Pull it Out
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
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FADE IN:
On a OPERATION ROOM, hospital, white. Thundering with
masculine screams.
Nurses rush around carrying rags soaked in blood.
A Doctor crouches in between legs, hands enveloped in the
ruffles of a hospital gown.
DOCTOR
We got more bleeding! Nurse, 'nother rag
please -- we got shoulders, it's not
breached...not breached.
Doctor cradles a wailing infant.
YOUNG MAN (O.S.)
He's crying as he is exposed to a world
cold, unforgiving -- somehow he knows.
Somewhere along the aging process we
forget just how cruel we are to our own.
But at birth...we know.
The head of his patient, a MAN, rises and glowers at the
WAILING infant.
CLICK --
The Young Man holds the barrel of an AUTOMATIC PISTOL to
the infant's skull.
FREEZE FRAME.
Labeled arrows point to the MAN (FATHER), INFANT (ME),
and YOUNG MAN (ME).
YOUNG MAN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I despise my father almost as much as I
despise myself.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. BACKYARD - NIGHT
A YOUNG MAN stands before a two story home. Broken
Christmas lights decorate the outside. Interior lights
are shut off. Entire Earth consumed by a black hole and
regurgitated into darkness.
He wrestles with a pack of cigarettes. Jiggles one free.
Holds for a moment, inspecting the cigarette.
YOUNG MAN
Shit. Forgot.
Somehow the cigarette has become soaked in red. He
discards it.
Jiggles another free. Locks this one between his teeth,
dangling from his lips. Smiles like he's hearing a
sorrowful tune, and the notes are resurfacing memories.
Clicks his lighter repeatedly; refuses to ignite. His
hands are drenched in red and he wipes them off on his
pants. Tries to summon the flame. Fails again. Gives up.
He walks towards the back-door. Tosses cigarette and
lighter next to a BOULDER covered in blood, interspersed
with pieces of flesh.
YOUNG MAN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
It's impossible not to be connected to
that which you hate.
EXT. SIDE OF THE ROAD - DAY
CLOSE UP of a WOMAN
Lying on the ground, skin around her eyes raw. She's
smiling a forced smile.
MAN (O.S.)
Yeah, keep smiling, I like that. Keep
smiling and I'll letcha go. Just do like
the movie's. Do what I say and I'll
letcha go.
Her body moves up and down, pain shooting over her
features.
Man off-screen grunts, moans.
Her body rocks harder. She looks sick, like she just
finished eating a piece of meat that's been on the
counter for days.
She starts flailing her arms, screaming.
WOMAN
God, help me! Help!
Man off-screen punches her in the mouth.
Slaps her across the face.
Muffles her pleas.
And violently continues his work.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Young Man enters from the backyard.
Room is completely dark. But he knows his way around.
Moonlight cuts through a window. Illuminates a photo of a
Woman hanging on the wall.
He passes by. Stops. Back peddles and stares at the photo
for a beat. Then flicks on the kitchen light.
He goes through the drawers. Fishes out a butter knife.
Talks as if speaking to the photo.
YOUNG MAN
Too hard for me.
Metal rattles as he digs deeper. His hand resurfaces with
a keen knife, sharpened to cut anything.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Infomercials say these cut through metal.
Clean through and don't need to sharpen
them every five minutes. But that means,
slice, slice, and no pain.
(staring directly at the
picture)
And nothing gained.
Throws the knife back into the drawer. Searches. Removes
a steak knife.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Serrated. Nice and ragged. Slow and
painful. But too dull. Guess third time
ain't a charm.
He grabs hold of a better STEAK KNIFE.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
But fourth is.
Slips the steak knife into his pocket.
INT. BASEMENT
Young Man casually walks down the stairs. Heads straight
for the single overhead light bulb. Yanks on the metal
string.
Light cascades onto a MAN tied to a chair. Face, front of
his chest bloodied to all hell. Eyes just two purple
rings, mouth crumbed with dried blood.
YOUNG MAN
I'm not a predator, so stop playing
possum.
Man opens his eyes. Top row of his teeth shattered or
knocked out. Tear streaks run down the grime on his face.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Banging your mouth against that boulder
was effective. If I'd taken that dental
hygienist course, I'd fit you for a
bridge. Which hurts more, that or crying?
MAN
H-hurts to... to cry...
YOUNG MAN
Good, now you know how it was for me each
Christmas.
Young Man turns off the light. Nighttime's gloominess
shining a bit of natural light into the area.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Hyperventilation causes you to sweat
more. The more you sweat, wetter those
ropes get. Wetter the ropes get, tighter
they become. So all that crying and
labored breathing ain't going to help you
much. Counter productive.
MAN
Why are you...why...why all the...the
pain...to get your point...across?
YOUNG MAN
C'mon, would you really listen otherwise?
