GAIA

Written by

NICO RUDY

In a not-so-distant future, unchecked corporate greed pollutes

every facet of a city with toxic runoff. Gaia, a 22 year old
college student and passionate climate activist, burns her hand
cooking and runs it under polluted water, resulting in a burn that
won't stop spreading, and a vicious downward spiral as Gaia
searches for answers to her burning questions.

EMAIL: nicorudy0@gmail.com
PHONE: (845)-208-1966
1 INT. CORPORATE BOARDROOM - NIGHT 1

There is a quiet murmur at a long conference table, where

several EXECUTIVES sit in matching grey suits, each muttering
to their neighbors. Something is amiss.

EXECUTIVE #1
Everyone could just buy a Brita.
Who cares what the EPA says?

EXECUTIVE #2
I blame Al Gore. I remember when we
would just dump this shit in the
river.

On the wall sits a golden plated GOLF CLUB. A placard resting

beneath it reads “ChemEx Industries: Oil, Pharmaceuticals,
and Aeronautics”.

EXECUTIVE #1
Who’s Al Gore? Is he the one who
sleeps with all the young models?

EXECUTIVE #3
No, that’s DiCaprio.

Out of the shadow, a hand covered in gaudy GOLDEN RINGS

begins to tap a slow rhythm on the boardroom table. Leaning
into the light, the CHIEF EXECUTIVE, 60, puffs on a PIPE.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE
(gruffly)
Gentlemen. Stop bickering and tell
me. What makes us-- us humans, any
different than animals?

The room falls silent in a hush.

EXECUTIVE #2
We don’t have tails?

EXECUTIVE #3
Actually, the E.P.A. did say tails
might be a side effect of the new
pill factory--

The Chief, suddenly, chuckles. Still laughing, he stands,

pushing his chair away as he slaps Executive #3 across the
face and out of his chair.

The rest of the executives, exchanging confused and terrified

looks, laugh nervously with the Chief as Executive #3 climbs
back into his chair.
 SHOOTING SCRIPT 2.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE
Not even close.

Crestfallen, the Executives look down at their feet. The

Chief stands, his mustache bristling. He slams his hand down
on the table.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE (CONT’D)

Any animal-- They come from earth,
obey natural hierarchy, and then
they return to the dirt.

The men lean forward in their seats as the Chief stalks over
to stare at the DEER HEAD above his chair.

The dim warm light of the room carves an ominous portrait.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE (CONT’D)

We aren’t just any animal, though.
Man-- man creates his own order.

He turns on a dime, back toward his subordinates.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE (CONT’D)

The plant stays. We run the waste
into the park.
(beat)
Let them drink sludge.

Nodding, the men stand, ready to act on their marching

orders. The Chief falls silent as he turns to stare at the
deer, lost in his thoughts.

2 EXT. CITY PARK - DAWN 2

The rising sun breaks through a misty fog that surrounds the
brown fronds of some dying palm trees. Chemical plants dot
the skyline, pluming out milky white fumes.

A BILLBOARD TOWERS: “The Earth is sick, but ChemEx has the

antidote. For every prescription purchased in our patented
eco-friendly, biodegradable prescription bottle, ChemEx will
donate 5% of its earnings to the Green Climate Fund”.

Two GOONS, dressed in bright white hazmat suits, dotted with

red blood, slowly unroll a large HOSE as they walk along the
placid nature trail, marveling at the beautiful nature.

The goons stop at the shore of a reservoir, hauling the hose

toward a metal drain. Prying off the grate, they peer
anxiously at the running water below, before throwing in the
nozzle.
 SHOOTING SCRIPT 3.

3 INT. GAIA’S APARTMENT - DAWN 3

The small apartment is quiet, covered in COLLAGED POSTERS

that range from “An Inconvenient Truth” to “Erin Brockovich”.
A stick of incense burns, a diffuser spits out rainbow light
and essential oils.

AN ALARM RINGS OUT

In the morning silence, a pair of hands roll an HERBAL

CIGARETTE: rose petals, lavender, mugwort.

Holding a small LIGHTER up to the cigarette, GAIA (20) stares

at the burning end, watching the ember burn nearer as she
inhales. A peace necklace rests around her neck.

She wears a small protest button on her sweater. It reads:

“One Earth, One Love”. There’s peace in the air.

Suddenly, her rumbling stomach breaks the silence. Looking

down, Gaia yawns, taking her flowery cigarette in her mouth
as she goes.

