The Dot

Written By

Luis Daniel Blandon

Copyright 2020 luisdanielblandon@gmail.com

All Rights Reserved 786-447-7753
INT. ROOM - NIGHT

Inside of a dark, empty room, the only visible light seeps in

from under the door. We hear someone approach.

THE DOOR swings open and a MAN flicks on the light. He is, 20-
something, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and carrying
painting equipment under his arm. He looks around the room.

We swivel around the room: four blue walls, a closet on one

side, and no belongings - except for one picture frame,
centered between two windows on the outward-facing wall. We
only see it for a moment, but it seems to the man, arm in arm
with another man.

The man walks to the center of the room and lays out his
belongings: his blanket, his paints and his brushes.

Then he looks at the frame for just long enough to ignore it.

He takes it down in a hurry.

He tears open the closet, shoves the picture frame in:

against the wall and facing away; then shuts the closet door.

The man stands in front of the wall, ready. He puts in an

AirPod and BRAND NEW KEY by MELANIE starts playing.

SERIES OF SHOTS:

MAN POURING PAINT INTO HIS TRAY, USING A ROLLER FOR LARGE
STROKES ACROSS THE WALL, BRUSH DETAIL ON FOOT/CROWN MOULDING.

The man finishes painting the wall where the frame once hung.

He puts down his paintbrush and stands back up.

Everything in the room has been repainted a STERILE WHITE.

He removes his AirPod and the music fades away. He stares at

his work and sighs with satisfaction.

He collects his belongings and begins to leave, but: a

whistle draws his attention toward the closet.

He shakes his head and walks toward the door.

He reaches for the light and looks back once more.

And in the center of the wall, is a single, black, dot.

 2.

ACT II
______

INT. ROOM - DAY

The man cocks his head slightly. He approaches the wall and
puts his equipment down.

He stands face-to-face with the dot, confused. It is no

larger than a single drop of paint - barely a period at the
end of a sentence.

He looks around for the source. Nothing in this white room

suggests that this dot could even exist.

He raises his index finger and presses it against the dot.

He slowly peels his finger off - but the paint is dry.

He furrows his brow in confusion.

He grabs his detail brush, dips it in white paint and stands

at the wall.

As his brush approaches the black dot, a LOW RUMBLE builds.

He applies paint to cover the dot, and blows air lightly onto
it.

As he leans away, suddenly, a CRASH in the closet.

He puts his brush down and approaches the closet.

He opens the closet door to find the picture now facing

outward, but upside down.

He stares at it, and his head begins to spin: to view the

picture right-side-up.

SUDDENLY, he remembers.

He spins to face the wall. And the dot has returned.

He drops his brush.

He approaches the dot, stepping lightly, a predator stalking

its prey.

His shaking hand approaches the dot. He wipes his hand on it

and looks at his palm. White paint, but no black. The dot is
dry.
 3.

He slowly crouches and feels around for his brush, not taking
his eyes off the wall.

His hand finally bumps his brush. He picks it up like a knife

to defend himself.

He pants as he approaches the dot, and he holds it steady as

he applies the paint. He backs away slowly, eyes never
leaving the dot.

He nears the light-switch and reaches back for it. He

fumbles, but his finger finds the switch. He flips the lights
off-and-on.

CLICK-CLICK!

The dot has returned.

He shoots violently toward the wall at great speed.

He stands eye-to-eye with this dot, staring deep into it. He

understands not what it wants, but as he stares at it, it
stares back.

The RUMBLE continues to intensify.

He raises his brush, his hands shaking vigorously now.

He applies a horribly uneven glob of paint.

He places his hand in a cup over the dot, while breathing

through gritted teeth.

He slowly lifts his hand.

The dot is still there, in the middle of dripping white

paint.

The man shoots back in complete fear. He doesn't understand.

He throws down his brush and reaches for a roll of painter's

tape.

He tears several two-inch strands, and places them over the

dot in a haphazard way. He stares at it without blinking.

He fights the weight of his eyelids, unwilling to close his

eyes. But eventually, he can't resist. He blinks - and gasps!

The dot has outgrown the painter's tape, and is several

inches wide.
 4.

He tries to crawl away as the emotions boil inside him. His

veins burst out of his head as his pursed lips hold in all
his rage. His pupils locked to the menacing dot but his body
retreating with all its might.

The RUMBLE has reached earthquake-like qualities. Our ears

vibrate and the camera shakes.

He reaches for his throat, as if trying to tear it open just

to breathe. HE YELLS, RAGE POURING OUT, TEARS STREAMING DOWN.

He struggles to regain himself. He pushes himself against the

wall, knees curled up to his chest. His breathing is shaky
and ragged, and he mutters "No" to himself.

CRASH!

The man holds his breath. From the closet, the sound of glass
shattering shifts his attention.

He slowly gets to his feet.

The RUMBLE begins to slowly fade back out.

He remembers to breathe and swallows a gulp of air quickly.

He approaches the closet and opens the door.

In the center of the closet is the picture frame, now facing

right-side up, no shattered glass in sight.

He looks around the closet, but there's nothing else.

He looks back at the dot, then back at the picture.

 5.

ACT III
_______

INT. ROOM - NIGHT

The man places a large nail on the wall, several inches above
the dot - now larger than, but still behind, its painter's
tape prison.

He raises the picture frame and hangs it on the wall.

He steps back and we finally get to see the picture in its

full glory.

The photo is of the man, dressed much sharper, standing arm-

in-arm with another man, equally as sharp. A modern American
Gothic. They're both smiling in front of a nice home. The two-
windowed wall that matches this one is more obvious in the
photo.

As he stares deep into the picture frame, the RUMBLE subsides

completely.

He kneels in front of the picture frame and stares at it. He

blinks to clear his tear-filled eyes.

The black dot is now larger than the picture frame and
surrounds it.

The closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He opens them and
stares into the picture frame.

Everything is black.

THE END.