29 | 03 | 2017

INT. DAY: HOME OFFICE

A MAN sits at his desk, surrounded by clutter. As he types and uses the mouse spreadsheets and charts whizz by on the screen. His face is lit by the dull glow of the screen. Clearly tired he leans back and stretches. When he leans back forward again he notices a blank piece of paper and an old crayon on the desk. Were they there before? Hesitantly he picks up the crayon and draws a square on the paper.

With a flicker the interior of the square disappears to reveal something golden. Warm light from the square illuminates the bottom of the MAN’s face, contrasting with the blue of the screen. Confused he picks up the paper and turns it over; the other side is just normal, blank paper. He turns it back over again and tentatively reaches his fingers towards the hole. His hand passes through with no resistance and he draws it back quickly. The MAN slaps the paper back on the desk, blank side up and blunders out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A soft golden glow is coming from beneath the paper which flutters gently as if in a breeze.

INT. NIGHT: HOME OFFICE

The computer has long since gone into standby mode. All is dark apart from the very soft light from the paper. The door opens slowly, spilling more light into the room then closes as the MAN enters and turns on the lights. He sits on the chair and tentatively lifts up the paper again. Bright light floods out. He turns it over, placing it on the desk with the hole facing upwards and looks down at it. He picks it up again and reaches through with his fingers; once again they pass through with no resistance but this time he reaches his whole arm through, right up to the shoulder, groping around on the other side. When he pulls his hand back out he has a handful of fine, golden sand. He lets this run through his fingers then leaves the room again, closing the door and switching off the lights behind himself. The paper, this time left hole side up, continues to glow. The sand on the floor glows for a moment then fades to dimness.

EXT. DAY: DESERTED BEACH

A weird portal opens over the sand. It’s dark on the other side. Time passes then a hand reaches through the hole, picks up some sand and disappears.

INT. DAY: HOME OFFICE

It’s clearly the next day; bright sunshine floods into the office. The MAN from earlier enters again, dressed differently this time. He dips his fingers in the pile of sand on the floor then cautiously slips his hand though the piece of paper again. He moves the paper around, a thoughtful expression on his face before he withdraws his arm.

EXT. DAY: DESERTED BEACH

Waves lap at the shore. We can hear birds in the distance. A line appears in the air, drawing a door sized box. The inside of the box shimmers, then takes the form of an old wooden door – the same as the one in the office, in fact. It looks out of place; not just because it is a door on an empty beach, but the light is all wrong. Slowly the door opens. The MAN peers through, holding onto the door frame then very tentatively steps through onto the sand. He takes off his shoes and socks and wiggles his toes in the sand, then walks off into the distance leaving a single lonely set of footprints in the sand.

INT DAY: HOME OFFICE

The office door slowly swings closed, obscuring our view of the MAN in the distance and his shoes on the beach, just in front of the door.

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