by Anonymous
Scene I
Interior. Day. A luxurious private box at Churchill Downs, near Louisville, Kentucky. Derby Day, September 5, 2020. Six white men are in attendance: the very important SENATOR FROM KENTUCKY, the not as important SENATOR FROM SOUTH CAROLINA and the as-yet-disgraced EVANGELIC IMPRESARIO, all Dixie born, and THREE YOUNG MEN, in sailor suits, who attend to them. Because of the coronavirus pandemic, all seats of Churchill Downs remain vacant, save those occupied by these six men.
The SENATORS and EVANGELIC IMPRESARIO, sipping Four Roses bourbon and smoking cigars, watch the final race intently: it’s a tight one, cheek to jowl, and each man has money on different horses. The hosting SENATOR FROM KENTUCKY, home on recess, has it all on Storm the Court (odds 27-1). The SENATOR FROM SOUTH CAROLINA, who seems to be enjoying more than his fair share of attending attentions, equivocates before placing his bets: Tiz the Law (odds 3-5)? Or Money Moves (odds13-1)? But then at the last minute he goes all in for Mr. Big News (odds 46-1). The EVANGELIC IMPRESARIO, with God on his side, has put his money on the long shot Winning Impression (odds 50-1), who is losing badly. In the final stretch, it’s Mr. Big News, Tiz the Law, and Authentic. The EVANGELIC IMPRESARIO, with skin no longer in the game, nods in the direction of the YOUNG MEN for a refill, and the one who works as his POOL BOY, wearing a life preserver around his neck, quickly obliges. The EVANGELIC IMPRESARIO needs a drink badly after all the Big News he’s been in lately. The SENATORS, who are in the middle of their own races for reelection, watch the finish closely, through opera glasses.
Authentic wins the Derby, followed by Tiz the Law, and Mr. Big News. Post-race ceremonials and hearty, good-time fellowship ensue. Many libations are poured. Many cigars, smoked. Much hilarity. With an arm around the POOL BOY, the EVANGELIC IMPRESARIO mentions that he is fervently praying for the quick recovery of an elderly SUPREME COURT JUSTICE, recently hospitalized. Everyone busts a gut. Piling on, also hanging an arm on the POOL BOY, the SENATOR FROM SOUTH CAROLINA wags a cigar at the SENATOR FROM KENTUCKY and says, his drawl thickened by too many vices: “Now, Senator, I don’t want to use your words against you, but remember what you said? Back then, you said the American people are perfectly capable of having their say on this issue, so let’s give them a voice. Let’s let the American people decide. What about that? Hunh? What about that?” The SENATOR FROM SOUTH CAROLINA emphasizes the point with a cigar air-punch. Even more general hilarity. The SENATOR FROM KENTUCKY does not join in the laughter. Close up on the SENATOR FROM KENTUCKY. His eyes grow wider and brighter. His thin lips stretch into a grinching smile.
Scene II
Neither interior nor exterior. Neither night nor day. Just darkness. The sound of a million clattering keyboards and murmuring voices, echoing. Zeros and ones fly across a million screens in rows, glitching. Billowing, gray clouds of ash sweep toward us. The sounds of applause, punctuated by the sounds of booing. Cryptic hashtags form on those million glowing screens for an instant and then disappear and form again: #thestorm, #thestormiscoming, #thestormishere, #saveourchildren. What could they mean? An image briefly coheres: we move into the circle made by the inner band of an upside down cowboy hat. Something is glowing inside. They are: car headlights, moving over a desert road, as seen from the driver’s point of view. Now and then we catch a glimpse of a body lying at the side of the road. The occasional, blurred zombie wanders by. The letter “Q,” in white, flashes in the background, a digital pulse, and a sequence of images fade in and out: a progressing car, a crudely drawn syringe, drawing liquid. In the sky, a cartoon full moon flies past, over and over.
Scene III
Exterior. Day. A country road in the present day Western United States. In the foreground, with their backs to the camera, a line of armed men, irregularly dressed, some in camo, some not. MIlitia men. In the middle distance, a car approaches the line of armed men. In the background, a hillside of pines, on fire, smoke and flames rising into the sky. The car stops. Documentary style camera work. WOMAN ONE steps out from the driver’s side. WOMAN TWO steps out from the passenger side. A BOY remains seated in the back seat. WOMAN ONE approaches the MILITIA LEADER. The MILITIA LEADER wears an armband that reads: Peepstone, Oregon, Aaron Squadron. A heated exchange. WOMAN ONE says that she needs to get to a farm to save some animals trapped by the spreading fire. The MILITIA LEADER, who is also armed with internet intel, explains that the road is closed, that such rescue is not possible, there are antifa terrorists in the area, lighting fires and looting homes. For all he knows, WOMAN ONE, WOMAN TWO and the BOY could be terrorists, too. WOMAN ONE starts screaming at the MILITIA LEADER. The MILITIA LEADER shouts back. WOMAN TWO tries to intervene, grasping WOMAN ONE by the arm. WOMAN ONE twists away, shouting: “That’s it! I’ve had it!” She marches back toward the front of the car, leans into the driver’s side. A MILITIA MAN shouts: “She’s got one! She’s going for it!” Cut to black. Sound of gunfire, loud to the point of distortion.
Present and accounted for.