Young Man walks into one of the darker corners. Drags out
a CRATE clamped shut with a PADLOCK.
Man trembles at this.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Down in tornado alley, they got tornado
kits. West coast its earthquake survival
kits. Here...here its intruder kits. With
what's inside, you'd better pray to God
that I don't feel like lighting up a
cigarette right now.
Man gets his false second wind; the kind one being
tortured gains once they think their torturer can no
longer inflict more bodily pain. When they think the body
has given up on its nervous system.
MAN
You sadistic, twisted motherfucker
sadistic little shit son of a bitch --
YOUNG MAN
(chuckles)
We all are in our own ways.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY
A SEDAN drives above the speed limit. DRIVER, middle
aged, rocks away to AC/DC. Gold wedding band around her
finger.
On a turn, she slows, takes it, and pushes the Sedan back
up to speed.
She see's the blood soaked upper body of a Woman sticking
between brush. More than a few questions cross her face:
Should I stop and pick her up? Call for help?
DRIVER
Uhh, uhh...okay. Okay.
Her decision's made.
She makes a point not to look at the woman as she drives
past.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY
A MAN in a PICK-UP TRUCK talks on his cellular phone.
Easily takes a bend in the road.
MAN
...yeah man, nicest ass I've ever seen...
He doesn't even notice the woman as he drives past.
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
Young Man reaches into his pocket and takes out a set of
keys. Kneels before the padlock.
MAN
Don't...
Nothing short of a train would stop him from opening the
crate.
Man struggles, rocking the chair, but never enough to get
loose or tip over.
MAN (CONT'D)
Anything. Anything, I'll do anything.
Just...God...just...just don't open it.
God...please...
That stops the Young Man. He faces the Man tied up like a
hog, ready for its belly to be sliced.
YOUNG MAN
Better please God before I kill you,
because that's the only person's good
side you'll ever be on. Since He is so
forgiving and all.
(beat)
Guess that's where God's image parts from
mine.
He turns the key in the padlock. It clicks open like an
empty revolver.
He slides the lock off. Opens the crate.
We can't see what's inside.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Usually we keep the crate in the attic.
Any moron intruder fumbles in, we'd let
'em up there. Have them fiddle around so
they think they're comfortable. Plan was
we'd throw a couple of these bad boys and
girls up there. Flush the little bugger
out.
ANGLE ON CRATE
...filled with GRENADES.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
But see, you're down here with me and
these slices of heaven. Jesus isn't your
savior. Only I can be your savior now.
God won't do anything but watch, the
sadistic little fuck.
As the Man cries fervently, the Young Man builds up a
sick, convulsive laugh to match.
MAN
No, God, no, don't use...don't use them
on me. I loved you so much. I missed you.
I did. I couldn't bear it. I'm so sorry.
I can make it up to you now...I swear,
now that I'm here.
YOUNG MAN
Oh?
It hurts him to nod his head. Man does anyway.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Don't worry though, I'm gonna make it up
to me for you.
MAN
No no no -- I don't believe this is
happening. Don't do this to me. I have a
son. I have a son!
Man's crying becomes uncontrollable. He tastes the salt,
it burns inside the crevices of his wounds, and he
winces.
YOUNG MAN
No shit?
EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY
A TOW-TRUCK rattles on. Driver with a beard that shrouds
his lips. Eyes blacklight pinpoints.
Takes the same curve the other two driver's took. Thinks
the same thoughts, and see's the same half hidden body on
the bad side of life.
But he slows down and pulls over.
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
Young Man reaches inside the crate and picks out a
GRENADE like he is shopping for a Christmas present. Sets
it down, carefully, on the floor.
YOUNG MAN
You even remember what I did to you to
make you bleed?
MAN
No, no, please just don't pull the pin!
YOUNG MAN
Wouldn't worry, because I'm not going to.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY
Tow-truck driver touches the woman's face.
TOW-TRUCK DRIVER
Lady, lady? Hey, lady!
She fights a bit. Too weak comprehend. Too weak to
scream. Too weak to struggle. Too weak for anything worth
a grain of salt.
He leaps back into the cab and works the CB.
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
Young Man reaches into his pocket. Grips the steak knife
in his hand. He walks behind the chair, crouches. We
can't see what he's doing.
MAN
Thank you... th-thank you.
Man quiets. Relieved. So relieved.
His GUTTURAL SCREAMS corrupt the silence -- continuous,
frightening -- the streamline beep of a defriberlator.
After an agonizing beat, the Young Man emerges. Steak
knife black with blood. And holding a SEVERED FINGER.
Man hyperventilates.
Young Man leans forward and pokes him in the eye with his
own finger.
YOUNG MAN
Now...
Man looses consciousness.
Beat.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
What. Wake up. Wake up!
Corners of the film burn as if graced by lit cigarettes,
spreading like plague --
BURN TO:
The Young Man, face portraying more youth, walking up a
flight of stairs.
