Imani's Opening Scene, Draft One

INT. IMANI’S BEDROOM – AFTERNOON
A small brown bird sits helplessly in a traditional bronze-stained cage, staring out at a wide wall of glass block windows. Nothing of value can be seen outside the windows but the swift, milling movement of rain slipping from the glass on the other side. The bird hops about curiously, chirping once in a while, until she hears the door creak behind her. She looks toward the door.
IMANI (O.S.)
Whipple, my love.
The door to the bird cage opens. IMANI FLAMANT cups her hands around the tiny bird, takes her out, places her on her shoulder. The bird hops anxiously, then settles as IMANI gracefully turns back towards the door.
There is little furniture in the room, but what is there is ornate: a long mahogany vanity dresser with brushed bronze handles, dozens of small statues of tiny animals made of various precious metals, a full-sized bed with dull pink bedsheets. Shelf after shelf is lined with media: DVDs, CDs, books… Her stereo plays a soft, lyricless piano melody. IMANI idly spins across the thick violet rug, watches the bird as it hops, attempting to keep its balance.
IMANI stops at the decorative vanity dresser. On top of it, right next to the wide mirror, is what looks like a statue of a tiny white bird, round and pudgy like Whipple. It’s a model, and its wings look unfinished. Their skeletal structure can be seen underneath translucent white fabric. She picks up the fake bird, puts it on her other shoulder, presses a button on its little head. The bird’s eyes glow green. It chirps at Whipple. Whipple chirps back.
Imani’s MOTHER quickly walks past the open door to Imani’s room with her cell phone to her ear.
MOTHER
My daughter is brilliant, sir, and I have the admission fee in cash, plus the tuition in full, but we can’t…
IMANI hums to the song on the radio and plays with her birds.
INT. FLAMANT ESTATE LIVING ROOM – AFTERNOON
MOTHER walks down the stairs into the living room, talking busily.
MOTHER
I am a scientist, sir. The best in the region and you know this! And my daughter, she takes after me. She builds animals. It’s amazing. You’d think they were real! She builds birds at seventeen. I sent you her portfolio. Yes. And I’m rich, and I want her in this school. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose. All I ask is that we arrange for her to take online courses, or the instructors can come to her…Yes, I know…I know how much the equipment costs…
MOTHER slumps down on a luxurious Chesterfield sofa, toying slightly with one of her long brown dreadlocks.
MOTHER
She can’t. She can’t come in. No. I can put her on the phone, if you’d like. Video phone. Conference? Sir, I will pay the extra…I, I…Listen.
INT. IMANI’S BEDROOM – AFTERNOON
A gold-trimmed pitcher of fruit juice sits on Imani’s nightstand. She pours herself a glass, quietly and happily, surrounded by her two chirping friends.
MOTHER (O.S.)
My daughter, sir…she’s very…very shy.
IMANI puts the glass to her lips, gazes out the window.
MOTHER (O.S.)
She never leaves the house. She looks…different from most people. No, sir, No, I know what coddling is. I’m not coddling. That’s not what I’m doing, you see, she…she…she’s loved science and birds since she was just a girl, and she…
INT. FLAMANT ESTATE LIVING ROOM – AFTERNOON
MOTHER pauses for a moment. Her eyes begin to water. The holds her forehead in her hand, cringing as she speaks.
MOTHER
…And she…I…
Slowly, she composes herself. She sits up straight, takes a deep breath.
MOTHER
She wanted so badly to fly…so I…
INT. IMANI’S BEDROOM – AFTERNOON
IMANI looks in the mirror. Her smile is bittersweet.
She unfolds her wide, white wings from behind her. A gust of wind shakes the room and alerts the two birds. The wings are ornate and golden, with finessed white fabric covering its structure.
MOTHER
I gave my baby wings.
IMANI cheerfully turns on her heels towards the door and leaves. PAN left from the mirror to the wall of block glass windows. A large, long, short figure stops in front of it, waits. It slowly lopes away.
CUT TO:
EXT. FLAMANT ESTATE BACKYARD GARDEN – LATE AFTERNOON
IMANI’S wings drag lightly on the soft, rich ground as she approaches the small stream in her backyard. The yard is completely surrounded by a tall stone fence. The nearest neighbor is 300 yards away. This is the only outdoor place where she feels safe.
IMANI
(narrating)
My name is Imani Flamant. I am seventeen.
The rain has stopped. IMANI slips off her garden boots, sets a towel on the grass. The bottoms are muddy and the laces are worn, but the rest of the shoes look brand-new. She isn’t wearing socks. Wrapping her wings around her, she sits by the stream and puts her feet in the water.
IMANI
(narrating)
I haven’t left my home in thirteen years.
She looks to the koi pond on her right. It’s so ornately decorated it’s almost tacky. She splashes her feet. Whipple is back in her room, only the cybernetic bird remains on her shoulder. She tickles it, and it chirps at her.
MOTHER stands on the patio, just outside of the sliding doors. She looks worried.
IMANI sighs a little.
IMANI
Stanton wouldn’t take me either?
MOTHER
They wanted to, baby. They couldn’t.
IMANI
(turning around)
Do you think I…?
MOTHER
(interrupting)
You’re going to college. You deserve to go to college. I don’t care if we have to relocate across the sea, you are going to college, don’t you worry.
IMANI
Ma…
MOTHER has a furious grip on her cell phone as she heads back towards the door, gesturing to her daughter busily.
MOTHER
You have been accepted into five of the world’s most prestigious technology institutes without ever showing your face. Five. I’ll be damned if not one of them will let you attend remotely. Excuse me, baby.
She leaves, dialing up a number to another school.
Turning back around, IMANI sighs again. She splashes her feet in the stream.
Suddenly, in the bushes far beyond the stream, a commotion occurs. IMANI looks up in fear. She starts to get up almost instantly.
A small black cat runs through, chasing a butterfly. IMANI sits back down and smiles.
IMANI
(narrating)
I’m afraid to be seen. By anyone. But there’s always a moment in time, where you have to face your fears…
Ambient sounds of birds, water, and rushing wind calm her. She closes her eyes, takes a deep, deep breath, opens them again. She balks.
Out of the bushes comes a full-grown male lion. It looks at her.
IMANI flails in shock, attempts to scramble to her feet and fails.
IMANI
YAH!!!
Unable to properly stand, she tries to scoot backwards to get away instead but only manages to get her feet out of the stream and into the mud. She attempts to keep silent, in case that would help her situation at all.
The LION looks somewhat unamused. It turns away, takes a couple steps forward, pauses, looks at her again.
IMANI shivers uncontrollably. Her voice has shriveled to a peep.
IMANI
M-Ma…Mama?
The LION takes a step into the stream, stares into it vacantly, as if looking for fish. The koi pond is directly between him and Imani. Imani’s shivering begins to slow, but her breathing hasn’t calmed at all. The LION looks at her again, but promptly looks away. Imani is starting to get confused; the lion’s trying awfully hard to look disinterested.
IMANI shakes and shivers to her feet.
IMANI
(quietly, to herself)
L-Lions…don’t live…don’t even live here!
The LION looks stunned. Her heard her. It’s almost as if he is shocked to discover he doesn’t belong here.

Screenplay to Film - Ninja Assassin

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YAKUZA ONE
Hey, boss. This just came for you.

HOLLYWOOD
What is it?

YAKUZA ONE
A letter.

HOLLYWOOD
So open it, dumb ass.

He opens the origami envelope, then hesitates at what he sees.

HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)
What? What is it?

He pours the contents out into his hand.

YAKUZA ONE
Looks like sand.

He tastes it.

YAKUZA ONE (CONT'D)
Yup. Sand. Black Sand.

The tattoo master drops his brush. It clatters to the floor.

TATTOO MASTER

No...

HOLLYWOOD
You know what this is?

The artist barely nods.

HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)
Wanna let us in on the joke?

TATTOO MASTER
Years ago, I watched a man open an envelope like that one.

His eyes pool with fury at the memory.

TATTOO MASTER (CONT'D)
There were many with him and they laughed like you laugh now. Then it came from the shadows and their laughter was drowned in blood. You cannot bargain with what is coming. You cannot reason with it. Because it is not a human being. It is a demon sent straight from hell that will never stop until you are dead.

HOLLYWOOD
What came out of the shadows?

TATTOO MASTER
I cannot say the word.

HOLLYWOOD
What word?

He pulls open his robe, revealing a hauntingly beautiful tattoo of a Shinobi dragon thrusting its blade into a lump of scar tissue at the center of his heart.

TATTOO ARTIST
That night, one of their blades struck here. I should have died, but for an accident of birth. My heart is here, on the other side.

Hollywood peers closer at the dark figure of the demon.

HOLLYWOOD
What the fuck is that?

YAKUZA ONE
Looks like a Ninja, boss.

HOLLYWOOD
A ninja? Are you kidding me? That's the word you're afraid to say? Ninja?

As he starts to laugh.

HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)
Ninja-Ninja-Ninja!

His laughter is infectious.

HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)
You old fuck! You had me going! Ninja. That's some good shit.

His Lieutenant laughs hard with him until the top of his head disappears, sliced off from his jaw up, leaving his tongue wagging in space.

Light shatter around the room.

Chaos ensues. The panicked screams of the fleeing entourage co-mingle in chorus with gruesome death rattles of Hollywood's foot soldiers as one by one, they are eviscerated.

There's a RUSH of movement, more felt than seen. The whistle of swords through the air. Cries and screams. Guns that fire suddenly and are just as suddenly stilled.

STAY on the face of the Tattoo Master, barely visible in the thin trace of moonlight from a nearby window. Frozen. Immobile. As the killing continues around him.

Then: silence, broken by the sound of heavy, desperate BREATHING, and a MATCH being struck by Hollywood who looks up --

-- and sees a dark figure standing before him. Everyone else is dead. Only he and the Tattoo Master remain. The figure regards him with still silence. For perhaps the first time in his life, Hollywood is terrified.

HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)
Listen...you don't have to do this! Whatever you're getting paid, I'll triple it! You hear me! I'll pay you whatever you want! Just name your price!

Their answers is silence. Hollywood sees his guns nearby. With a desperate scream, he THROWS the match in the air as he DIVES for his guns, grabbing one in each hand.

There is a whistle of metal and suddenly his severed hands are tumbling gracefully through the air.

The blade swings again, slicing through his body as if it were barely there, coming out the other side as --

-- Hollywood's body erupts as it falls in two pieces, splattering the artist with blood.

The match touches the floor and goes out.

The Tattoo Master does not move, has not moved. Frozen.

TATTOO ARTIST
But you are real, aren't you?

After a moment, the ninja emerged into the moonlight, the way a shadow coalesces into a panther gliding from the dark to inspect its kill.

The artist doesn't move, but his eyes widen, his heart pounding in his ears.

TATTOO ARTIST (CONT'D)
For fifty-seven years, I've told your story...No one ever believed me.

The ninja walked towards him, his steps soundless. He crouches down, his eyes taking in the old man's tattoo.

TATTOO ARTIST (CONT'D)

But you are real, aren't you?

There's the shing of a sword being unsheathed. The artist closes his eyes, anticipating death.

Silence. He waits for the death blow. It does not come. He finally forces himself to open his yes.

The ninja is gone, having departed as silently as he came, leaving death and blood in his wake.

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