"I finished my screenplay;" said every hopelessly hopeful screenwriter in the history of words and film; we have yet another! I began work on this piece when I was merely a day-dreaming sophomore attending Ohio University in 2010. This work has seen nearly 100 drafts, and 4 complete re-writes, but I have brought the baby that is "Grounded," into the world as an idea that will one day be seen on a screen by the multitudes...... - said every hopelessly hopeful screenwriter to themselves, shivering in their bath-tubs, awaiting responses from potential producers.
This excerpt is a monologue from one of our supporting characters Mr. Galton.
Mr. Galton notices Cecil's growing attachment to Ben and Aiden, as well as Ben and Aiden's attachment to each other.
No matter what happens, you need to remember that Ben and Aiden are still your friends, and they need you as their friend AND their guide. You are a wise young man. I don't know what your story is and I won't pretend to, but I do have an eye for a person who's seen too much of the ugliness of this world too fast.
I'm going to tell you a story Cecil; something I'm not supposed to and that might not mean a thing to you, but I'm your teacher, and in turn I shall teach.
Like many peoples' fathers, mine drank. And like many peoples' fathers, before he drank he was a great man. He fought in the second Great War for which he volunteered, like many young men of that time who didn't understand how would change them. I won't lecture you on the theaters of WWII, but he fought in the Pacific against the Japanese; a fierce people driven by honor and a passion to defend their family, homeland, and way of life.
When my father's platoon landed on Iwojima, his fellow troopers had seconds before they were charged up a hill. Within minutes 7 of his troopers were pinned down in a fox hole with the Japanese prepping mortar shells 20 yards away.
My father grabbed 4 grenades and the Thompson from his downed Sergeant; he pulled the pins on all 4 and tossed them over the ridge into the frantically scurrying heap of enemy soldiers. My father charged after the scattered explosions and dusty, screaming shrapnel, emptying his magazine into a blurry canvas of smoke, fire, and screaming men. The clicking of an empty chamber ceased his fire, followed by silence. A silence deafening, flooding his senses with the chaos of the moments before, and slowly fading in to the now peaceful and miserable present.
In the wake of the smoke lay 26 slain men; some far younger than my father, many not much older than yourself. The bodies laid mangled and piled like sacks of grain, in a fox hole the size of a Volkswagen. He was cheered and praised, and for those few short hours of active service, a no more than 120 seconds of violence inspired by rage, fear, and self preservation; my father was awarded the Silver Star.
The point of this scary war story, Cecil, is that that scary war filled my father with passion, then replaced it with hate, which turned to sadness, that he drank away with a 5th of bourbon until the morning he died. With that 5th he beat my sister, my mother, and myself, and I would wager he didn't remember much, save what my mother was brave enough to scream at him over his coffee and aspirin.
My father loved my family, but that love became masked with a hate he couldn't shake. I guess the point Cecil: what we decide to love can quickly be swayed to something we hate, or think we hate. It is quintessential to step back and realize we really don't hate much of anything at all. The truth is that we can get confused for an instant, and if you're not careful;
that instant can turn in to a lifetime.
Cecil looks up to Mr. Galton seeming to be missing the point of his story.
It may not make sense yet, but when that question arises. remember who, or what you love. Don't jump.