Painting Trees

Written by Tyler Means

INT. SUBURBAN HOME - DAY

EVE, eleven or twelve, walks through the halls of her home. The dullest, grayest suburban house, a weak facade of the American dream. Her pinkie finger trails an imaginary path against the blank paint.

YELLS thunder through the walls, harsh and shrill and threatening: Her PARENTS.

Her MOTHER spots her. She grabs Eve's arm and shouts something, but her voice twists, muffles. It doesn't matter what she says. EVE isn't listening anyway.

Her mother strikes her, and her FATHER intervenes, jumping between them.

He locks eyes with Eve, she reads him. Go, run, escape.

Begin Flashback

INT. EVE'S BEDROOM - DAY

A much younger Eve and her father sit beside one another in her bedroom, a pure contrast to the rest of her home. Floral sheets rest against yellow walls. Curious. Welcoming.

An array of paints and one blank canvas are displayed before them.

Her father lifts the small tube of red paint, squeezes what's left onto the canvas. There isn't much.

FATHER Paintbrush?

Eve's little hand explores the options, brushes varying in length and condition, tattered and worn and loved.

She picks the brush in the middle, a little too big for her hands, but perfect for her father. He watches her, twisting the ring around his finger.

He accepts the brush with a gentle smile, dips it in the paint, and makes a stroke. It is steady, careful.

He nudges her shoulder, dotting her nose with red.

FATHER (CONT'D) Now you try.

Eve drags a line across the canvas, and another, one that curves and arcs. Her eyes follow each stroke of paint, mesmerized, dazed.

Dad?

She jolts, as if waking from a dream. Her father rests a hand on her shoulder.

Father

I'm here.

Eve nods, satisfied. Then she turns back to the canvas, filling the space with red. A huge heart forms in the center.

She becomes so absorbed in the painting, she doesn't notice when her mother bursts in, doesn't hear her mother shouting, doesn't see the strike to her father that follows.

Probably.

End Flashback

INT. SUBURBAN HOME - DAY

Eve's mother releases her arm and she locks eyes with her father, an unspoken thank you.

The YELLS resume as Eve sprints up the stairs.

INT. EVE'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

Eve bursts into her bedroom, a room still very much the same, but one that has grown. Paintings now hang above those floral bed sheets. Art supplies still litter the floor.

She sits cross-legged on the carpet. Beside her are cans of paint, a gradient of browns and greens.

She dips a large brush into a can, paints on her bedroom wall one thick stroke of brown. Then another, a thin line sprouting from the trunk, and another.

Her strokes are quick, desperate.

The YELLS build, grow, and follow the rough lines as they form a large tree. Long, twisted branches curl along each other, stretch toward her.

Eve closes her eyes and...

EXT. FOREST - DAY

A vast forest stretches across an island, its leaves casting a curtain over the bright sky. The soft roll of the SEA can be heard just beyond the RUSTLING of branches and BIRD SONGS.

Eve softly HUMS to herself as she wanders through the trees. At her feet hug ferns and soil and sand.

CRUNCH.

Eve lifts her foot and kneels to the floor, where a small white shell lays shattered in tiny pieces.

She examines the ground around her and finds another shell, alike in size and color. She cups it in her palms and traces a finger along its soft ridges.

Something glints beneath a fern - another shell, identical.

Eve brushes its fronds out of the way, revealing a trail of these shells, leading further into the forest.

She ducks under a collapsed tree, grey and peeling, and follows the trail. Curious. Intrigued.

With each step, the brush grows thicker. Thorns grab her ankles and spiderwebs tickle her hair. The sound of the sea surrenders to the call of the woods.

She climbs over a log, careful to avoid the hairy vine wrapping around its dark bark.

She jumps back onto the muddy floor and the shells begin to wither to a veil of leaves.

Eve pushes the leaves out of her path.

EXT. FOREST CLEARING - CONTINUOUS

Tall trees stand in a wide circle. A cliff looms in the grey haze, bursts of color poke through cracks in its rocks: PAPER NOTES.

Eve approaches the cliff and gently unfolds a purple note. The handwriting is that of a child's. Eve's.

I AM HERE...I AM SAFE...I AM OKAY...

She tucks it back into its crevice and reads a yellow note:

THANK YOU FOR STAYING WITH ME...THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE...

And the next:

...I PRAY FOR PEACE AND SAFETY...PLEASE...

With each note, the writing matures. Letters aged and preserved.

Hugged by roots at the base of a tree, something glints a vibrant red. She crouches down and peels back the notes and letters that conceal its face.

A heart stares back at her. One large, painted heart, with strokes all too familiar. She reaches toward it, traces her pinkie finger along the old canvas.

She returns to her feet and moves toward the center of the circle, to a little box resting on a fallen tree. She unlatches it. Inside rests blank paper and a small pencil.

She removes a pink note and scribbles:

I LOVE YOU DAD. WE WILL MAKE IT OUT OF HERE.

She folds the note in half and squeezes it through a notch in the stone, becoming one with the rainbow of hope.

Eve closes her eyes, ready to return home, and...

Nothing.

She looks around, frantic, at the trees that still surround her. She grabs her skin between her fingers and pinches, but still, nothing.

Eve

Dad?

Silence answers her call.

Eve spins on her heels, searches for the trail of white shells. They could lead her out of the forest, unless...unless.

Her shoulders tremble as she finds they are no longer in a neat line, but scattered randomly across the sandy floor.

She takes off running, but the thick brush and ferns reach for her ankles. It is as if she were running in a dream, pushing, fighting, but nature holds her back.

A leafy vine twists around her leg and she tumbles to the ground. She digs her fingers under it and pries herself out, jumping back to her feet.

The world closes in. With each step, the path ahead narrows, trees slowly shifting around one another.

Roots curve along her feet, threatening to pull her down again.

But she runs, soaring over logs and roots and stems.

Through the trees, she spots a long bridge, arching over a cascade of water.

EXT. WOODEN BRIDGE - CONTINUOUS

Eve races to the bridge, slowing slightly after stepping off the forest floor. Her breathing slows.

She crosses, peering into the water below, when the ground shudders.

She darts across. The wood cracks and crumbles beneath her. She almost reaches solid ground again when the planks fall from under her.

Eve grasps at the remnants of the bridge as she falls, but they too collapse.

Her SCREAMS echo through the trees as she plummets into the freezing water.

EXT. RIVER - CONTINUOUS

The world quiets. RUMBLES and CRIES mute by the rush of the current.

Eve swims upward, only to be dragged back under. Something tickles her ankle below and another SCREAM escapes her throat.

It wraps around her leg, growing tighter and tighter as it pulls her deeper. She claws at it desperately, squinting through the murky darkness.

She sees the slimy weed around her ankle, but something else glints in the depths.

Metal. A necklace, no, a ring. Beside it, paint bottles, and...bones.

Her nail slices through the stem and it loosens its grasp. She spots a bank, overhung with roots, and she grabs it, kicking as hard as she can.

Exhausted, she uses the root to propel herself to the surface and grabs onto the faltering rock and grasses.

Eve gasps as she resurfaces, coughing the river from her lungs. Her arms shake as she pulls herself to shore and collapses onto her back.

EXT. FOREST - CONTINUOUS

She stares into the sky, breathing heavily. The river, the ring. The bones.

She rolls onto her knees and gathers sticks and fallen branches.

INT. EVE'S BEDROOM - DAY

Orange and yellow paint buckets sit open on the floor.

Multiple trees have been painted onto the walls, a forest of chestnut and ochre and emerald.

Eve dips her paintbrush into vibrant orange paint.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Eve's nail beds drip red as she pries off the bark of a tree branch, revealing a dry layer beneath.

Her hands find a rock and she rubs it against a stick, sharpening it to a broad point.

Vines crawl around her. She grasps the stick firmly in her palms and rubs it aggressively against the dry branch.

The GROAN of the trees yell to her.

Charred bark begins to form.

INT. EVE'S BEDROOM - DAY

She touches her brush to the wall, orange contrasting against the dim colors of the leaves and bark.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

A spark, and the dusty floor ignites.

INT. EVE'S BEDROOM - DAY

Eve's paintbrush flies, strokes of curved flame climbing her trees.

She stirs her brush in yellow paint and traces it along the trunk.

With orange and yellow and red, she dots sparks along the wall, setting her forest ablaze.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

The forest SCREAMS.

The ground pulls at her limbs as embers erupt from its heart and ascend, higher and higher.

She has nothing left to do, so she dances.

And she dances.

The trees stretch far above her, dark smoke clouding the sky. Ferns and nuts and shells SNAP and WEEP beneath her feet.

And she spins, her arms outstretched, letting the breeze encircle her open palms and fill her curls and carry her away.

And she moves as the trees stalk toward her and their vines twist and bark CRIES.

The brush wraps around her limbs, pulling her within. She can see the flames as foliage overcomes her.

So she dances, and dances.

And she becomes one with its branches.