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Blackthorne
Cinemagenic 131
Capriccio
“Come not between the dragon and his wrath.”
--William Shakespeare.
1(sound cue) a shot shattered the tranquility,
cracking like a stick of dynamite.
2(close-up) a bullet passed through the top of his
hat. parting his hair.
3(medium wide shot) Buck spurred the soot gelding
and flattened out on its neck.
4(sound cue) snare drum and coronet.
5(one-shot) the jail door swung open and the Sheriff
staggered out onto the boardwalk, carrying a shotgun.
6(sound cue) Two more shots blasted out of the
shadows over a blues slide chord.
7( cut to wide shot--slow motion) In front of Buck, as he
gallops toward the camera.
The hunter’s steed collapsed under him, its heart
bursting with a bullet. As the horse went down, Buck
kicked out of the stirrups, diving into darkness. He
rolled on his shoulder and landed on his stomach,
peering through the dust made by the gelding’s fall.
8(return to real time) He drew his pistol.
9(cut to crane shot) lights came on in the saloon, the
hotel, and the Wallace’s.
10(sound cue) French horn and guitar.
11(medium wide shot) a dark figure raced across the
alley between the saloon and the warehouse. It was
silhouetted against the sun for a moment.
12(close-up) Buck on the ground firing his pistol; the
Thunderer barked twice.
13(one-shot) The gunman dove onto his face in the
dust.
14(sound cue) horses screaming, doors slamming,
people yelling.
15(medium close-up) Joe Hop, blood streaming down
the side of his face, his eyes glazed.
16(one-shot) Buck quickly lizard-crawled up to the
fallen gelding, using it as cover. He holstered his
handgun, and jerked the Sharps out of the carbine
boot. Hop struggled to hold and aim the shotgun.
Cheewa jumped up to the right of the Sheriff.
Startled, Hop snapped off a shot. The big black
dog yelped once as he was hit, lifted up in the
air and landed dead. Buck drew and fired his
pistol. The shot hit Hop in the elbow, and the
shotgun clattered to the boards below. The
Sheriff folded, going down slowly, crumpling
up into a bloody heap on the planks, no
longer feeling the chill of the morning air.
17(close-up) Hop: Fuck me.
18(close-up) Buck: Goddamn you, Joe!
19(sound cue) Several gunshots, pistols and
rifles over snare drum and bass drum.
20(one-shot) Buck dove forward, rolling toward
the jail porch. The dun mare bucked and tugged
at her wrapped rein. Bullets peppered the ground
around Buck as he scooted. He heard loud, voices
from all quarters. He halted directly under the
horse. She tried to kick him, as he rose up to his
knees, A bullet hit the hitching post next to his ear,
and it felt like a wasp sting. The air stank of death
and gunpowder.
Buck! BUCK!! someone screamed.
It was Salina.
21(medium wide shot) Buck leaped to his feet, pulled
the rein free, and swung up into the saddle with the
Sharps at arm’s length. He kicked the mare’s sides
toward the flatness of the prairie, into the sun, ducking
into an alley. Dark dust twirled up under the horse’s
hooves as, she galloped into the shadows. A dozen
guns roared behind them, ripping off siding and
breaking windows.
22(sound cue) staccato coronet, French horns and
harmonica huffing over galloping hooves.
23(one-shot) Buck lie on the side of the mare’s neck,
talking in her ear, coaxing for more speed.
Frustrated lead raced past them. She moved like
a war horse, fast and untouchable, sprinting straight
into the mouth of the molten morning sun as it rose
from its mountain sepulcher, a great flaming maw
that soon swallowed them up, leaving only golden
hoof prints in the cold dust.
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN
