OLD GLORY

ALMOTHER

 INT. RELIGIOUS TEMPLE HALL - DAY 

FOR THE FIRST FEW SECONDS, SILENCE, A BLACK SCREEN.  

Suddenly, a man's voice booms and echoes powerfully through the room. 

PREACHER 

Praise our elements. 

CROWD

(unanimously) 

Our elements. 

PREACHER 

Our power. 

CROWD 

Our power. 

PREACHER 

Our home and our status. 

CROWD 

Our home and our status. 

PREACHER 

Praise the ALMOTHER. 

CROWD 

Praise the ALMOTHER. 

PREACHER 

(After a brief pause) 

All kneel. 

The unanimous thud of hundreds of knees touches the ground, ringing through ears, echoing through the hall. 

CUT IN  

As the knees hit the ground, the first glimpse of the hall is  shown. A temple with an audience, a sea of HUMANS and ALIENS  alike are dressed in white cloaks, separated in rows. On the  back wall, there is a MASSIVE SILVER CELTIC KNOT. In the  center of the hall, towards the back wall, there is a MASSIVE  SQUARE SHAPED PIT OF BLACK SAND. 

Behind the pit, a PREACHER, donning a decorated white cloak  and a white hat twice as tall as his head, looks over the  crowd with righteous authority. In his left hand, he holds a STAFF WITH AN OBSIDIAN-LIKE STONE AT THE HEAD. 

The PREACHER looks around the room briefly. His eyes are  sharp, the kind of sharp that makes you want to look down at  your feet to avoid your own eyes meeting with them. This  effect, however, is not present amongst any member of the  audience, all who look at the PREACHER with a sense of  admiration and love; almost as if they don't notice his  intensity. The PREACHER breaks his stare, which turns very  quickly into a toothy grin. 

PREACHER 

Good Akucoda. 

The PREACHER slams the base of his staff on the ground, and  the stone at the head begins to glow. The BLACK SAND rises  out of the of the pit, swirling round and round in the air,  taking the mold of a BEAUTIFUL EMPRESS sitting on a throne.  The crowd is in awe. 

PREACHER 

Our Almother bore nine sons. KAMPITER,  god of the strike. 

The sand reforms into the image of Kampiter, a tall, hooded,  and cloaked man. In either hand, he holds LONG, SHARP DAGGERS. 

PREACHER 

AMATHOS, god of the quake. 

The sand reforms into the image of Amathos, a near-naked giant. He's stupid looking, as if he got dropped on the head as a baby. He is so large, he must crouch to not graze the  ceiling. In his hand, a WOODEN CLUB. 

PREACHER 

MUSUPHES, god of the flame. 

The sand reforms into the image of Musuphes, a fire-breathing  DRAGON about half the size of Amathos. 

PREACHER 

RYDON, god of the tide. 

The sand reforms into the image of Rydon, a young MERMAN with  a TRIDENT. He floats in the air perpendicular to the ground. 

PREACHER 

FYRUS, god of the wind.  

The sand reforms into the image of Fyrus, a MUSCULAR WINGED  MAN with a BOW in his hand and a QUIVER strapped in-between  his featherily wings. 

PREACHER 

YUREAS, god of the freeze. 

The sand reforms into the image of Yureas, an ice ONI. Big,  fat, and terrifying. 

PREACHER 

IZANES, god of the bloom. 

The sand reforms into the image of Izanes, a TREE MAN. Tall, as if his body was a humanoid redwood trunk. In his hand, he carries a BOOK. 

PREACHER 

AMALLO, the god of the light. 

The sand reforms into the image of Amallo, an older man with long hair and an even longer beard. Despite his old-looking  head, his physique is cut. He holds a beautiful, intricate  SWORD in his left hand. 

PREACHER 

(reluctantly)

And the traitor, AKUHADE, god of the shadow. 

The sand reforms into a ROUGH image of Akuhade. As if the  image is not built as easily as the others, as if his very  presence disturbs the sand. A sculpted-yet-malnourished man  with cuts all over his body, missing both of his arms as if  they had just been chopped off. He wears no shirt. His hair  sticks in all directions as if he was underwater. In his  mouth, he bites down on to the hilt of a CHIPPED SWORD, identical to that of Amallo. 

The audience stares at the sand sculpture, uneasy and  fearful; as if the real thing was standing in front of them. 

PREACHER 

(preaching, pointing at the sandy recreation of Akuhade)

Traitor! 

The audience stands up, and, in uniform motion points at the  sculpture. Fingers of all kinds are directed towards him:  big, small, solid, liquid, pink, tan, blue, purple. A diverse  group of humans and aliens, all united as one against the  devilish figure.

CROWD 

(unanimously) 

Traitor! 

They kneel once more, in unison. The preacher raises his arms  as if he were trying to take off. 