Turning on a small RADIO, Gaia flicks the dial, each

forecasting steeper doom, barely paying attention.

NEWSCASTER #1 (V.O.)
It’s been a hectic summer, folks.
Melting infrastructure in the north
of the city after a historically
hot summer--

Humming as she flicks through the channels, Gaia pulls some

breakfast VEGGIE SAUSAGE out of the freezer. She throws a PAN
on the electric stovetop.

NEWSCASTER #1 (V.O.)
Activists jailed for tossing soup
on a Van Gogh--

Adding oil, she throws the veggie sausage into the now-
steaming, spitting pan, and it roars on contact. Gaia
breathes in deep through her nose. She reaches for the radio,
flipping the dial.

NEWSCASTER #2 (V.O.)
Controversially, ChemEx has denied
that the new pharmaceutical and oil
joint refinery has impacted the
ecological health of the city at
large--
 SHOOTING SCRIPT 4.

As Gaia gingerly lifts the pan, she smiles with hungry

anticipation, her eyes darting back to the newscast on the
radio. The pan shakes in her hand, as Gaia’s attention tunes
in to the voice of the newscaster.

NEWSCASTER #2 (V.O.)
However, experts from the E.P.A
have declared the runoff from the
water extremely toxic, placing a
boil notice up for the citizens of
the city.

As Gaia’s eyes widen in shock and she reaches for the volume
dial, the pan tips just a little too far and, as time creaks
to a standstill, a wave of BOILING OIL leaps over the side of
the spitting pan, straight onto Gaia’s hands.

Suddenly screaming, Gaia throws the pan down. She throws on

the cold faucet of the sink, thrusting her hands into the
water as tears stream down her face.

The water flows murky with waste of all kinds of funky

vibrant colors. Gaia, gasping, holds her burning skin under
the cold murky water with a look of disgust.

GAIA
(hoarsely)
Jesus!!!

Gaia slowly collapses onto the kitchen floor. She weeps,

shivering with pain. Grimacing, she steadies her breathing.

Counting to ten, Gaia holds out one blistered palm. The skin
on one side of her hand is covered in boils, welts, layers of
damaged red flesh. The fingers melt, with skin like lightly
used wax candles.

As Gaia stares at her damaged hand under the warm light, the
burn slowly crawls across her skin, slowly inching forward in
the light. Gaia’s eyes widen.

Her burned hand grabs her purse as the front door slams.

4 INT. DOCTOR’S OFFICE - LATER 4

Surrounded by diagrams of the human body and vintage health

advice posters, Gaia shudders on top of the cold examination
chair. She stares at a gaudy ADVERTISEMENT for ChemEx
Pharmaceuticals.

The burn spreads up Gaia’s wrist, making a bracelet of loose

flesh, illuminated underneath the burning light of the
examination chair.
SHOOTING SCRIPT 5.

DR. SCOTT (O.S.)

Well, I wish I had an answer for
you, miss.

DR. SCOTT (20), slightly disgusted but ultimately curious,

examines the blistering pustules on her hand briefly. He
checks his phone.

Gaia turns her head to look the doctor in his eyes. She
clears her throat. Dr. Scott raises and lowers an eyebrow,
slightly annoyed. He slides his phone back into his pocket,
whipping out a small notebook and pen.

GAIA
You don’t know what this is?
(beat)
Can’t you just give me a cream or
something?

Dr. Scott scribbles, pen slowly freely.

DR. SCOTT
(to himself)
Patient seems to be experiencing
delusions...

GAIA
(taken aback)
Are you gaslighting me right now?

Pulling a BRIGHT YELLOW PAPER out of his colorful folder, Dr.

Scott holds it up to the light. Gaia stares at a dark
radioactive symbol, visible through the grain.

GAIA (CONT’D)
What was that?

A sort of spasm crosses Dr. Scott’s face. Oddly anxious, he

turns away, writing a long string of notes in his colored
folder as he pulls paper after paper out, scanning them
desperately.

DR. SCOTT
(nervous)
It’s, uh--

Dr. Scott quickly crumples the paper up and tosses it in the

trash can, sweat pouring from the adolescent doctor’s
forehead.

DR. SCOTT (CONT’D)

Listen--
(beat)
I don’t see any burns, ma’am.
(MORE)
SHOOTING SCRIPT 6.
DR. SCOTT (CONT’D)
I swear, on the Hippocratic oath.
Don’t worry, though.

