A MAN'S VOICE
I'm not a poet. I've never moved
anyone with my words.
Maybe that's why they chose me.
EXT. WOODS - DAY
continues to fall.
INT. BEDROOM - MORNING
Still, the sound of rain is heard.
40s, lies on his side in bed, staring at us.
He has not been sleeping. In fact, judging from his distant
expression, he has not slept in ages.
EXT. ROAD - DAY
Less like a road and more like a path that you maneuver a
accompanied by a medium-sized LABRADOR, and seems in no
Man, who remains motionless.
transparent and we see a WELL-DRESSED BUREAUCRAT in the rear
The Man he is addressing, who we now understand is CHRIS
KELVIN, stares back at him.
INT. CABIN - DAY
jarring as you might imagine.
him is the Well-Dressed Bureaucrat from the car, and two
looking into the camera.
display that reads: 0221 HRS 11/14/31.
We take off into the cosmos, ready
exhaustion, death. We're proud of
ourselves, in a way. But our
enthusiasm is a sham. We don't
Earth to the cosmos. We are only
seeking Man. We don't want Other
Worlds. We want mirrors.
Maybe we don't need to know what it
is, or why. Maybe just knowing
that it is should be enough.
switching it off and ending the transmission.
Kelvin sits back.
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