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BIRD IN WINTER by Josh Dahl Page 1 Panel 1 The bird Tight shot on a peregrine falcon with claws and beak rending a smaller bird apart. It need not be completely clear in this shot, but the birds are on the flat top of a telephone pole. Tight on some blood-spattered white feathers falling away from the violence. It makes sense that it should happen this way... Pulled back slightly, seeing those feathers still falling past the pole. Now we see they are joining a few scattered snow flakes. Around it we can start to see a dinghy, gray, urban neighborhood. That the sky should break and the earth should shake. The flakes and the feathers, still drifting down, are falling past a teenage boy, EDGAR, dressed mostly in black. He is some combination of mixed race. He doesn't look exactly like any specific race. He has a thick winter cap pulled down as low as it can go without covering his eyes. He is carrying an electric guitar in a case. As if to say, sure it all matters... From a very low angle, the blood spattered feathers have landed, and Edgar has continued past them unaware. but in such an unimportant way. Its shadow Edgar looking down at his shadow cast ahead of him on the sidewalk. There is a strange shadow laying across his. He can't see what it is, and neither can the reader, but it is the shadow of the falcon. It is causing bizarre wings on his shadow. Fly away, sweet bird of prey. Low angle shot looking up into the sun, past Edgar and the falcon. Edgar is looking up at the falcon. Maybe raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Sweet bird, if you knew the words... Edgar starts to take a step, still looking up at the bird.

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I know that you'd say, fly... Caption Page 3 Panel 1 fly away. The strings Close up on fingers trying to pull open a plastic box of guitar picks. If possible, they can look like the falcon talons tearing at the bird from page 1. It makes sense that it should hurt in this way. Wider shot showing Edgar busting the pack open and the picks all bursting out. We can see his modestly furnished, messy, room. He has some punk posters on the walls, some dinosaur toys on a shelf, and a violin case that you might not notice at first glance. The open guitar case is much more prominent. There is a large black electric guitar inside. Edgar standing with the guitar strap over his shoulder. He is in a cool guitar pose and looking back over his shoulder at a picture of Joe Strummer on the wall. He is checking to make sure that he is in the same pose. The guitar is plugged into an amp sitting on his bed. That my heart should break... Extreme high angle (or low if that works better) of Edgar raising a guitar pick high and about to smash it down across the strings. and my hands should shake. Their music Edgar smashing out an awesome rock chord. The guitar is the same as the previous page, but the scene is different. Now he is on a low stage in a garage being used as a show venue. There are a few lousy lights on him. His hair is messy, but moussed. He is wearing a tight, black, t-shirt with the word "death" printed on it. He looks like this could be the awesomest moment of his life. Maybe we can see some other teenage band members, maybe some people in the teenage crowd. They don't matter, though, this is Edgar's time. As if to say, sure it don't matter... Later that same night, a now sweat-soaked and ragged Edgar hammers away at some awesomely complex guitar thing. We can see all of the sweaty people in front of him. Some still wearing winter hats. One tall, drunken, teen swigs from a 40 ounce beer bottle. except in the most important way.

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Smiling and dripping sweat, Edgar is snatching the bottle away from the guy. Beer and saliva splash out of the guy's mouth. Caption Caption Panel 4 As if to say... hey... Close on Edgar swigging from the bottle. Emphasis on the wetness of his face and the bottle. Several of his knuckles have been cut open by guitar strings. Wide panel, across the bottom of the page. Edgar stands outside the crappy garage/industrial place where he just played. He is standing in the snow in chuck taylor shoes. He is holding his guitar in its case. Under that same arm, he is carrying his jacket. He is wearing his sweat-soaked t-shirt which is steaming in the cold night air. A van is pulling away with some of his band mates in it. The driver is happily waving at Edgar. Edgar is happily waving a bloody knuckled middle finger at the van. There are a few other punk kids straggling out into the night. hey. The cold Edgar is about a block away, his guitar case leaning up against a phone pole or something industrial. He is putting on his jacket. The place he left is still visible behind him. Fly away, sweet bird of prey Picking up the guitar case, a thin crust of snow falls from it. A younger Edgar is taking violin lessons at the home of a very old Asian woman. We can see snow out a window. She has empty bird cages in her home. He is lowering a violin from his chin and listening as she talks. VIOLIN TEACHER Until it is warmer, Edgar, you will leave your violin here with me. Cold and warm and cold and warm will make the strings go out of tune. Panel 4 Young Edgar and the teacher talking. EDGAR But I can just tune it again when I get home. VIOLIN TEACHER No. Too much tuning is bad. The strings will stretch and the neck will bend. It will lose its

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sweetness. Panel 5 Close of snow landing on present-day Edgar's cheeks and eye lashes. He is cupping his hands around his mouth and blowing warm air through them. Fly, fly away, I won't stand in your way. its chill From nearly his POV. Edgar holds his hands in front of his face and looks at them. They are thin and pale and shaking. Sweet bird... One thin, cold, hand grabbing the handle of his guitar case. Flash forward. Edgar is older. This shot is tight on his hand as he takes an oxford shirt on a hanger off the rack in his closet. Pull back slightly to see that it is an older Edgar who is selecting the shirt. He has a normal haircut. The real focus of the shot, however, is in the closet. In the back, behind where the shirt had been, we see the violin case leaning up against the guitar case. Both are unused. Maybe they have dust on them. Maybe some laundry or something like that. if you knew... Older Edgar in his same room from before. It is slightly neater, but all of the individual stuff is gone. No dinosaurs. No posters, except one motivational poster with an image of a seagull in flight. Edgar is joylessly buttoning up his shirt. the words. The wings Young Edgar slouched on his bed, probably a day later, shaking and looking feverish. He is looking over at light streaming in through the window. It makes sense... Very old Edgar, in his 80s, in a lager reclining chair in a sparsely decorated apartment. He is a small man bundled in a large blanket. Light form the window is falling across him. that it should feel just this way. Looking out the window. We cannot tell if this is young or old Edgar's window. Outside the window, but

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obscured by the bright light streaming through, and the frost on the edges of the glass, if the form of a shapely woman with large feathered wings. Panel 4 In young Edgar's room, we see the shape that was outside the window, now inside the window. It is now clearly visible as not a woman with wings, but a violin case with a falcon gripping its neck. The falcon is staring at Edgar the way falcons do. This is a hallucination or a spirit, so it need not make physical sense. But, as much sense as possible would be nice. Looking over old Edgar's shoulder as he reaches toward a similar, but more glowing, vision. In the vision the falcon is larger and looming toward old Edgar. That you slowly fade and yet still remain. their sound All five panels on this page are wide, stretching the width of the page. Panel 1 Caption Panel 2 Caption Panel 3 Caption Panel 4 Caption Panel 5 Caption Caption Caption Violin teacher smiling as young Edgar from the flashback plays the violin. As if to say... Guitar picks scattered on the floor. everything matters... The falcon lifting off from the post. Trailing feathers which mix with the snow. in such an invisible way. Elderly Edgar slouched in his chair, peaceful. His mouth open and his eyes closed. As if to say... Open space with snow falling through it. Some are big and clumpy. Some are just drifting. it's okay... fly away. Lyrics by Poe.

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