X-Men By Ed Solomon <http://search.twitter.com/search?q=X-Men%20By%20Ed%20Solomon%20> <http://www.google.com/search?q=X-Men%20By%20Ed%20Solomon%20> <http://smarterfox.com/wikisearch/search?q=X-Men%20By%20Ed%20Solomon%20&locale=pl> <http://www.oneriot.com/search?p=smarterfox&ssrc=smarterfox_popup_bubble&spid=8493c8f1-0b5b-4116-99fd-f0bcb0a3b602&q=X-Men%20By%20Ed%20Solomon%20> Revisions: Chris McQuarrie Tom DeSanto Bryan Singer February 24, 1999 BLACK Sounds of a train rolling to a halt, a shrill whistle. EXT. CAMP - DAY UP ON the door of a weathered cattle car as a German soldier steps into frame wearing that familiar gray of the all-too familiar era. He throws the door to reveal a mass of huddled and frightened people inside. The words are not necessary. The language is not ours and the images say enough. Men, women and children are herded off the train like cattle toward a large open yard. There they huddle until the Germans begin to shout and shove through the mob. EXT. FENCE CORRIDOR - DAY We are looking up at rows and rows of fences topped with barbed wire all designed to create a separator for the thousands of Jew who pour through each day. Then we see the eyes themselves that look up at them. A LITTLE BOY. A boy who will not die this day. A boy who will live to see the end of the war and the world of the future. He stares at the metal wire with an unusual fascination. The boy looks up at HIS WORRIED PARENTS - a sturdy- looking couple who try to smile and comfort him. The corridor comes to a junction where it splits in several different directions. Soldiers here push the mob using rifles as pikes, screaming and terrorizing the lot of them. Suddenly it is clear what they are doing. They are dividing the mob into smaller groups. Soon, the groups themselves become evident. Men from women. Children from adults. The family tries to stay together, clinging to one another dearly, until finally, they are put upon by a number of gray uniforms and pulled apart. The boy is dragged screaming his feet no longer touching the ground. Two soldiers carry him as they follow the back of a large column of children being led through a gate of barbed wire so dense, it resembles wool. The gate closes and the boy looks back to see his parents - along with many others - being restrained by a number of soldiers. The screaming is deafening. And the boy's can be heard above it all. The soldiers seem to be having a hard time carrying such a frail child. The farther they get from the fence, the heavier he seems to get, until they are literally pulling him as though he were anchored to something. His outstretched fingers claw at the thin air and he screams until the blood in his face is blue. The soldiers are literally pulled back a step and they begin to slip in the mud. They look at one another and then over their shoulders as they hear a sound. A groaning, creaking sound. And then the unmistakable twang of wire stretched to snapping. ANGLE ON: The fence. The gate that separates the parents. It bows toward them like iron filings to a magnet, and several of the strands of barbed wire have given way. The boy continues to scream as all the other faces simply freeze and wonder. One of the soldiers pulls a wooden baton from his belt and brains the boy violently. He slumps and the soldiers carrying him spring forward as through a rope that was holding them back has been cut. They nearly fall, looking at one another with some concern, some confusion.... Then they follow the line of children that has gotten ahead of them. ANGLE ON: The boy's parents watch him as he -- as they, are taken away. The rest of their story is as you would expect. EXT. SKY - DAY Bright, bright blue framing a blinding white sun. PAN DOWN AGAIN TO REVEAL: The cracked, drought-stricken soil of nowhere. TITLES: KENYA - 1978 A group of children at play. Tribal children who, without the help of the titles, could be from any age. They run through a tiny village of tents, playing. Every child holds a long reed-like stick and they chase each other playing their version of tag. As each child is tapped, they chase the others. Each trying to avoid being "it", though never going far enough away to miss the fun. One girl in particular. A PRETTY GIRL OF 12, with unusual white hair, is tagged and immediately shunned. She chases kids this way and that, but to no avail. She is not strong enough, nor agile enough, to win. She tumbles and lands on her stick, snapping it. She stands and, when the children see that her stick is broken, they begin to giggle. The giggles become laughter and the laughter becomes a taunt, and before we even realize, the inherent cruelty of children let loose becomes evident. They have now formed a circle, at first avoiding her touch with distance, but now growing tighter with menace. In the unspoken manner of children at prey, the group begins to chant in their native tongue - a song we have not heard but sung in a way none-too inviting. They begin to poke at her with the reeds, driving her back. The girl now moves to the center of the circle, no longer wishing to tag anyone. ONE DEVIOUS CHILD seems to get an idea. He takes his stick and smacks it across her shoulder. She turns to face the child and another swings his stick across her back with a solid THWACK. Before long, mob rule gives way and all the kids are swinging at her and laughing. It grows to the brink of frenzy, the laughing and the shouting not too unlike the noise of the previous scene. So much so, we may miss the first flake of snow. The children certainly do. It is snowing for a good ten seconds before the last of them stops. By then, the snow is thick as flies and wafting down to melt instantly on the hot African soil that has never seen snow before. ANGLE ON: Adults come out of their huts and in from the fields and the whole of the village is soon gathered around the little girl, staring up from the clear blue sky and the snow that falls from nowhere. From nothing. One by one, all eyes fall on the little girl and the looks of curiosity become looks of fear. Of superstition. Punctuated by a solid thump. And then another. AN OLD MAN looks down at his feet and sees a tiny, misshapen ball of ice, no bigger than his eye. He looks at it, bites it, then pops it in his mouth - breath turning to steam. Another such chunk of ice pops him on the head. THE CROWD LAUGHS. They look up again and see that mixed with the snow are tiny pellets of hail, seeming to increase in number as the snow mysteriously wanes. And the pellets are getting larger. Until they land as hunks. The white haired girl drops to the ground and covers her head as hailstones the size of baseballs plow into the Earth. Before long, tents are collapsing and panic ensues. And all along the white haired girl sits huddled in the dust, crying. As hailstones fall in a circle around her, never coming closer than then a few feet or so. INT. HIGH SCHOOL GYMNASIUM - NIGHT ONE MORE SKY. This one a backdrop. Cheap paint and tissue paper hung with hooks on a wall just behind the basket on a full court. As we pull back, we see the skyline of New York, crudely made out with its silhouette buildings of dark gray and black - windows of yellow. Among the famous landmarks represented is the Statue of Liberty, complete with a real light bulb burning in the torch. We are at a prom. The theme is RHAPSODY IN BLUE and the decor has made tragic efforts to show it. The tablecloths are blue, the napkins are blue - far too many of the tuxes are powder blue, and the blue eye shadow is as heavy as expected. Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" gives painful indication of the era, but here it is, nonetheless: SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA - 1986 MOVE ACROSS THE F...
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