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Critique Desired- Fantasy Screenplay INT. A DARK TAVERN- NIGHT
Men and women sit around, talking quietly, drinking,
gambling, and laughing loudly. Some of the people are rather
large, hunched over scaled up tables around the edges of the
pub. The half-giants appear about ten to fifteen feet tall,
while the people in the middle are of average human height.
A FEMALE TRAVELER in a cloak sits with a MALE TRAVELER at
the bar. They order two drinks. The Male Traveler orders a
large mild drink while the Female Traveler orders a small
but heavy drink. They eye the half-giants on one side of the
pub, their faces dimly lit by flickering oil lamps.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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