humanist philosophy

Inspired by Dan Beirne's fine fan fiction (and here) on Said the Gramophone I've been working on this for a few days. Had to get it out before the election.

Apologies if the format is wonky, it looks way better in pdf format.

                               Humanist Philosophy

                                       By

                                  Camel Attack

              Sainted Strings of a Harp: an unauthorized biography
           (unpublished)

   INT. GENERAL-PURPOSE ROOM IN A CHURCH BASEMENT -- 1986

          The cinder block walls are painted yellow and mostly bare.
   Beside the door there is one large bulletin board that
   overflows with paper; fire procedures, upcoming socials and
   garage sale notices jostle for space. Another section of
   wall is covered in children’s art; smears of colour,
   abstract dogs and dozens of traced hands cut out and
   decorated. The only window in the room is at ceiling level
   and it is night outside. There is a table set up with mugs,
   coffee and two plates of sad biscuits.

   In the middle of the space chairs form a rough semi-circle.
   Some are empty while others are filled by eight men and two
   women. The people are from fat to thin but tend to be
   gathered at the poles. They seem weary, sick, depressed or
   all three; defeated by life and the world. One man, PRESTON,
   sits in the group, pale like the others but with eyes that
   are bright and alert. His head bobbles precariously on a
   long skinny neck with a pronounced Adam’s apple bulge. He
   wears a blue suit that should be smaller and needs pressing.
   In front of the chairs, watched by the gathered sunken and
   darkly-ringed eyes, two men stand:

   TED is the only person with colour in his face, thanks
   largely to a rancid orange tanning cream he has applied
   religiously for the past 3 years. He glows, exuding support
   and kindness looking towards STEPHEN.

   STEPHEN looks nervous wearing an unflattering sweater and
   blazer combo. His brown hair is thick and wavy but poorly
   cut. STEPHEN’s blue eyes move between the ground and TED
   until on a nod from TED he speaks:

    STEPHEN
  My name is Steve and I am afraid of
  ghosts.          

     GROUP
          (together)
  Hello Steve.               

      TED
  Would you like to share a ghost
  story with the group Stephen?

    STEPHEN
  Yes. Thank you.

TED takes a seat in the semi-circle of chairs. 

    STEPHEN(CONTINUED)

  I’ve only ever seen one ghost, and,
  well, I haven’t been the same
  since. It happened in 1984 when I
  was still a student, at the
  University of Calgary...am I meant
  to say that? 

      TED
  It’s alright Stephen, tell us
  whatever you’re comfortable
  sharing.  

    STEPHEN
  Well, I was working on an economics
  paper in the library late at night.
  Paranormal activity had never been
  a thing for me, and the library is
  a new building, so I wasn’t even
  thinking...I was just worried about
  my deadline.

Some of those in the chairs are nodding their understanding.

    STEPHEN(CONTINUED)

  I remember looking up from my books
  and being surprised because
  suddenly there was no one there. It
  was well after midnight and I
  suppose everyone had gone home, but
  I hadn’t noticed them leave. I
  didn’t even see a librarian at the
  circulation desk. I felt very
  alone.

STEPHEN stops for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing
deeply to compose himself. The meeting congregants shift
uneasily in their chairs. Even TED’s orange skin greys
slightly.

    STEPHEN(CONTINUED)
  I knew it was against library
  rules, but I had a ham sandwich and
  thermos of coffee hidden in my book
  bag.

      GROUP
  Knowing snickers and quiet laughs.

    STEPHEN
   (stares coldly at the
   gathering before him)

  It was a thermos of coffee.
   (looks at the ground and
   regains his composure)
  I decided to eat my sandwich and
  drink some coffee. I was flagging.
  No one was around. I didn’t even
  try to hide what I was doing. 

  I had finished half my sandwich, it
  was a ham sandwich, did I mention
  that?

       TED

  Yes. Go on Stephen. Take your time. 

    STEPHEN

  So I had just eaten it and had some
  coffee when I heard a noise behind
  me. I turned and there was
  a...a...I still don’t know what to
  call it. It was an orb of light
  floating in space. A ghost.  

       CUT TO:    
INT. LIBRARY STUDY AREA -- TWO YEARS BEFORE

STEPHEN sits turned in his chair. On the table, to his back,
sprawl a mess of books, a half-eaten sandwich and a thermos.
He looks the same, perhaps slightly younger and is wearing a
button-up shirt. He is staring incredulous and frightened at
an apparition. His words describe the scene.

    STEPHEN(V.O.)

  I stared, I don’t know how long,
  and it didn’t do anything, really.
  Just moved back and forth in front
  of the humanist philosophy section.
   (long beat as 1986 STEPHEN can
   be heard struggling with his
   emotions, 1984 STEPHEN is
   frozen in fear and confusion
   and the orb continues to do
   nothing except slowly change
   colours red, orange, green and
   back)

       CUT BACK:

INT. GENERAL-PURPOSE ROOM IN A CHURCH BASEMENT -- 1986 

    STEPHEN
  Oh God! It didn’t DO ANYTHING! But
  that’s why it was so terrifying.
  Just a glowing ball, something you
  could never quite come to grips
  with or focus on, indeterminate and
  ominous, like it could turn into
  anything at any moment. The best
  thing I can say is it held
  potential. A horrible potential
  that was vaguely threatening. Am I
  making myself CLEAR? There was the
  possibility of looming DISASTER!

   (his voice is increasingly
   ragged, tears build in his
   eyes, and his face quakes. He
   has lost his cool)
  Then it was gone...and a librarian
  said they were closing...and I
  shouldn’t be eating or...drinking
  in the library.

STEPHEN breaks down and collapses with a whimper. TED has
anticipated the fall and is already standing to catch him.
TED’s orange seems to strengthen as he guides STEPHEN to a
chair. The shot stays on STEPHEN who is quietly crying.
Someone hands him a mug of coffee and a biscuit.

SLOW ZOOM ON STEPHEN

    PRESTON(V.O.)
  My name is Preston and I am afraid
  of ghosts.

     GROUP(V.O.)

  Hello Preston. 

    PRESTON(V.O.)
  When I was 15 I went camping with
  my family in Tennessee. On that
  trip I lost my virginity to the
  ghost of a Confederate general’s
  mistress.

A DISCONSOLATE STEPHEN IS NOW FRAMED IN AN EXTREME CLOSE-UP.
STEPHEN sadly bites into his cookie and wipes his nose with
the back of his hand. 

       FADE TO BLACK 

     THE END