During the four days that made up that year's Thanksgiving break from my senior year in high school, I wrote 1,661 words that would end up taking on more meaning than I'd have ever expected. Not only was it the first story I had ever written that I was happy with (when I consider the stories I've written, I tend to ignore the ones before "Into Gray"), but it ended up winning Sonora High School's short story contest and shot as a film directed by Steve Warner.
The original story of "Into Gray" was very simple -- there were really only three characters: Patty Olsen, her father Mark, and their friend Doug Earnshaw. The story was life and death, with Patty's mother dying, followed by her father, followed by Doug. In the end, all that's left are the children of the holocaust, and they've lost the ability to feel.
The story wasn't a happy one. In essence, what I was trying to say was that after a catastrophic event (in "Into Gray," a nuclear war, though it could just as easily apply to a personal catastrophe), the emotional cost will be the highest of all. In my pessimistic view, the end of the world killed the human spirit -- even though the physical world was slowly healing, coming back from the devastation of a "nuclear winter," the human beings who survived the war weren't as resilient.
Looking back now, the apocalyptic frame in this story is almost amusing -- nuclear war is a nightmare concept that, with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, is no longer the realistic fear it was in 1987. There were nights I stayed awake wondering if I'd be one of the Patty Olsens of the world, or one of the Mark Olsens. Neither one was a very appealing choice -- fortunately for us, it doesn't look like the horrors I wrote about in 1987 will ever come to pass.
That's the good thing about being a pessimist. Even when you're wrong, it's good news.
(Go to the original short story.)
I was fascinated with the idea of seeing my words translated on the screen, and told Steve I'd be glad to write a screenplay, even though I'd never really written one before. (The rough scripts we wrote for our high school videos weren't screenplays -- they were informal shot sheets with dialogue.) Before my freshman year had ended, I had mailed off a screenplay to Steve back in my hometown of Sonora.
In retrospect, the screenplay was nothing more than an almost exact translation of my story into screen format. I didn't want to expand it, really, and didn't give much thought to any possible ways of changing it. The draft also doesn't especially fit into screenplay format, there aren't a whole lot of images, and there's way too much dialogue. But it was a starting point, I figured at the time.
There were a few things that were added to the screenplay -- Patty talks about actually remembering colors, before the war: colors in her mother's womb. It was an interesting expansion on the imagery I had written into the original story. In some ways, I wish I could've incorporated some of the things I snuck into the first screenplay into the original story.
Knowing there was a long way to go, I mailed the original draft of the script off to Steve. By the time I got it back, my first draft was no longer recognizable.
"Into Gray"
(First Draft)
by Jason Snell
based on his own short story
1 BLACK
Begin voice-over with no background noise. As voice-over begins, FADE IN on
INT. FALLOUT SHELTER
SOME SORT OF MEASURING DEVICE.
A red light is lit up in the device. Geiger counter sound slowly FADES IN, PEAKS at first pause in dialogue, and then DESCENDS to low background level.
PATTY (v.o.)
(adult voice, soft but audible)
My beginning was four months after the end of the rest of it. I was brought out of my mother's womb into a 100 square-foot world which was not at all like where I had been before. When I was inside my mother, the color-- color, yes, that was what it was-- had been there. It was all red, red and orange--(pause)
Six months later, I had spit out my first solid food-- a dark gray wafer which had been pushed into my mouth by my mother's pinkish-gray hands. That's all I can remember about my mother. Daddy said that many of those wafers ended up flying across the shelter, landing on the concrete floor I used to call "ground." Not long after, I needed new words. When I was four, I was asking mommy what dying meant. At five, I was asking daddy was cancer meant. I still remember the color. Inside my mother. Red, orange-- and then the color was gone. And the world was gone.(pause)
When I was eight, I got my first birthday present. Soon after, I would leave the gray ten-by-ten world of my birth behind forever.
2 INT. FLOOR OF SHELTER
YOUNG PATTY SITTING ON GRAY FLOOR.
Lighting is very sparse.
MARK OLSEN seta a silver "RADIO" next to Patty
MARK OLSEN
Happy Birthday, Patty.
YOUNG PATTY
(a little puzzled)
What does it do? I've never seen it do anything.
