The short screenplay that follows was written as part of the NYC Midnight Short Screenplay Challenge. I was given the following criteria to incorporate into this short screenplay:

Genre: Historical Fiction
Location: A University Laboratory
Object: A Mattress

This short screenplay was then written in less than 48 hours. What a learning curve this has been for me, as a writer. I wanted to push myself, and create something that I had never created before. I stand by this creation, for it has allowed me to learn and grow. I hope you enjoy it.

REBORN
In early 20th century Virginia, being reborn takes on a whole new
meaning when prominent Dr. Wells teaches a new method of curing
depression.

                                                                                                FADE IN:
INT. AMBULANCE WAGON - DAY

Dust particles waft through shafts of speckled sunlight that
strobe across the image of a frail hand clenching a white
bedsheet, exposing the edge of a thin, grimy hospital
mattress. We hear the muffled sound of horse hooves clacking
in rhythm, and the murmur of a lullaby.
The hand clenches tight knuckles between shafts of light,
then releases. We hear light breathing over the lullaby, it
becomes heavy and panicked with each passing strobe of
sunlight. We hear more clacking of horse hooves, and a deep
sigh.
                                                                   (V.O.)
                                      Hush little baby, don’t say a word,
                                      momma’s going to buy you a mocking
                                      bird . . .

EXT. VIRGINIA SCHOOL OF MEDICINE CAMPUS - DAY

We see a prominent brick structure, multiple stories high
with arching windows, and a lawn separated by cobblestone
walkways. There is a horse-drawn covered wagon at the front
of the building with the word “Ambulance” painted on the
side. Various people are littered about the entrance, several
glance toward the wagon and shuffle in to the building. We
hear the sweet sound of violins.

INT. OLD SCIENCE LAB - DAY - LATER

From the back right corner of the room, we see two rows of
high-top wooden science tables, the backs of eight younger
male STUDENTS seated two per table, and DR. WELLS pacing in
front of a large blackboard. Dr. Wells is dressed in dark
slacks and a dusty white lab coat. Directly behind him,
hastily chalked words on the blackboard; mania, dementia,
melancholia.
                                                              DR. WELLS
                                            All right, gentlemen, we have a
                                            special guest for your studies
                                            today.

The students of uniform dress shift around to look at each
other with curiosity, some mumble.

                                                          DR. WELLS (CONT’D)
                                           I have brought in a woman named
                                          ABBY, my patient, who was nonverbal
                                          just six months ago, all
                                          shittin and pissin herself. She was
                                          a shell of a woman. A shambles.

Dr. Wells pauses, walks to his desk on the left side of the
room and swallows golden hued liquid from a glass.

                                                        Dr. Wells (CONT’D)
                                           So, gather your things men. Abby
                                           awaits her daily melancholy
                                           treatment across the hall in the
                                           other lab. I think you’ll agree,
                                           she’s come a long way in six
                                           months.

The students pick up their books and belongings and start
toward the lab door.

                                                           STUDENT 1
                                         How long has your patient suffered
                                         from this melancholy, Doctor?

The other students stop to listen, looking at Dr. Wells, who
looks away from them and turns to face the windows.

                                                           DR. WELLS
                                        She has been suffering a postpartum
                                        onset of the disease. I understand
                                        it started last year sometime.

He takes another swig from the glass on his desk. He sets it
down harder than before.

                                                   DR. WELLS (CONT’D)
                                       All right then, boys. Let’s get on
                                       with it.

Dr. Wells follows the students out of the lab room as violins
play softly under the sound of their footsteps on tiled
floor.

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

Soft orange light from a flickering oil lantern fills the
room. Shadows play.

We see the silhouette of a woman in a night frock, sitting in
a rocking chair next to a wooden crib. She rocks while
cradling a baby. She is humming a lullaby and gazes down at
the swaddled infant. The baby is quiet, and we do not see
their faces.

Thudding footsteps are heard in the distance, growing louder.
We hear the latch of a doorknob and a creak of a door. A thin
slice of yellow light lands vertically across the baby, and
we see it is soaked in blood.

                                                     MALE VOICE (O.S.)
                                     Oh my God! What have you done? What
                                     have you done?

The woman lifts her head, but is still in shadows and we do
not see her face.

                                                    WOMAN
                                    Where have you been, darling? We’ve
                                    been waiting for you.

INT. OTHER LAB ROOM - LATER

Science tables have been pushed to the sides of the room. In
the center are two large steel basins. One has steam rising
from it. Next to the basins is a thin, long-haired woman
strapped to a makeshift gurney, dressed in a stained white
gown. She is gagged and blindfolded. She grips the sheet of
the thin mattress tightly and wriggles her body. She is
hollering muffled words frantically. A NURSE in a white
uniform stands beside her, head down, gently patting the
woman’s shoulders.

