Non-Verbal Script

By
Bryan Greene
EXT. HOUSE - FRONT PORCH - MORNING
RON, a short, sinewy repairman lumbers toward a two-story
house, keeping one hand on his TOOL BELT to prevent his
loose pants from falling to the ground. He climbs the steps
and exhales sharply as he knocks on the door. No answer.
INT. HOUSE - BATHROOM - MORNING
WESLEY, a thirty-something man with a pudgy belly and a
receding hair line is in the middle of his morning shower.
He cheerfully hums an 80’s hair metal power ballad as he
scrubs himself clean.
EXT. HOUSE - FRONT PORCH - MORNING
Ron knocks again, this time peering through the side window,
pressing his nose against the glass. No answer.
INT. HOUSE - BATHROOM - MORNING
The bubbles from Wesley’s loofah follow a sad trail drown
from his flabby pecks, cascading over his rotund stomach
eventually collecting in a foamy pile near his hairy toes.
EXT. HOUSE - SIDEWALK - MORNING
Ron heads back to his truck and grabs a large monkey wrench.

INT. HOUSE - BATHROOM - MORNING

Wesley reaches for his anti-dandruff SHAMPOO as he checks
out his reflection in a small mirror suction-cupped to the
sliding door. He gently rubs a dollop of silvery-blue goo
into his hair, taking time to make sure the remaining
follicles on his head receive all the care and attention
they deserve. Wesley’s hum slowly fades into a partially
improvised whistle. His chubby fingers comb through his thin
hair like a rake through dead grass. Suddenly, Wesley
sneezes and he groans in agony. His expensive shampoo burns
his precious eyes.
EXT. HOUSE - BACKYARD - MORNING
Ron tightens the teeth of the wrench around a small pipe in
the back of the house. He lets out a grunt as he pulls the
wrench down with all his might.
 2.

INT. HOUSE - BATHROOM - MORNING

The water abruptly shuts off. Wesley shrieks in pain. He
whips the shower door open, almost tearing it of its hinges.
His wet hands slip off the knobs of the sink’s faucet.
Wesley jerks the handles back and forth. No water. Through
his partially closed eyes, he searches for relief. He turns
around to reveal an illuminated toilet. He pauses, then
shakes his head.
EXT. HOUSE - BACKYARD - MORNING

As Ron prepares to replace the pipe, his phone lets out

three small beeps. He checks it, leaving the wrench still
clamped onto the valve.
INT. HOUSE - KITCHEN - MORNING

Wesley frantically searches the house for a source of water.

He rushes downstairs past an Ocean’s Eleven poster, bumping
into the dining room table and knocking over a flower vase
sitting on top. He rips the the DISH SPRAYER from the
kitchen sink and places it between his eyeballs. He squeezes
the trigger with all his might. A single drop of water falls
onto his nose.
He hunches down in front of the fridge, his hand searching
for anything remotely liquid. A postcard of a sailboat on a
serene lake is clipped above his head.

Wesley pauses his quest in a moment of clarity. He whips his

head around to the back door. A child sized above-ground
pool sits the the middle of the yard. Like an Olympic
sprinter, Wesley compresses his flabby body like a spring
and shoots his fully nude self through the door. He swan
dives toward the tiny pool from the steps of the back porch.
EXT. HOUSE - BACKYARD - MORNING
Ron, completely startled, shrieks like a little girl. Wesley
lands hard a few feet shy of his target. He scrambles toward
the pool like an alligator and submerges his egg-shaped head
into the kiddie pool. He lifts his body triumphantly in
relief. Ron, standing a few feet away, clears his throat.
Wesley slowly turns his head, letting out a slight laugh.
Still on his phone, Ron grimaces.

THE END