She picks up the box to examine it, and hears a voice come from it.
EARNSHAW VOICE
Hello, Patty.
Patty, startled, drops the box.
YOUNG PATTY
What was that? What did it do?
EARNSHAW VOICE
I said, "Hello, Patty."
Patty picks up the box and looks into it.
YOUNG PATTY
He-- Hello.
EARNSHAW VOICE
And how are you on this fine day?
Patty looks questioningly at her father. He nods reassuringly.
YOUNG PATTY
I'm fine.(beat)
Who are you?
EARNSHAW VOICE
I'm a friend of your father.
YOUNG PATTY
Why haven't you said anything before? We've been here together all this time and you've never done anything but...
Patty makes a noise in an attempt to imitate radio static.
There is laughter over the radio.
EARNSHAW VOICE
Maybe your father should explain to you. I'm sure I'll see you later. Good-bye, Patty.
YOUNG PATTY
Good-bye, Box.
She attempts to imitate the last bit of static, as well.
She sits, looking at the box for a while, turning it over and over in her hands.
Then, finally, she carefully sets it down.
Both Mark and Patty are very intently looking at box.
MARK OLSEN
The outside world has finally let us talk to other people in other places through the box, Patty. That's how it can talk to us. It's been a long time since it's been able to do that.
YOUNG PATTY
Since before I was born. Everything's "since before I was born."
MARK OLSEN
Yes-- but, Patty, soon that will be different. The world is changing.
Upon hearing this, Patty looks around the room, searching for signs of change.
YOUNG PATTY
Nothing different in the world.
MARK OLSEN
No, outside!
YOUNG PATTY
Outside?
MARK OLSEN
Yes, soon we'll be able to leave here, this awful place. We'll be able to go back outside. Of course, it'll be hard work at first, but, in return for that work, we'll be able to run free, look up at the sun during the day and the stars at night, and eat real food. Something I look forward to. I've been eating those nutrient bars since...(beat)
Before you were born.
3 DISSOLVE - INT. SHELTER 3
Patty is on the floor in a sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling of the shelter.
MARK OLSEN (v.o.)
..look up at the sun during the day and the stars at night.. ..look up at the sun during the day and the stars at night..
The ceiling is dark.
DISSOLVE TO:
4 INT. SHELTER 4
MARK has opened the door. He is wearing a heavy jacket and backpack. Young Patty is carrying a large parka. Next to her is a bag filled, probably with some essentials. He turns back to talk to Young Patty.
MARK
Do you have everything, Patty? Once we start going, we can't come back for more.
Young Patty pulls on the parka, zips it, nods, and picks up the bag. Mark turns and walks up the passage, Patty following. As she steps through the doorway, she turns, takes one final look at the shelter, and leaves.
5 EXT. OUTSIDE DOOR OF SHELTER 5
Mark opens the latches on the door, and it opens.
He and Patty walk out, she noncommittal, he staring at the sky in terror.
The world outside is gray. No plants grow, and the sun doesn't shine.
Olsen drops to his knees and begins to cry.
MARK OLSEN
No!! No! Where is it? Where?
YOUNG PATTY
What's wrong, daddy?
MARK OLSEN
The sky-- remember what I told you, Patty? The sky should look be an ocean of blue, with lots of small puffy white clouds.
Patty looks at him blankly.
MARK OLSEN
There's nothing! Nothing!
He collapses on the ground, sobbing
LITTLE PATTY
Daddy? What do you mean? It's all the same-- It's just the same.
DISSOLVE TO:
6 INT. OLSEN'S DEATHBED ROOM 6
Patty, now about 17 years old, stands in the doorway.
We see she is staring in to see DOUG EARNSHAW, speaking with her dying father. He is clutching his faded floral bedsheets.
MARK OLSEN
We've lost them, Doug-- they're gone. When will they come back? Our world, Doug, our world...
DOUG EARNSHAW
Mark-- we rescued you and Patty from your shelter and brought you here because you showed that you were survivors. We needed you two in the gene pool. Prove to me that you're a survivor again, Mark! Don't give up on us. We start planting soon, Mark. The colors will be back. The world will be back. Our world. Just hang on!
