it?
What do you want? If "Time" didn't
do it I woulda after a couple more
weeks with that bastard. If I do
find him, might just thank him.


Don't say that. He was your
father, for chrissakes.
CORT stands, and sighs.
I forgot to get a drink. Excuse
A group of riders in triangle formation ride across the
flatland toward us. We HOLD for what seems like forever
until their features are visible. There are five.

The lead rider, a bearded, weathered man wearing a duster
with several marshal badges fastened in it, raises his hand.
They come to a fast halt.

He pulls his hat off, wipes his brow and spits. His name is
      (to riders)
What do you say? Stop to stave
thirst, perhaps make a few
The man directly to his left, ABE, answers.
I don't know, Uri.
You goin' female on me, Abe? You
do know what these boys would do
to a nice proper lady, especially
with hair as nice as yours?
The other riders laugh dryly, nodding to each other. URIEL
guffaws. ABE can only crack a smile.
I know you like a drink. Hell, we
all do. But we stop at every
saloon we come by, and every
time...someone dies.
Everyone goes silent. URIEL turns to face ABE, bringing his
face closer.


Come on, now, Abe. I don't always
start the fights. I just end 'em.
More wheezing laughter from the other riders.
We aren't bad people, Uri. We
aren't supposed to be bad people.
Jesus, Abe. I am getting a damn
drink. You don't have to join.
Of course, Uriel.
They start to trot slowly toward the settlement.
And Abe? I won't touch anyone. You
have my word.
They nod endearingly to each other.
No one will.
BUFORD and CORT sip drinks, and converse.
Perhaps we mention somethin' to
He don't know shit.
I still might.
Well, I won't stop you.


Back to Top of Page
Leave Feedback
There is currently no feedback for this screenplay.

Back to Top of Page
Leave Feedback
You must be logged in to leave feedback.
Home    My Account    Products    Screenwriter Community    Screenwriter's Corner    Help
Forgot Your Password?    Privacy Policy    Copyright 2024, ScriptBuddy LLC.    Email help@scriptbuddy.com