These are my columns and my screenplay for my English portion of the project, which was a narrative story written from three different perspectives. The columns are more in depth, while the screenplay is just what I was going to put into my animation. Both of them work together to make a more cohesive final product.

COLUMNS:

Everett:

I was once a dreamer. The sky was my playground, the birds my friends and companions. I could be anything, change anything. Except the one thing that mattered most. More and more I started discovering that I was powerless to make a difference outside of my own world where I played in the clouds and flew free as a bird. I was too small, too ignorant, too timid to make a difference where it mattered most. So I hid. I withdrew into my own world, with my music and my hurt. The birds were my solace. So many times, about to break, I went through the motions, fold after fold, crease after crease, until a new bird came to life underneath my fingertips, free the as wind that whistled past my window. I was giving life to another while it was slowly leaking out of me, bit by bit. My music drowned out the muffled shouts, the drunken sounds of the pounding of a fist on another’s soft flesh.

I once was a liar. I lie to my friends, “I’m fine.” “I slept well last night.” “No, nothing is wrong.”And hide from them the thoughts that torment me in the quiet hours of the evening before I can fall asleep and before the fighting starts. My conscience “You are a coward” and my fathers voice, “Everything's fine. Now there’s no need to tell anyone about this is there?”

I once was a coward. Looking back on it, it was those eyes that changed me. Gave me the courage to act. Hazel eyes, framed by dark lashes, so similar to my own. But dull, lifeless, given up on the fight. Every morning when I looked in the mirror, I saw those eyes with their spark still in them. But my mom, the one who had raised me, nurtured me, taught me that I can do anything, she had lost her spark. I was old enough that I was no longer her little boy. But instead of her taking care of me, I could protect her.

Omniscient Narrator:

Everett lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He is young. He seems to be waiting for something. He hears a shout and a thud from the bedroom across the hall. He winces, gets up and takes a piece of paper from his desk, beginning to fold. Completing one crane he strings it up so it is hanging from the ceiling fan, gets back in bed, and shuts his eyes, a single tear rolling down his face. A couple years pass. The room is filled with many more paper chains, of every paper imaginable. Newspaper, subway wrappers, patterned paper, and old receipts mingle with the more traditional cranes made of plain paper. The boy is a couple years older now, and is working on his homework when the shouts begin, followed by the beating. He has a pained expression on his face as he takes out of sheet of paper and begins to fold slowly, mechanically. Three more paper cranes are added to the flock in quick succession. He lays back down and puts in his earbuds, turning up the music until it drowns out the sound of his father’s nightly ritual. he closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep. A couple years pass. The boy is older, a teenager now, as evident by the hint of stubble on his chin. When he hears the beating began, he gets up from where he was sprawled on the bed and begins to fold  paper crane on red paper. Finishing it, he traces the number 1000 onto it, and strings it up with the rest of them with a sense of finality. He walks out of his room with a sense of purpose.

Paper Crane:

An old Japanese legend said that anyone who folds a thousand paper cranes so pleases the gods, the folder is granted a wish. People often turn to me when they want something. Need something. Like they expect me to grant some miracle for them. I’m a paper crane for god’s sake. I’m pretty much powerless. I mean, FEAR ME, I am the almighty crane and I can give you paper cuts and a bad case of carpal tunnel! Yeah, right. Anyway, this kid, Everett. It was pretty clear what he wanted. Dada to stop drinking, Dada to stop hurting mama. I felt bad for the kid. I mean, I’ve always had my flock, but he didn’t have anyone. Not really. His dad drowning in drink and the depth of his sorrows, his mom oblivious to the world around her, too damaged to ever be whole again. He turned to his music, to me, never really opening up to anyone for fear of getting burned. I think part of him blamed himself, for not being perfect enough, making his dad’s life even harder. And his dad for not getting the help he needed. And his mom for never standing up for herself. But he didn’t understand. Not really. His dad, shifting from job to job, struggling to make ends meet. His mom, who loved her son so much as to face the wrath of her husband to stop him from ever laying a finger on her little boy. He turned to me in his pain. But I couldn’t help him. Not really. I gave him a sense a patience. A sense of duty. And in the end, when it really mattered, it was up to him to follow his own path. I could only hope that he made the right decision. And realized, from me and my flock, that family is that one thing that matters most.

SCREENPLAY:

“An old Japanese legend said that anyone who folds a thousand paper cranes so pleases the gods, the folder is granted a wish.”  writing on black background

FADE IN:

INT. THE BEGINNING - DAY

EVERETT

“I was once a dreamer."

Everett running across the screen, birds flying around. He starts climbing higher and higher, until he is on top of the world.

EVERETT

“I could be anything, change anything. Except the one thing that mattered most.”

Everett looks down at a small house sitting on the hill, the camera follows his gaze.

*sound of slap* flash of a memory- Everett lies on his bed, a single tear leaking down his cheek.

EVERETT

“More and more I started discovering that I was powerless to make a difference. I was too small, too ignorant, too timid to make a difference where it mattered most.”

Everett standing in the middle of screen, shrinks down with each insult, until he looks insignificant.

INT. INDIFFERENCE - DUSK

EVERETT

“So I hid. I withdrew into my own world, with my music and my hurt.”

Everett walks through a sea of blank faces with eyes earbuds in, each person slowly fading away until he is walking alone.

“So many times, about to break, I went through the motions, fold after fold, crease after crease, until a new bird came to life underneath my fingertips I was giving life to another while it was slowly leaking out of me, bit by bit.”

Close up shot of a paper crane being folded, then the crane begins to flap and fly away, transforming into a real bird.

*muffled sound of punch* two flashes of a memory- Everett lies on his bed, winces, a single tear leaking down his cheek.

INT. TRANSFORMATION - DUSK

EVERETT

“I once was a coward. Looking back on it, it was those eyes that changed me. Gave me the courage to act. Every morning when I looked in the mirror, I saw those eyes with their spark still in them. But my mom, the one who had raised me, nurtured me, taught me that I can do anything, she had lost her spark. I was old enough that I was no longer her little boy. But instead of her taking care of me, I could protect her.”

Everett is older, a teenager now, as evident by the hint of stubble on his chin. When he hears the beating began, he gets up from where he was sprawled on the bed and begins to fold  paper crane on red paper. Finishing it, he traces the number 1000 onto it, and strings it up with the rest of them with a sense of finality. He walks out of his room with a sense of purpose.

FADE OUT