PREACHER 

(preaching) 

Akuhade, the god of greed. Akuhade, the god of the shadow. Akuhade, the traitor. Akuhade, the murderer.  

Akuhade, the splitter of realms.  Rejoice! For today is Akucoda. Rejoice! For today is the day our  Almother cast

the Akuhade to death, for today is the day the Akuhade was killed! Bless the Almother! 

CROWD 

(unanimously)

Bless the Almother! 

PROTESTOR (O.S.) 

You lie. All of you. 

The crowd's attention turns quickly to the source: A larger  man, a PROTESTOR in his 40's. He holds a thick mustache on  his lip and a furrowed brow made obvious by his greasy,  slicked back hair. All are shocked, and a bit frightened,  though the majority of them are succeeding at hiding it. More  shocked than anyone, a WOMAN kneeling at his side. Mid  thities, thin. She turns, looking at him in horror. She  immediately turns her attention to the preacher. 

WOMAN 

GREAT MAGASENT, my husband... he's...  he's drunk! He means not what h... 

PROTESTOR 

(aggressively) 

Shut up, HANAM! 

GREAT MAGASENT (PREACHER) 

Your husband is drunk? In a religious temple? 

As his eyebrow raises, the grip on his staff tightens. The  woman's face tightens as tears begin to trickle down it. On  the protester's face, fear he is repressing himself from showing too heavily.

WOMAN 

(desperately) 

Yes... Yes... He's... 

PROTESTOR 

I don't drink, your greatness. 

He's nervous. His wife grabs his arm and stares at him shakily. 

WOMAN 

(Whispering through her tears) 

Why are you doing this? 

The protester shakes his wife off, continuing to stare at  Great Magasent with a nervous eye. He knows what's to come. 

GREAT MAGASENT 

If you are sober, then please enlighten us on what it is you

think we are lying about. 

The protester swallows. 

PROTESTOR 

The Akuhade is no traitor. 

Eyes widen. No one in the audience can even conceive what he says. Great Magasent's grip on his staff grows tighter. 

GREAT MAGASENT 

(calmly) 

Say that one more time. Speak. 

PROTESTOR 

(screaming) 

The Akuhade is no tr—

Half of his head is blown off before he can finish his  sentence. His limp body flops back onto the lap of a YOUNG  HUMAN BOY. Very young, no older than three or four. The child  tries to look down at the body, but his mother catches his  chin and keeps his facing forward. She whispers something  inaudible. Both of them are drenched in the blood of the  protestor, as is his wife, who stares at the corpse in shock.  The rest of the croud has already started to face forward  again, and they all remain silent. From the corpse's head  arises a large chunk of black sand. After hovering in the air  a moment, it returns to the source: The Akuhade sculpture.

GREAT MAGASENT 

If anyone would like to agree with LORD JARMA, please come forward now.

I will not allow Akunists in my temple. 

All of a sudden, the protester's wife utters a blood-curling  scream. In the blink of an eye, her head is blown to pieces  as as well, leaving her to fall limp onto the lap of the  child's mother. Once again, the sand returns to the  sculpture. 

GREAT MAGASENT 

That goes for sympathizers. 

The crowd remains as they were — silent. 

GREAT MAGASENT 

Get those corpses out of my temple. Off the edge with them. 

EXT. RELIGIOUS TEMPLE - DAY 

Slamming open the door, three MEN carry Lord Jarma's body  over their heads, fully extending their arms. One supports his head, one supports his torso, one supports his legs. On their left side, another three men carry his wife overhead. The temple is not ordinary. The silver, churchlike structure rests in the sky, supported by A BUILDING, HUNDREDS OF MILES  TALL, surrounded by other buildings of the same stature. The  sky is bright, almost blinding. In contrast, one could look down and see some artificial light of the city, but mostly darkness. The rooftops are connected by bridges. All of the  architecture atop these buildings is beautiful: futuristic  yet intricate with detail. The temple, which has another  CELTIC KNOT above the door, is one of the biggest, but is  easily outdone by a domed castle in the far distance. The shining silver of the structures is complemented with vast, tame greenery areas. The men carry the bodies along turfed front yard of the temple, where a 15 foot tall MARBLE STATUE of the Almother on her throne sits. They lay the bodies at  her feet, and back up to look at them. 

MAN 1 

They must be branded... Is... Is that  something any of you are able to do? 

He looks queasy. He was under Lord Jarma's head as they were carrying out the bodies. It's as if he showered in his blood.

MAN 2 

I can't. 

MAN 3 

Yeah, me neither. 