MARK OLSEN
Our world? No. I thought our world was waiting when I came out of that shelter. It wasn't.. I've waited years for it to return, and it hasn't.
DOUG EARNSHAW
It takes time, Mark. The damage done--
MARK OLSEN
No time can help us, Doug. I think that our world ended when that first bomb went off. This isn't our world. Not any more.
Earnshaw gets up and begins to walk away.
DOUG EARNSHAW
Don't talk like that. It'll get better. You just hold on.
Earnshaw has reached Patty, and begins to close the door behind him. As it closes, we hear Olsen once more.
MARK OLSEN
It's not ours, Doug. We've left it for them. It's all theirs now.
After the dialogue, cut to Earnshaw shutting the door.
PATTY
I don't understand it, Doug. He just doesn't seem to care anymore. He lies in bed and cries about the colors, the sky, flowers, things like that. It's like he doesn't want to go on.
Doug grabs her by her shoulders, and brings her facing directly toward him. We see her stare, and his reaction (he turns his head away, and begins pacing around the room)
DOUG EARNSHAW
Patty, you can't understand what your father feels. We all feel it, those of us who knew life before... this.
He gestures around the room.
DOUG EARNSHAW
Your father is worse than most. But he was in that shelter of yours for all that time..! I guess he expected the world to be normal when he got out.
Patty nods, tries to stifle a sob, and hugs Doug.
PATTY
Thanks, Doug. I'm so worried about him. Ever since you brought us here, you've been like a second father to me. And you've been daddy's best friend...
DOUG EARNSHAW
I love both of you, Patty.
He pulls back from the hug, still holding her, but enough to look her straight in the eye.
DOUG EARNSHAW
But I can't really take credit for getting you in. We do need all the people we can get, if we're going to try and survive.
Patty sniffs, but instead of smiling at him, she gives him that blank stare. He turns his head, and then hugs her again so he doesn't have to look at that stare.
DISSOLVE TO
7 INT. MARK OLSEN'S DEATHBED 7
We see him clutch at his floral bedsheets, with Patty next to him, and he dies. She stares at his bedsheets, and then slowly pulls them over his head.
DISSOLVE TO
8 INT. DOUG'S WOODEN BEDROOM DOOR -- YEARS LATER 8
We hear a knock. Doug, now old, comes to the door. Patty, now adult, is standing
there with two young children in tow. Her expression is still one of blankness.
DOUG EARNSHAW
Come in, come in.
PATTY
Hi, Doug.
DOUG EARNSHAW
I'm glad you came, Patty.
He looks up at her, and then closes his eyes, to avoid seeing her stare.
DOUG EARNSHAW
I have something to tell you, Patty. It's what your father died looking for.
PATTY
Looking for?
DOUG EARNSHAW
Colors, Patty. Something you've never experienced. But we've begun to plant, Patty.(he coughs)
The skies have finally cleared. Life is resuming. The world is showing itself in a way you've never seen before. The world has ceased to be gray-on-gray. Appreciate what your father could not, Patty. Do you understand?
Patty swallows and gives a blank look, but pretends to understand.
PATTY
Yes.
DOUG EARNSHAW
Good.
He turns away, finished with her.
Patty turns around, slowly walks out of the room with her children.
9 EXT. OUTSIDE DOUG'S HOUSE. 9
Patty and her children walk down his walkway. Workers are planting flowers on either side.
The oldest child speaks.
CHILD
Mommy, what did Mister Earnshaw mean about `colors'?
Patty stops. They all stop. She looks at them both. We see her eyes, their eyes. She opens her mouth to begin to answer, and then unemotionally closes her mouth.
PATTY
I don't know.
They linger for a while, and then begin to walk off. All the while the workers work in the background.
PATTY (V.O.)
The elders tell us how beautiful things look, and I have to admit that it's nice to see these things. It gives me a good... feeling, because it shows me that we're going to make it. And my children will have a world for themselves, a world not too different from the world my father longed for.
10 EXT. GRAVEYARD 10
Someone's grave. Simple, wooden cross.
PATTY (v.o.)
Oh, and every week, I leave flowers on two graves: my father's and Doug Earnshaw's. I'm sure they would appreciate them.
Pan down from cross to show flowers (in color.)
FADE OUT.
End.