"It’s Done."- A Dreamwright’s Screenplay

This screenplay was born from a dream I had a couple of nights ago. A very vivid, emotionally layered sequence that unfolded almost like a film- quiet, precise and very realistic. I remember the feel of the kiss, the setting being Paris 1974, the feel of the knife shaft in my hand. I shaped it into a six-scene short film script, preserving my perspective and emotional presence.

My dreams are sometimes silent, sometimes noisy. This one was quiet- not because I couldn’t hear, but because silence was part of the truth. Internal tinnitus noise can echo in my dreams, but not this one.

The man in my dream is indistinct, I don't really see his face. The two women, however, are extremely vivid. I was both kissed and watched the kiss, I was both the girl and the wife, I was both the witness and the reckoner.

"It’s Done."

Short Film Screenplay 

Genre: Psychological Noir  

Length: 6 scenes 

Dialogue: Minimal 

Setting: Paris, 1974- emotional architecture over realism 

SCENE ONE- EXT. PARIS STREET / INT. TWO WORLDS- DAY

Set in Paris, 1974. The air is thick with Gauloises smoke and Chanel No. 5. A man treads between two lives, his shoes echo on cobblestone and marble flooring alike.

INT. APARTMENT- DAY

I see the WIFE first. She is tall and elegant; composed. She wears haute-couture, dark navy trousers, a white silk blouse, with bishop sleeves and a wide collar, and a small navy scarf wrapped at her throat. Her thick, wavy brown hair frames an unlined face. She is older, but untouched by time. Her brown eyes are steady.

She stands in a balcony window, leaning on the frame, unmoving.

INT. BEDROOM- DAY

The GIRL lies on a bed, the MAN lies beside her; his head propped in his hand looking down at her. She is blond, sun-kissed and blue-eyed. She wears denim dungarees and a white tank top. She is barefoot, giddy and excited.

Now I am the GIRL. The MAN kisses me. Nothing more. Just lightly on the lips with the feeling of warmth and sweetness that I like.

Now, I'm sitting on a pouffe, observing them kiss, but at the same time still lying beside him, being kissed.

Now I feel the silk blouse against my skin and a faint kiss on my the back of my neck. I am the WIFE. I am the GIRL. I am also the observer.

The MAN seems to just appear, but always indistinct.

CUT TO BLACK.

SCENE TWO- INT. PUBLIC TOILET- DAY

Clean and bright with pale green tiles. Chrome taps and fresh towels. The kind of place an uptown woman would use without hesitation- and a young girl might think a bit posh; a place without social divides.

I didn’t walk in, I'm just there.

I am the WIFE standing at the basin, washing my hands. The GIRL then appears from a cubicle and stands beside me, happy and smiling.

I now observe them from behind, as each looks at the other.

Now I am the GIRL. We chat briefly; about missed holidays, cancelled dinners, broken promises, the cologne and clothes our MAN wears. Eerie similarities.

I am both of them at the same time. I feel silk cuffs, damp at the wrist and I tug a denim strap back onto my shoulder. I am also observing- from the mirror and from behind them.

I sense there's no jealousy or suspicion between us, only a sudden and strange bond.

CUT TO BLACK.

SCENE THREE- INT. APARTMENT-  NIGHT

The MAN stands in a shadow. Sleeves rolled up. Cigarette smouldering in a cut-glass ashtray.He speaks to the WIFE standing beside him.

MAN "She’s unstable. She's crazy about me and wants to ruin us. We could end this. Together."

Then he speaks to the GIRL lying on the bed. That strange appearing between one and the other.

MAN "She’s cruel. Vindictive. She wants to destroy me. We could stop her. Together."

Then he looks directly at me, only saying

MAN "She’s in the way. She needs to be removed."

His voice is logistical, cold. His face, indistinguishable.

CUT TO BLACK.

SCENE FOUR- INT. PUBLIC TOILET- NIGHT

The same tiles, same chrome, same towels, but now the air is very still.

The WIFE and the GIRL stand face to face. I am one of them- the GIRL, but I am also observing from the mirror.

Each of us holds a knife. Short-bladed and held low, down by our sides.

Now I watch them. Their faces are blank, their eyes locked. Not flinching or speaking. Not blinking. Just looking at each other.

It's as if each is asking: Did he lie to me? Or to you? Or to us both?

I feel the tension. I am the one who might kill. I am the one who might be killed. I am both.

The silence is not emptiness, it's evaluation.

CUT TO BLACK.

SCENE FIVE- INT. APARTMENT- NIGHT

It's dark. The MAN is standing on the balcony, calmly smoking, a smile on his lips.

I watch him from the shadows, from behind

The door opens. I watch the WIFE. She walks to him and stands beside him, places a hand on his cheek and says. 

WIFE: "It’s done."

Now, I am the WIFE, watching the GIRL touch his cheek and say.

GIRL: "It’s done."

In that instant- he knows.

His face changes, in realisation.

Then- the WIFE and GIRL- move. No words, no hesitation.

I, as the WIFE, thrust my knife into his back. Then the GIRL does too.

He collapses to the floor. The smoke from his Galoises curls upward, briefly, then fades. 

I am also observing from the shadows. I am the murderer and the witness to the murder.

CUT TO BLACK.

SCENE SIX- EXT. CITY STREET- DAY

Daylight and a crowd has gathered. They are talking over each other. More people are drawn by something on the ground.

I walk into the crowd. I am not the WIFE or the GIRL. I'm just there.

The crowd parts to let me in.

The MAN lies on the pavement. His white shirt blood stained- twin marks, symmetrical and deliberate.

His head lies in a pool of blood. His face shocked, eyes open.

No one speaks. 

I can still feel the knife in my hand. I look at it and there's blood on it. His blood. 

And now, the dream is done.

FADE TO BLACK.

FIN.

Dreamwright’s Note

"It’s Done." was dreamt in silence. The kiss was vivid, familiar- like the ones my husband gives me. There was no scent of cigarette smoke, though the man smoked. No scent of perfume, though the women wore it. My archive honours only what I dreamt, the rest is shadow. - Jane, Dreamwright

I hope you enjoyed it.