Deon, 15, is approached by a movie agent over a compelling story award he won through his school, and now they want to make a movie on it, but how is a teenager going to write that killer script and work as a consultant too? Is this a dream or a nig...
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PROLOGUE
TEEN BOY (PRE-LAP) Hi. My name is Deon. Nice to meet you.
FADE IN:
INT. 2-STORY HOUSE - DOUBLE BEDROOM - DAY
DEON (15) is at the computer desk, staring at the loading screen...
TEEN BOY (DEON) (V.O.) (CONT'D) In less than a month I will be fifteen. This is the time I have spent on this Earth, a planet full of life stuck in a corner of a boring Galaxy in the fuckknows neighborhood of the Universe. (sighs) Fifteen years of hopes, dreams, memories, emotions, moving houses, funerals, weddings, friends, enemies, fights, birthdays...
The Windows idle desktop screen appears. Deon's scanned wall board with a Dragon guarding loyally all the program icons and files reminds him of the real board hanging from the wall, so he turns his head to find it slightly unbalanced on the right, probably soon about to fall.
DEON (V.O.) Yeah... Exactly. Another birthday, every year less exciting and striking, every year less and less people coming, until I will be celebrating it alone... (sighs) Blowing a single candle, because until I was nine there were numbered according to my age, and to understand how old I was I had to count them one by one. Then we turned to the number form, 10, 11, 12... Now there's only gonna be one candle, to save time. And money. So now it is unclear how old I am and they have to ask me... "How old are you now?", and the day will come when I will be partying alone... and no one will have to ask me.
We look closer at Deon's face: his childhood freckles are slowing fading away, some replaced by teenage spots and pimples...
DEON (V.O.) The fact is... It's hard to tell how old I am...
He does look pretty young and feminine... A child with stretched limbs. He catches his faint head reflection on the computer desktop and cringes.
DEON (V.O.) Some attempt a rough guess and say Twelve... Nope. Sorry. Higher. Some even say Eleven...
He pushes away from the desk and gets up. The room is in a bit of a mess with boy clothes on the floor and bed.
DEON (V.O.) Are you dumb? Imma grow a beard soon! Not yet, actually... I'm not sure if it'll ever grow.
He frowns at his unmade bed with cartoon hot air baloons drawn on the covers.
Suddenly, Deon starts talking to himself, probably without realizing...
DEON (irritated) I'm fife foot four! How the heck am I supposed to be still eleven?
He paces around the room: the other bed is tidily made and with full tint blue - no cartoons.