Dr. Scott crouches, faux sympathetic, by the examination

chair.

DR. SCOTT (CONT’D)

We can get you the mental health
help that you obviously need.

Gaia, scratching her arm, stares at the young man in

disbelief.

GAIA
Are you a real doctor?

Dr. Scott just laughs, nervous. He starts pulling out a

series of orange PILL BOTTLES, each full of various
prescription opiates.

He suddenly turns on a dot. Gaia, shivering, just stares at

the scrawny young man as she draws her knees to her chest on
the cold suede chair.

DR. SCOTT
What we could do is convince the
brain to kill the phantom pain.
These new prescriptions from ChemEx
are supposed to be--

His arms full of various pills in orange bottles with ChemEx

labels, Dr. Scott blabs on, as Gaia stares blankly into the
void. Suddenly, her attention snaps back to the doctor.

GAIA
(interrupting)
Could I just have a minute?

Dr. Scott, flailing his pill bottles down, nods slowly as he

walks, awkwardly, out of the office.

DR. SCOTT (O.S.)

Of course. I’ll, uh, be right out
here if you need me.

Gaia immediately stands, searching around the cluttered

office until she finds a SYRINGE. As the burn crawls further
up her arm, toward her tricep, she raises the syringe up to
her neck.

As she’s about to plunge the syringe into her neck, she

stops. Glaring at the ChemEx pharmaceutical advertisement on
the wall, she suddenly drops the syringe to her side and
moves to the cabinet.
 SHOOTING SCRIPT 7.

Before she stomps out, Gaia grabs several bottles of ChemEx

pills and a roll of gauze, throwing both into her purse. She
grips the syringe.

After she exits, a scream is heard from the hallway.

5 EXT. CITY PARK - DAY 5

The verdant green is now packed with the public, milling

about, some of whom are oddly deformed, with lumps and boils
on their skin.

Gaia winces as she walks down the sidewalk, yoga mat tucked
under her arm, anxiously pulling out her stolen pill bottle
and downing a handful.

Holding her burned, bloodied, and bandaged wrist close, Gaia

strolls past a real spectacle--

Amidst a sea of PROTEST SIGNS, two ACTIVISTS (30s), fully

painted green, stripped down to boxers, and tied to trees,
argue indistinctly with PETE, THE LANDSCAPER (25), who holds
large GARDEN SHEARS.

ACTIVIST 1
Pete, we can’t just watch these
companies eat away at our planet.

ACTIVIST 2
They’re getting away with murder.

PETE
Listen, fellas. You know, I think
what you do is very baller.
(beat)
However-- my bosses are gonna have
my head on a platter if you don’t
clear out.

ACTIVIST 1
Can’t do it. I’m a tenured
professor of climate science at a
very prestigious university. It’s a
matter of principle.

In the distance, the Executives, whispering amongst

themselves, discuss the situation with sleeves rolled up and
frowns on their faces.

Gaia, glaring at Pete, quickly places a couple loose bills

into the DONATION JAR at the feet of the activists.
SHOOTING SCRIPT 8.

The burn has already escaped the bandage on her hand,

crawling up the back of her arm.

Gaia walks on, stopping in a flowery knoll not far from the
argument. As she rolls out her yoga mat, she glances around
and takes notice of something strange:

The greenery is dying, the wilting flowers and vines creating

a sort of macabre, brittle imitation of the once vibrantly
blooming forest.

Gaia itches at her bandaged hand, her bandaged tricep, and

enters into tree pose. She frowns.

Gaia’s burn spreads in the light of day, now slowly making

its way over her shoulder.

OVER BY THE PROTEST

The activists remain engaged in heated discussion.

PETE
Well, you look a little silly. I
like you guys, so let’s be
reasonable, this is gonna be a
landfill in two days.

ACTIVIST #2
We’ll be here. Our bodies, after
you inevitably poison them, are
gonna go back to the lab to be
studied. Full circle.

Pete, frustrated, walks over to the Executives to discuss

their options.

AMIDST THE DYING FLOWERS

Perturbed by the noise of the argument, Gaia breaks her

centered concentration. The burn crawls gently up Gaia’s
neck, making its way up her jaw and onto her chin.

As Gaia angrily crumbles a dead lily in her burned and

bandaged hand, she finally notices: THE BURN HAS SPREAD.

Panicked, Gaia rolls up her yoga mat and hurries out in the
direction of the exit.

