EXT. TOWNHOUSE - EARLY MORNING
The sky is a mixture of coral and light blue behind a small town house. The light green paint on the house is chipped and the roof's tiles are starting to break. A silver bike is resting on the front porch.
Title card over image.
SEPTEMBER 21, 1977
INT. LIVING ROOM - EARLY MORNING
The morning sun shines into a living room with light yellow wallpaper. Many hand knit blankets with holes and inconsistent patterns are thrown over a tan coloured couch. Knitting needles and balls of yarn sit on a wooden coffee table in front of it. Next to the couch is another wooden table with a framed portrait of a family - a mom in her middle age, a daughter beginning her teenage years, and a son who is finishing his.
VIVIAN WRIGHT, 13, sits in front of a four pane window that looks out onto an enclosed backyard with green and brown grass. She is looking down on a small moth fluttering in the left corner of the window. She is completely mesmerized.
Title card over image.
THE DEATH OF A MOTH
Vivian stands up and searches for a pad of paper and a pencil in a kitchen drawer.
She returns to the window and starts roughly sketching. A new subject enters the room.
JEAN WRIGHT, 38, emerges from a dimly-lit staircase with a cross hanging above the door frame. She tightens her bathrobe and walks toward Vivian with a look of slight confusion on her face.
JEAN
You're sure up early. Couldn't sleep?
Vivian shrugs without turning to face Jean.
JEAN (chuckles; then) What, is today "no talking" day?
Vivian realizes her mother is speaking to her and turns around.
VIVIAN
Sorry. I was distracted.
JEAN Are you drawing something?
VIVIAN
Yeah - this moth. He's been sitting in the window for half an hour.
C.U. - Moth attempting to fly upwards.
JEAN (uninterested) Huh.
VIVIAN
I think he's in pain. Or maybe he's old. I can't tell what's wrong with him.
Jean looks over to the sheet of paper, and her interest suddenly peaks.
C.U. - sketch of a small moth with circular patterns drawn along its wings. The sketch isn't well done, but the image can clearly be made out. The name STEPHEN is written above the drawing.
VIVIAN (CONT'D)
I guess moths don't really live that long. Most bugs don't. I'm not sure what would drive them to dying, though. Do they all just "flutter" themselves to death?
JEAN
(still focused on the content of the drawing)
You named it Stephen.
Vivian freezes.
VIVIAN
Um, uh - I-
JEAN
Don't tell me you believe all this... hippie shit.
VIVIAN
Wh-what "hippie" stuff?
JEAN
That your brother is somehow a moth now, or whatever? Honestly, Vivian, I think you watch too much television.
Jean moves from the living room to the kitchen island.
VIVIAN
I don't actually think he's the moth.
Vivian backs down. She looks at the floor, too afraid to make eye contact.
VIVIAN (CONT'D)
(quietly)
And I'm not a hippie.
JEAN
You know I can't hear you when you talk like that.
VIVIAN (louder)
I said I know he's not the moth. They just...
(goes back to drawing) remind me of him now.
JEAN A moth?
(slight disbelief)
Of all the beautiful things in world, reminds you of Stephen? Not a moth even a butterfly?
Jean scoffs. She turns her back to Vivian and searches for something in the kitchen cabinet.
JEAN (CONT'D)
Your lack of empathy drives me crazy, you know that?
Vivian pauses to process what Jean just said - "your lack of empathy".
VIVIAN
My "lack of empathy"?
Jean starts to brew a mug of coffee - she is trying to avoid the conversation. Vivian still has more to say.
VIVIAN (CONT'D)
I don't think I did anything wrong. He was my family, too, you know. Just because I'm not miserable doesn't mean I'm not empathetic.
JEAN
I don't want to talk about this right now.
VIVIAN (under her breath) You never want to talk about it.
JEAN
You don't understand what it's like for me, Vivian. I sacrificed my entire life to raise you two. And he just goes and...
(deep breath; collects herself) But he's just a moth.
(sarcastically) Haven't I just struck gold?
Jean rests her elbows on the counter and takes a deep breath. She moves her hands into prayer, and tilts her head onto her finger tips. She crosses her chest.
Vivian sits and thinks to herself for a moment, contemplating how to apologize without actually meaning it.
VIVIAN (a beat)
I didn't mean to offend you.
JEAN
It's not you're offending. You me should be sensitive about Stephen's death. How do you think that would make him feel? To know he was a moth. Didn't you love him?
VIVIAN
Of course I loved him. I still do.
JEAN
Then stop. Please.
VIVIAN
I didn't do anything! Why am I the bad guy?
JEAN
Vivian, please-
VIVIAN
He wasn't perfect, mom.
Jean takes a sip of her coffee and closes her eyes.
VIVIAN (CONT'D)
Perfect people don't blow their brains out-
Jean suddenly drops the mug. Its shattering is loud and sharp. Ceramic shards and black coffee coat the entire kitchen floor. She is so agitated that doesn't even react.
Vivian is startled.
VIVIAN (panicked)
I-I'm sorry. I can help clean up-
JEAN (interrupting)
Don't. Please go to your room.
VIVIAN
But-
JEAN Just go.
Vivian slowly stands up and walks to the staircase, avoiding the accident her mother has made.
INT. DIMLY-LIT HALLWAY - EARLY MORNING
Vivian walks up the stair case and into a hallway towards her bedroom. A framed picture sits on a desk along the wall.
C.U. - portrait of a young man. Below reads: