il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées.

aaaand a script.

Title: Sheet.
Writer: Kester Taylor.

PAGE ONE (Six panels. Break down into four horizontal parts, then make the second and fourth panel into two each).

Panel 1. A city bus; basically like a Greyhound, only it says something like MTA. Specific city is unimportant. We’re zoomed in enough that we can’t see the driver, but can see a few passengers. In roughly the middle of the bus, through one of the windows we see CARRIE. She’s a very attractive, young brunette. I was thinking something along the lines of Norah Jones? She’s wearing a hoodie, and there’s a messenger bag in the seat next to her. Through a farther back window, we can see a young blonde girl with long hair and bangs. She’s on the other side of the bus, so we don’t see her as clearly. Near the front, there’s a young, thin, dark haired white guy in a suit.

Panel 2. Same angle (outside the bus, through the window), but way zoomed in on Carrie.

CAPTION: I hate night buses.

Panel 3. View from the front of the bus; the guy in the suit is foreground, slightly dozing off, out of focus; behind him and to the left is Carrie, looking forward, and farther back to the right is blonde bangs girl, looking down at a magazine.

CAPTION: You can’t call anyone; all your friends are asleep. And don’t even think of the other passengers.

Panel 4. Same POV. Blonde bangs girl is turning a page.

Panel 5. We’re back outside the bus, looking in at all of them. Suit is tossing in his sleep, turning away from us.

CAPTION: You ride with them over and over, but you never really meet them.

Panel 6. Zoom in on Carrie. She’s turned her head to look straight out the window, almost right at us.

[CAPTION: There’s no connection.]

PAGE TWO (Four panels; one “splash,” and three at the bottom, taking up roughly a third of the page together).

Panel 1. A small child with a “ghost” costume, a sheet with eyeholes, dominates the panel. She’s holding out her arms as if to say “boo!” In an attempt to scare someone.

CAPTION: Until I was about six, every year on Halloween I’d dress up as a ghost.

CAPTION: Every year I’d come out of my room in my ‘costume,’ and I’d yell “Boo!”

CAPTION: My mother, opening the candy bags at the kitchen table, would always act surprised. Every time.
Panel 2. Little Carrie left, removing her costume. Her mother an early 30s tall brunette, right, seated, turned toward Carrie, feigning surprise.

CAPTION: Then I’d take off my sheet.

Panel 3. Same angle, but the sheet’s on the floor where Carrie was, and the girl and her mother have met in the middle. Carrie is running towards her mother, arms akimbo, and her mother is bending down, as if she’s about to pick her up. They’re both smiling.

CAPTION: “It’s just me!” I’d say.

Panel 4. We’re back on the bus, looking from the front down the aisle at Carrie, who’s looking ahead again, though not at us.

CAPTION: “It’s just me.”

PAGE THREE (Five panels. Basically, do a six-panel grid, and then have the top two be one large panel instead).

Panel 1. Showing the outside view of the bus again; left is the back, right is the front. Blonde bangs girl is walking left to right, just past Carrie.

CAPTION: She was always so happy to see me.

Panel 2. Aisle view from the back of the bus, behind blonde bangs girl, who’s still walking toward the front. There’s a scrolling LED display up at the top, at the front of the bus. It reads “Shamrock Ave. & 55th street.”

CAPTION: Like she’d missed me.

Panel 3. Same angle, but blonde bangs girl is on the stairs, exiting the bus.

CAPTION: Or she hadn’t known it was me under there all along.

Panel 4. Little Carrie as a “boo!” ghost again.

CAPTION: I wish it were always like that.

CAPTION: That we could just peek through the slits in our fingers, and see each other.

Panel 5. Little Carrie and her mother hugging, the sheet on the floor to the left.

CAPTION: Then we’d uncover our eyes, and just be so happy that we are, in fact, ourselves.

PAGE FOUR (Eight-panel grid this time).

Panel 1. Profile of Carrie in her seat, looking up, alert.

LOUDSPEAKER: Fifty-fifth and Lexington.

Panel 2. Side view again, Carrie walking up the aisle toward the front, now wearing her messenger bag.

CAPTION: I wish so many things were different.

Panel 3. View from behind, looking down the aisle. Carrie is bumping right into Suit, hard. His shoulder and left arm are kind of hanging out in the aisle.

CAPTION: I wish I knew you.

Panel 4. Side view again. Suit is now standing, left, facing Carrie, right, who’s turning around as she speaks.

CARRIE: I’m so sorry!

Panel 5. Same view. Suit’s smiling nervously, gesturing slightly. Carrie is facing him directly now.

SUIT: No, no, I’m fine.

Panel 6. Same angle.

CARRIE: Oh, uh…okay.

Panel 7. Same POV again. Carrie is backing up, waving, and about to turn around to walk toward the front.

CARRIE: Bye!

Panel 8. Same POV one last time (I know, a boring few panels to draw). Carrie is off-panel, and Suit is standing there, looking in the direction she went.

CAPTION: But I don’t.

PAGE FIVE (Splash).

Splash. We’re facing Carrie, who’s in the foreground, walking down a typical metropolitan sidewalk. Tall buildings. A few cars and parking meters. The bus, far behind her, is pulling off to the right. It’s dark out, and a few pathetic-looking street lamps are lit on either side. Maybe one could be burned out. Carrie’s got her hood up, and she’s pulling on the straps to make it close.

TITLE & CREDITS.