                                                   DR. WELLS
                                    Please take a seat at the tables,
                                    boys. What you are going to witness
                                    is called hydrotherapy, and as you
                                    can see, Abby here is no longer in
                                    the catatonic state she was in six
                                    months ago.

The students hesitate, then slowly find a seat at the side of
the room closest to the door. Some smile, some look at each
other with surprised looks. Dr. Wells swigs from a flask he
pulls from his lab coat.

                                             DR. WELLS (CONT’D)
                                   Excuse me, nurse, can you get our
                                   dear Abby ready?

The nurse turns away from the doctor, walks to a high-top
table, and picks up a pen from the ink well.

INT. WHITE BATHTUB - DAY

Water churns violently and we see a tangle of hair swimming
in the bubbles. We hear gasping, water splashing, and loud
muffled commands.

                                               MALE VOICE (O.S.)
                                   Take your bath and like it! Be born
                                   again, woman, be born again!

More splashing and gurgling. A woman’s face appears under the
water, her hair swims and her eyes are open in terror as
bubbles escape her mouth. We see large hands pushing her
down.

INT. OTHER LAB ROOM - LATER

Dr. Wells stares at the back of the nurse, he swigs from his
flask and appears agitated. The students shift uncomfortably
in their stools. The woman on the gurney moans loudly,
violently twisting her head from side to side.

                                                       DR. WELLS
                                    Abby, everything will be just fine.
                                    My students are here to observe the
                                    process of your re-birthing today.
                                   Can’t you give them a warm welcome?

The bound woman gets louder. The nurse steps closer to the
woman, still with her head down, and clutches the pen in her
tight fisted hand. Dr. Wells walks to the steamy basin and
dips a hand in and splashes some water.

                                                  DR. WELLS (CONT’D)
                                    Nice and hot. Just the right
                                    temperature, thank you, nurse.

The nurse is behind Dr. Wells now. So close she is almost
pressed against him. Students mumble quietly to each other.

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

A woman stands at a window, we see her back, dressed in a
night frock, hair a mess of tangles. We hear a baby crying,
but cannot see it. The woman places a hand on the window and
begins to pound until the glass breaks. She screams.

                                                     WOMAN
                                    Help me! Where are you? I can’t do
                                    this alone!

INT. OLD SCIENCE LAB - DAY

The nurse is still behind Dr. Wells. He suddenly turns around
and his face shows surprise and fear as he looks at her face.

                                                       NURSE
                                    Hello, Dr. Wells. I think you need
                                    to be born again.

She quickly rams the pen held in her clenched hand deep into
Dr. Wells’ throat. Students gasp, lurching from seats, they
run out the door. Blood pours from Dr. Wells’ neck as his
eyes widen.

                                              DR. WELLS (STRUGGLING)
                                    Abby? How?

Dr. Wells grabs his own throat and tries to steady himself.
Abby shoves him into the basin of hot water.

                                               ABBY
                                   Be reborn, doctor! Be reborn into
                                   hell, where you left me, and our
                                   child!

Abby kneels down next to the basin, she strokes the lifeless
doctor’s head and begins to sing. The woman on the gurney
sobs.

                                             ABBY (CONT’D)
                                  Hush little baby, don’t say a word.
                                  Momma’s going to buy you a mocking
                                  bird . . .

INT. STEEL BASIN - UNDER WATER

We see Dr. Wells’ face bobbing in red liquid, hair swimming
around the bubbles. Violins begin to play a familiar lullaby.

                                                                                                      FADE OUT.

She didn't want him to forget.
About her, 
about the babies,
about the nights,
infected with verbal rabies.

She wanted him to remember.

Every single time she
stepped down,
waiting for him to step up,
while he stepped out,
and sat down
to drown
their lives in a bottle.
Every single time he'd hobble
up to the door,
shouting "whore!" and met 
her socket with a knuckle.
She wanted him to remember 
the buckle he'd used 
that one Christmas morning.
Cartoons and toys,
too early.

She didn't want him to forget.
So she found just the right carpet,
big enough to roll his body.

December sets in,
like a blizzard on the mantle,
snuffing out the glowing hearth
with a billow of a different worth.
Breezes of the past, 
time and place,
too delicate to handle.
I watch the snowflakes drift
as soft white piles form
on the faded pictures.
The steam rises,
condensation cools,
and burns back down 
the ripples of my memories.
December sets in,
every year growing strength,
reminding me of my memory banks
and how easy they are breached.
Oh December,
my beautiful,
painful blizzard.