58. Public Disclosure of Self - Leslie

• FADE IN:


• INT. PALESTINE HOTEL DOWNTOWN BAGHDAD - DAY


• MARTIN fumbles with a small handycam, balancing it on the unsteady table in front of him.


• He's unshaven, and bags have begun forming around his eyes.


• He hasn't bothered to take off the blue bullet-proof vest with the word "press" stenciled on the front in white.


• The room around is sparse, bare white walls, dark curtains pulled over the windows.


• He takes a deep breath, and hits the record button.


• MARTIN
• Ok, bad day today, really bad day.


• He turns, looking over his shoulder out a crack in the window, and runs his fingers through his hair.


• The thick sound of helicopter rotors momentarily overpowers the shriek of sirens in the street far below.


• INT. NATHAN'S BEDROOM - DAY


• NATHAN sits facing his open laptop, the green light above the monitor indicating that his webcam is recording.


• The room around him is neatly decorated, somewhat spartan, but with cozy touches; a few paintings bring the walls to life and a mama-san chair with a slightly worn red cushion serves as a comfortable invitation.


• He adjusts his blazer, revealing a graphic tee beneath, and stares into the camera.


• NATHAN
• I'm not sure I can take this anymore. It's like everything is piling up and I don't know how to sort it all. I don't even know what it is.


• INT. PALESTINE HOTEL DOWNTOWN BAGHDAD - DAY


• MARTIN
• They killed Sarah. Today. I saw the video. I promised myself I'd never watch one of those. I couldn't look away. They sliced her head off...she was screaming...oh, God.


• INT. NATHAN'S BEDROOM - DAY


• NATHAN
• I'm tired of running in these circles. I run in circles after my dreams, I run in circles after every girl I think is going to be that one. And I wake up every morning dreading what mood I'll wake up to. It's like I'm feeling everything through a thick layer of Vaseline. It's there...but I can barely feel it; the only thing I feel clearly is the fear and the frustration--and that's on the good days.


• INT. PALESTINE HOTEL DOWNTOWN BAGHDAD - DAY


• MARTIN
• You think you've seen everything, and it's always just the tip of the iceberg. I don't know if I can do this anymore. I came here to tell the stories that needed to be told. I think it's someone else's turn. I was talking to my brother yesterday...it's like no one understands...and if I can't get anyone to see...what's the point?


• INT. NATHAN'S BEDROOM - DAY


• NATHAN
• What's the point? I came out here to be a storyteller. To say stuff that mattered. Not happening, and I'm so...I'm lost somewhere between confused and angry. I can't figure myself out and suddenly it feels like my dreams were sandbox fantasies. So if they are...now what?


• INT. PALESTINE HOTEL DOWNTOWN BAGHDAD - DAY


• MARTIN
• Why am I here anyway? I mean sure, I suppose I had lofty motives. But am I here to serve some form of first world penance? Who cares anyway? I certainly don't anymore; not today anyway...ask me again tomorrow...God, they cut her head off!


• INT. NATHAN'S BEDROOM - DAY


• NATHAN
• You know what? Screw it. I'm tired of hearing myself talk.


• Nathan grabs the laptop and roughly closes it.


• INT. PALESTINE HOTEL DOWNTOWN BAGHDAD - DAY


• An explosion shakes the room, knocking the camera to its side.


• Martin's eyes go wide but his body never moves.


• MARTIN
• Screw it.


• He hits the record button.


• FADE TO BLACK.