Exterior. Middle of nowhere. Night.
She’s wearing this wool sweater over a satin night gown, knee short. Better yet the clothes are wearing her. Dark brown army boots, too big for her.
She’s blond, maybe to blond and pale. She looks staved or sick.
No, wait, she is starved and sick but willingly. Anorexia maybe.
“When I grow up I wanna be famous, I wanna be a star, I wanna be in movies”. That’s what she’s trying to sing. But she’s full grown and she’s not a star, she’s nothing actually.
She’s a wannabe and she always was.
Dreams!
Too big to accomplish, too heavy to carry, abandoned at the corner of the streets. She used to have a bag full, now she only has one and it wears a copper jacket.
The sun rises over Manhattan as she raises the gun and puts it to hear head.
Starting at the gun, the frame widens to reveal Manhattan seen from the top of a building.
Pop noise. The figure from the left side of the frame drops.
Refocusing the frame on the girl. Collapsed on her right side, one foot on top of the other, her right hand under her head, her left hand is resting on her left thigh.
She’s sleeping.
The frame closing on the blond locks stained with read.
