‘Frank and Isabelle,’ a Short Script

For class, I had to write a story that was mostly dialogue, with some other parameters.  I had written it straight up almost like a script, so I decided to turn it into a script format.

Let me know what you think!

Frank And Isabelle

By Clinton Nix

Setting: Two people in a car. Frank is driving, Isabelle is the passenger.

ISABELLE: How many times do I need to tell you, slow down.
FRANK: I’m slowing.
ISABELLE: It surely doesn’t feel like it. What is the speed limit?
FRANK: I told you, I’m slowing.

FRANK: There’s a bump.
ISABELLE:If you would go slower, it wouldn’t matter.

[The two sat in silence for several minutes. There was a commotion nearby that roused the curiousity of Isabelle.]

ISABELLE: Frank, what’s happening?

FRANK: It’s a circus.

FRANK: *laughs*

ISABELLE: Is there a clown?
FRANK: Oh look, a juggler.
ISABELLE: A juggler? What’s he juggling?
FRANK: Yowza! Definitely wouldn’t want to be that guy.
ISABELLE: Tell me he’s not juggling chainsaws
FRANK: Yep. Chainsaws. And…
FRANK: *laughs* This is something.

FRANK: Holy sh-!
FRANK: There was a fire breather! I’ve always wanted to see one of those, since I was a kid.
ISABLLE: Frank, stop! I want to get out.

[Frank was silent, and Isabelle frisked violently at the door, and took hold of the handle and yanked it, but the door did not budge.]

FRANK: I can’t stop! I can’t stop.
ISABELLE: Frank stop the car.
FRANK: I can’t.
ISABELLE: I want to get out.
FRANK: Someone’s following us.
ISABELLE: What are you talking about?
FRANK: I don’t know. I can’t stop. They’ve been tailing us for a while now.
ISABELLE: What do you mean they’ve been tailing us?
FRANK: What do you think I mean?
ISABELLE: I don’t know, I’m asking you.
FRANK: I mean what I say I mean.

ISABELLE: Why are they tailing us?

FRANK: I don’t know, espionage maybe. Maybe they think you’re a terrorist.
ISABELLE: Now why would they think that?
FRANK: *laughs* I don’t know. I would just call it a ‘hunch.’
ISABELLE: I don’t think that is very funny.

[Frank leaned forward and studied the rearview mirror, glancing back and forth between the view ahead and behind them.]

FRANK: They’ve turned off somewhere, we’re safe now.
ISABELLE: Oh, good. I was getting nervous.
FRANK: I was watching them for a while in the rearview mirror. Two guys in sunglasses. Thank heavens they turned.
ISABELLE: Can you please slow down now, Frank?
FRANK: Yes ma’am.

[Frank slowed the car and time passed as the two sank into their own separate worlds. Isabelle became noticeably agitated, as she shifted in her seat and nervously felt beside her for Frank’s arm.]

ISABELLE: What’s happening now?
FRANK: Nothing.
ISABELLE: Nothing?
FRANK: Nothing. Oh, there’s a boy over there, he looks a little bit suspicious.
ISABELLE: Suspicious?
FRANK: Yeah, real sneaky-like. I can just tell when something’s about to happen.
ISABELLE: What is he doing?
FRANK: He’s…oh no. *laughs*

FRANK: The little runt just stole some oranges from a fruit stand.
ISABELLE: I hate oranges.
FRANK: Well he must like them.
ISABELLE: Maybe he is homeless?
FRANK: He does look a little bit raggedy. Oh– oh no.

FRANK: The man operating the stand at the corner market found out. He’s- oh! *laughs*
He has a bat. This could get very ugly.
ISABELLE: Run, little homeless kid. Run, run… Oh Frank, I hope he doesn’t get hurt.
FRANK: He’s definitely a quick little runt. The guy chasing him is kind of a fatty, so he has a good shot at getting away. Oh– yep, he’s already huffing and puffing. Look at the kid go, too! *laughs* He should try out for track.

[Frank slammed on the brake suddenly and the car slid to a screeching halt. Both of them lunged forward in their seats, restrained only by their seatbelts.]


Frank, My neck hurts.

FRANK: The boy…


[Frank’s arms dangled below the steering wheel, and his head sunk between them.]

FRANK: He was hit. He was–
ISABELLE: By a car? Oh my god. Is he alright?

[Frank raised his head and squinted at the view in front of them.]

FRANK: Ugh- his body…his body is– mangled.
ISABELLE: Oh no– Frank, we have to do something. Find my phone, quickly! Call 911.
FRANK: It looks like someone else is phoning the police.
ISABELLE: Let’s get out, Frank. Unlock the door!

[Frank looked around frantically, pressed the gas, and they took off.]

ISABELLE: Frank! What are you doing?

FRANK: They’re following us again.
ISABELLE: Are you kidding me? Now?
FRANK: This is serious. I really wanted to get out and help the boy.

ISABELLE: Let’s at least say a prayer. A prayer for the poor little homeless kid.

[Frank grimaced as Isabelle touched his right hand.]

ISABELLE: *whispers* Frank, say something.

FRANK: Uh- I didn’t know the boy, but– may he rest in peace, and– find many fields– fields of orange trees, up in heaven.

[A stray tear dripped from Isabelle’s face, and the two submerged, once again, into their separate silent realms.]


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