To be Continued when time permits

 Int.  THE LIBRARY Inside.  Sometime During the day.

Open from Black to White.

We hear the  repeated sharp scratch of a lead pencil against fresh paper before we see it. Black dissipates to white. A room awash with the golden glow of morning sunlight. All we can make out for now are the blurred outline of shelves.

The first thing we see is the pencil as it traces a circle on a sheet of paper. We zoom out slowly to reveal: many more circles, some overlapping each other and some distinct, drawn over and over to cover its entire surface.

- A piece of parchment permeated with a single geometric shape, reiterated over and over to the point of absurdity. The hand that holds the pencil starts to waver. Tired.

The fingertips are smooth, uncalloused. We notice a white sleeve on the edge of the frame. Unironed and bearing a smudge of dirt. We pan up to reveal:

A 15 year old boy. Ruffled hair and sallow, thin cheekbones. But hauntingly lifeless eyes. We get the  feeling that his mind is elsewhere. That he isnt present In the moment. And that he's probably been this way for a while now.

He's wearing asylum garb- all white. A full sleeve Shirt and a pair of white trousers. You can tell he hates it in here.Like anyone would if they were locked up.  He has a habit of constantly clicking his fingers. Absentmindedly.

A Bell rings. The sound of footsteps as Doors  open. The assistant walks in. A Man in his Mid thirties Who's seen his fair share of inmates. 

He walks up to where the kid is sitting. And takes a seat beside him. Glances at him for a moment then turns his attention to the drawing.

More Circles. 

He lets out a sigh. Rolls his eyes.

"Feeling a bit moody today are we?" 

No response. He wasn't expecting one. They rarely talk. 

"you re really missing out on this you know."

He gestures around the room. "Fine sun this morning. You could try taking a stroll for the fun of it you know. Might refresh you a bit." 

The assistant says refresh with a slight sneer on his face. 

Not a word from the Kid. He seems not to have even heard. 

As The Assistant adjusts himself in his seat. We pan around to notice the room for what it actually is :

A Library. Several Shelves lined against the wall, stacked with books. No dust. The Assistant takes care of that. Every once in a week he wipes them spotless. 

The Kid doesn't seem to care for books. Or anything really. We notice his fingers twitch, the index and the thumb. Every now and then. An unconscious gesture. Leftovers of muscle memory. 

"one of these days you re gonna discover the edges eh? 

Maybe you could start with squares. Who knows, you might even end up drawing hexagonsl" 

The pencil comes to an abrupt stop. The kid casually let's it slide out of his hands, between his fingers onto the table,almost as if he was unaware he had been holding it for so long. He proceeds to stare ahead in a trance. The pencil rolls of the desk and drops onto the floor. The Assistant picks it up. Extends it forward. 

The Kid doesn't even budge. The Assistant lets out a deep sigh.  Then gently pats the Kid on the back as he leaves. He closes the door quietly. The Kid blinks as it shuts. 

We Cut to :

A montage of shots : we glide through brightly lit, pristine white Corridors that form the main pathway for a  peculiar structure. We re moving along a grid of interlocked Hexagons. Each Hexagon is a 6 faceted room housing a recovering addict. This is the Hive. 

We Cut to:

The Kid bolts the door shut as he enters his Prismatically arranged room.. He marches past the wood paneled floors straight to the Washroom. 

The Room is empty save  for a bed, a washbasin and a washroom. And - a bedside table stacked with a few untouched books. 

Interior. Washroom. Day. 

The Washroom has no mirrors. The floors are wood. No porcelain. No wet tile. There's not a single reflective surface in sight. The Kid crouches by the washbasin made of stone. Turns the copper tap on. 

As the basin fills with water, he tries to catch a glimpse of himself in the stone bed, but it's hard to make out anything distinct from the rough features. 

He takes a deep breath.

Once. Twice.

Rinses his face. Over and Over. Scrubbing his cheeks so roughly they show a tinge of red in the harsh light.

Breathing intensifies as he closes his eyes. The light begins to dim as we see the tortured expression on his face. We hear drums that match the pace of a rapidly beating heart. Growing louder and faster to the point of bursting.

We cut to Black and the agonizing sound persists.

We Cut back to his face up close.

This is the reality that he lives in. His eyes are shut tightly yet the blinding lights get through, invading this private space. Inconsiderate. Indifferent.and Alien.

As the drums crescendo he sinks to the floor and the steady percussion begins to slow down. And gradually fades.

We Pan out on him from Above, all alone.

Cut to-

A Chrysantheum Petal, viewed up close. Its many layered form looms into focus as we pan out on the large garden which it belongs to. The Blissful morning sun beams down on a Bustaan Dense with flowers , plants , shrubs and creepers of every kind. The Kid's room in the Hive is met with this view.

The portrait of a world that seems to have burst to life on a fine summer day.

The Panic attack the Kid just experienced , the one we just witnessed is still fresh in our minds as we're now presented, all of a sudden with a view like this. Space to recover.or a Bizzare Juxtaposition that disorients us even further.

Someone appears to be walking towards us. The Assistant. Carrying an empty flask. Percievably empty from the way he carries it.

He crouches down besides a vey peculiar looking flower, right kneecap hovering an inch above ground.

Its hard to tell what the flower is. Its a result of some wierd form of cross-germination. He plucks it and crushes it in his palm, uncorking the flask and squeezing the juice- a dark violet shade- into the flask. Surprisingly, there seems to be enough to fill the flask up to the brim. He puts the lid back on, seals it shut and then walks away, leaving in his wake the crushed remains of the violet flower, drained and dry in the dirt.

Cut to-

Breakfast Table.

(Insert Scene Later)

The Kid wakes up, drenched in sweat.

Cut to-

 

A Brightly lit room, blindingly white. The Kid is being asked questions. We dont see the interviewer.

'What Did You See?'

'Myself', the Kid Replies.

Where?

I'm not sure. Could've been the mall. there were aisles. row after row. And I just kept walking. Looking at all that abundance,tins, bags, cans, packets and cartons. all of it mine..and-

And?

-And I didn't want any of it. For some reason I just wanted to run. I wanted to know where the exit was. But I kept circling back like I was stuck in some wierd maze or something.

I kind of fell. I dont know. or maybe just sat down. I remember sort of..sinking..to the floor. And i closed my eyes and kept them closed. Right there between aisles of canned foods and all sorts of baking soda. 

But when I opened my eyes it was all still there.

You opened your eyes..in your dream?

Yeah. And it wouldn't go away. And I started screaming. Because I couldn't believe how alone I was. 

(The Kid starts Shaking.)

I was alone and I just didnt want to be.