They look around at the other three for some sort of  approval, but they all simply shake their heads blankly, not  showing any expression on their face as their eyes remain  focused on the bodies. All of a sudden, the doors to the  temple swing open. An ALIEN walks out. Short in stature,  maybe 4'5 or 4'6 feet tall, his rough red skin and white  cloak gleam in the sun. His eyes are big and pitch black, and  his pointy ears stick well above his head. (If we were  counting them, he would be about 5'2) In his one of his scaly  hands, he carries something of a CAST IRON STAMP. In the  other, an intricate, ceremonial looking dagger. As he gains  their attention, all of the men freeze for a second, followed  by a quick kneel to the ground, where they will hold  themselves for the remainder of the figure's presense. 

MEN 

(In unison) 

Good Akucoda, LORD MUSAN! 

LORD MUSAN, the little red man, walks around the statue of  the Almother, situating himself in-between the bodies and the  kneeling men, who stick their butts in the air and heads in  the ground. 

LORD MUSAN 

(His voice is slightly high pitched) 

Good Akucoda... One of you, please rise and cut their robes from

the neck down to just below the collarbone. 

All of the men look around at each other, keeping their heads  at the ground. When MAN 2 realizes all the others are waiting  for a volunteer, he subtly shakes his head and rises. Taking  the knife from Lord Musan, he cuts the shirts down below the  collarbone. He then bows to Musan, holding the dagger out  flat on his hands. Taking the dagger, Musan shakes his head  in approval, and MAN 2 returns to his kneeling position with  the others. 

Musan turns back towards the corpses, his stamp hand  beginning to glow an orange color. Before long, the stamp is  the same color as his hand. It's as if his body itself is a  flame. He walks to brand Lord Jarma first. Stamping directly  under the colorbone, Musan holds it for a second, pulling away with some of Jarma's skin still sticking to the stamp.  What's left: A CELTIC KNOT that is resemblant of the one  displayed all throughout the temple, difference being a  VERTICAL LINE down the middle, splitting it into two parts.  The line goes a little bit above the symbol, aswell as a  little bit below. He repeats the process on Jarma's wife, after which he turns back towards the kneeling men. 

LORD MUSAN 

By branding the Akunists with the mark of Akuhade, we are setting an example 

to the lower classes. The government shall not be tolerant of Akunism. 

Throw them off the edge. 

He turns around promptly, returning to the temple. The six  men look around at each other, rising from their kneel. They  are soon scrambling to pick up the corpses, soon holding them above their heads once more. Carrying the corpses to the end of the turf and the rooftop, the men hold the bodies with  their heads directly above the edge. After holding their  position for a second, the men squat down: the men in the  front get on their knees, the men behind them squat a little  bit, and the men in the back remain standing up straight.  This all happens in unison, and the corpses slide off, beginning their descent of several hundred miles towards of  the city below. 

As they fall, the buildings remain silver and gleamy. They  continue to fall faster, falling in between the bridges that  connect the buildings. The light remains to be bright as they  fall. All of a sudden, the couple breaks through something of  a FORCE FIELD, which ripples as it is briefly torn, and then  returns to normal. 

UNDER THE FIRST FORCE FIELD - "NIGHT" 

It is no longer silent and bright, like the city above. The Akucoda celebrations are loud, thousands of voices can be  heard cheering from all directions. It's as if the force  field-like barrier was acting as a separator between the  classes of the city, in light and in sound. It is as if the  world around them has turned to a state of nighttime. While  dark, this portion of the city has a different type of life to it. The buildings are darker, as if made of a different  material. There are neon signs, giant billboards. Bridges,  flying cars, flying motorcycles, even different types of  dragons are carrying passengers around. There is a sense of  life and culture deeply rooted, as if it were all a giant,  futuristic Times Square. The couple continues to fall, relatively unnoticed in this bustling city.

Just not entirely unnoticed. Directly across from a giant  propaganda ALMOTHER BILLBOARD, in a something of an  ALLEYWAY/TUNNEL carved between buildings, a man donning a  BLACK CLOAK watches. His arms are wrapped in BLACK BANDAGES,  and on his waist is a LANTURN that looks far too outdated for  the times. A scar crosses the bridge of his nose,  perpendicular to a second scar that runs down his cheek. He  watches as the bodies, who look like ants crawling across the  billboard, fall. He stares at them, and then the billboard  itself. The presence of both seem to upset him. Abruptly, he  turns back, walking down the alleyway as if he has a place to  be. His cloak completely covers the camera as he walks by. 

 CUT TO TITLE (TBD)

“Old Glory juxtaposes current events as well as historical events in order to take a position on a political policy regarding women's rights. With the recent overturn of Roe vs. Wade this piece uses animals as symbols in order to communicate my viewpoint towards this appalling and barbaric action of government. I referenced the original flag "Old Glory" within my piece to demonstrate America's installation of its old ways and our current times of regression. Each detail acts as a symbol in order to communicate a narrative in which women continue to be suppressed by our male dominated government. It questions the false proclamations of pro-life as a veiled form of female control with a consequence of future destruction towards both mother and child.”

ANDY BOXOLD ‘24 (ALMOTHER