Tuesday, September 27, 2011


Just now as I sat watching a show, my consciousness was attacked with desires to write something. It took me a few minutes, but I finally sat down and opened up a document to start documenting my ideas and vision.

Unfortunately I couldn't figure out what to write. I know what I want to write, I just don't know what to write.

This isn't the first time I've ever had writer's block and it certainly won't be the last. This time I thought it would be fun to write a blog post (because I haven't blogged in a few weeks because of a new job) and use it to have a bit of fun.

Below is an image that I found on Google image search:

Now I'm going to write a scene using this image and post it below. (I'm going to try and use Scrippets so it will look official). My parameters are:
  1. No longer than a written script page.
  2. Image must be new to me and I can't read anything about the image.
  3. Must be sci-fi related or have some element of sci-fi within.
Hopefully this will be a fun tool to get me inspired to write again and bring back the flow of inspiration that I once had.


ANGELA picks up a steady pace as she crosses the last street.  Her breath has become erratic and her head swivels back and forth, waiting for an attack at any moment. She protects a small black backpack on her right shoulder, not letting it out of her clutches for a second.

She approaches the corner when a large black sedan SCREECHES to a halt, blocking her path.

A tall and slender MAN in a black suit swiftly exits the back of the car and puts on a large black surgical mask. Angela has no time to run, she stares the man down.


It would be in the best interest of the collective if you would get in the car.

Move now.

The man stands firm. He takes out a small cigarette-sized metallic pen. He points it at her.

That's not funny. Put that away.

I've tried to be reasonable with you Angela. You've left us no choice.

You've been given nothing but choices. You had a choice to stop the game when we arrived on this planet. You had a choice to bring the others back.
(closer to the man)
You had the choice to get me out, and you didn't.

The Man stares Angela down for an intense moment. Her icy-glare is unrelenting in its accusation.

He breaks. Takes off the mask. Puts the pen in his coat pocket.

Good. Now let me through.

I'm afraid that won't work Angela.

Instantly Angela lurches forward in pain. She grabs her stomach, it is beginning to bleed through her grey-hooded sweatshirt. She crumples to the floor.

...How could you?!...

Angela closes her eyes, for what seems like the final time.