OVER BY THE PROTEST

She passes the protest just as Pete returns to his argument,

this time, brandishing his GARDEN SHEARS.
SHOOTING SCRIPT 9.

PETE
(shouting)
Okay! Alright! Out of the tree or
your students are gonna have half a
professor.
(beat)
Sorry. I’m not gonna actually cut
you. Just the rope.

Skidding to a stop, Gaia glares at the young landscaper, who

just shrugs before turning back toward the tree.

Gaia pours the rest of the pills down her gullet. As Pete
chops his shears threateningly, ready to forcibly remove the
Activists, Gaia counts to ten, trying to control her raggedy
breath.

GAIA
One, two, three--

Pete takes one step toward the tree, shears chipper. The
Executives, laughing nearby, clap and holler. Gaia stares
daggers in their direction.

GAIA (CONT’D)
Four-- aw, fuck it.

Gaia charges the landscaper, screaming bloody murder as she

sprints toward him, flailing her bag.

Immediately terrified, Pete takes a few panicked steps back

from his melting pursuer, and he trips on a root beneath his
flailing feet as the clippers fly out of his hands.

Grabbing the shears, Gaia holds them at a distance from the

dazed and confused Landscaper. Panicked, the young man
struggles, attempting to get free from underneath Gaia.

GAIA (CONT’D)
Stop squirming--

As Gaia struggles to hold him down, the burn begins to crawl

across her cheek and up the side of her face.

GAIA (CONT’D)
(out-of-breath)
Look. Just tell me where you get
your paychecks from and-- and I’ll
let you keep your nose.

Cowering with fear, Pete points above him to the towering

ChemEx billboard, and then to the crowd of Executives.
 SHOOTING SCRIPT 10.

Gaia stares up at the ironic billboard as one side of her

face begins to slouch, melting from the bone. She turns to
the Executives with an icy stare, her face completely
disfigured. She charges.

6 INT. CORPORATE BOARDROOM - NIGHT 6

In the dimly lit boardroom, the Chief Executive stares out

the large windows at the head of the long wooden table,
picking at his fingernails with a POCKET KNIFE as he finishes
a stubby CUBAN CIGAR.

Lightning strikes, revealing a shadowy, melting figure

standing in the doorway of the room. The Chief sees but
barely acknowledges the figure, presuming it to be one of his
subordinates.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE
Come on in, Chadwick. You’re early.
No issues?

The golf club is lifted off the wall by a ruined and burned
hand.

GAIA (O.S.)
Not exactly. I think you have a
Waste Management Problem, boss.

Confused, the Chief finally swings his swivel chair around to

witness the grotesque figure that once was Gaia.

Her face now just a molten mask of spidery face muscles and
waxy leftover epidermis, Gaia stares at the old man, holding
the polished golf club and a jerry can of gasoline.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE
(screaming)
Security!

Gaia stares, unmoving. Lightning strikes.

CHIEF EXECUTIVE (CONT’D)

Alright, who-- what the hell are
you? What’s this all about?
(beat)
What do you want? Money?

Gaia doesn’t answer the angry old man. Instead, she stances
up, whipping the golden club into the old man’s stomach with
a practiced swing. She goes again, knocking him upside the
head.
SHOOTING SCRIPT 11.

The Chief, looking down in shock, watches as blood escapes

his wide open mouth and spreads under his shirt. Coughing, he
rolls back in his chair, attempting to escape.

Whistling, Gaia pours out the jerry can, all throughout the
room and on the dying Executive. As she takes out her
lighter, Gaia holds up a blood stained graphic button to the
Executive.

Moving the pin of the button open, Gaia pins her blood-
stained protest button to the front of the Chief’s tie.

GAIA
You burned me. So, now, I’m gonna
burn you to the fucking ground.

The Chief peers down, lifting his blood-soaked tie to get a

closer look. Gaia, with a smile, flicks the lighter and it
tumbles through the air in slow motion.

The last thing the Chief sees is the button of the world on
fire, surrounded by the words “One Earth, One Love”.

Turning the button over, “ChemEx Pharmaceuticals” can be seen

printed on the back. The Chief’s eyes widen in shock as the
first licks of orange flames lick his mustache.

ELSEWHERE

A match is struck, the surface crinkling as it is consumed by

flame.

OUT IN SPACE

The Earth turns, a celestial body alone in the cold

outreaches of space. It suddenly catches fire.

BACK IN THE OFFICE

A peace necklace sits, burning in the embers of a deer head.

There is peace in the air.