Passing a window, he stops to glance at blinking
Christmas lights set against a night sky. Nods his head,
admiring a job well done. Continues on.
And the higher he ascends, the darker it becomes. He
strides to the last door, knocks.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Picked up some Chinese on the way
home...you want some? Mom?
Pounds with the side of his fist. Opens the door. Walks
inside.
Dull light cascades onto a bed, illuminating his MOTHER's
face. Eyes open, distant. Lips pale and dry.
Young Man steps towards her, almost as if some incoporeal
fishing hook is dragging him forward.
He grabs her shoulders, tenderly shaking. Then harder.
More forcefully.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Hey...wake up?
Through welling tears that would never escape his eyes,
Young Man see's his Mother become --
INT. BASEMENT
THE MAN, unconscious, bleeding, and bruised.
Young Man blinks, hands still shaking the Man. He stops
shaking him.
Beat.
He shakes his head, trying to wipe thoughts clean. He
reaches into his back pocket, removes a book of matches
from a Mandarin Restaurant.
Only one match remains. He strikes it, blows it out.
Promptly sticking the match beneath the Man's nose.
Man snorts, coughs, hacks, comes too.
YOUNG MAN
What did God say? Oh, didn't see him?
It's okay.
Young Man contently smiles at him.
He finds the severed finger on the floor.
Bends the joint this way and that, seeing how many times
he can snap it.
He kneels and picks up the grenade. Takes a deep breath.
Preparing for something he'd been practicing. Perfecting.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
You were never there. You left her
shivering alongside the highway with your
come dripping out of her. That was the
last time she saw you. Heard you. And now
I'm here, with you and this grenade. Was
it worth it? Tell me, was it worth it?
Are you a God-fearing man? Good, you
shouldn't be, not when I'm standing here
dying to pull the pin out of this
grenade. God can't, won't save you. He
doesn't give a shit about you. It's just
you and me now. And this little slice of
hell. You only have me to fear. Right
now, I'm the only god you have to worry
about. Fear not what you did to me or my
mother...
CUT TO:
INT. HOUSE - DAY
The Woman, stomach bulging, pregnant, sits in a chair
facing a window.
Brings a cigarette to her lips. Takes a long drag.
BRIGHT FLASH
And we're watching her cooking food on the stove. No
longer pregnant. Smoking, almost as if it's the same
cigarette. Standing before a window in the kitchen, eyes
despondent, focused on another place and time.
Food in the skillet burning beyond what it once was.
A KID is at the dinner table.
She removes the "Cajun" food from the flame. Tosses it on
a plate for the kid and sets it in front of him.
SLOW DISSOLVE:
YOUNG MAN
...but what I'm going to do to you.
INT. BASEMENT
Man whimpers. On the verge of acceptance's serenity.
Fighting it almost.
MAN
No, no...just, just, cut off my finger,
my ear, my --
YOUNG MAN
(cont'd)
And you never expected that the product
of your own semen would be here, standing
in front of you, controlling your death,
did you? You had no idea that it would
come to this. That I would be standing
here in front of you. The pussy, the
cowardly little prick that you are, you
never thought you'd face me. But we're
here. We're dancing. And let me tell you
the one thing we have in common: just
like you had no idea it would come to
this, neither did I. Never thought I'd be
here, controlling a man's death. But not
just any man. My father. My own flesh,
blood. My genes. My DNA.
The Man sighs -- no longer denying inevitability. The
irony of circumstance.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
They say that blood is thicker than
water...but when you're bleeding half to
death, like my mother was on the side of
that highway, hatred tends to get the
best of you. And blood runs thin.
You're going to do what I say. Does that
sound familiar? When you were tearing
apart my mother from the insides?
If you don't do as I say, I will burn
your feet off, then your legs, then your
balls, then your dick. Then I'll coat the
remainder of your body in sugar, honey,
and everything nice, and let the red ants
in the backyard eat your torso. And all
you can do is fidget and scream like my
mother did.
Young Man shoves the grenade between the Man's lips.
Remaining teeth wedged in the round green waffle.
Scabs on his lips and lesions on his face reopen. In just
moments time the grenade is coated in a pristine hue,
color of Stephen King's evil bred cadillac.
The Young Man sticks the severed finger into the GRENADE
RING.
YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
Interesting...you never even bothered to
put a wedding ring on this finger...
MAN
I...
YOUNG MAN
Well, now you're gonna be married to this
grenade.
(beat)
Here's your chance to save yourself.
Here's your one shot at redemption. This
is the only way to be your own savior.
Because sometimes, the only way to save
yourself is to destroy yourself in the
process. You're going to do with this
grenade ring what you should've done with
my mother when you were raping her.
(wide, sad smile)
You're going to pull it out.
Slowly we --
FADE OUT.
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.