PUNCH IT

By
Hafsah Mijinyawa

ENG 115
Linda Chapman
Final Presentation - One (two)
Page Screenplay
WINTER 2010
INT. BEAT UP BLACK CHEVY - DAY
WIDE ANGLE - two people -- a teenage girl, NICKEY and a man
in a suit -- DOYLE. He’s talking on his phone, looking out
of the car window.

DOYLE
Of course we’ve been careful. If we
make it past airport security
you’ll know because we’ll be seeing
you in Cairo...

Nickey, bored, is inspecting the contents of a chrome

briefcase on her lap.
ANGLE INSIDE THE BRIEFCASE - it’s full of fake passports,
foreign currency, various gizmos, some chewing gum and has
two tiny handguns tucked in opposite side pockets. A large
file folder lying in the center reads in big red letters:
"CONFIDENTIAL - EYES ONLY"
Nickey picks out a piece of chewing gum. She regards it. She
unwraps it. Half of it is red, half of it is green. She pops
it in her mouth and chews.
Doyle glances over at her. Notices the gum wrapper in her
hand and her masticating jaw. He claps a hand over his
cellphone speaker, suddenly alarmed:

DOYLE
What are you chewing?
Nickey stares at him cluelessly.

NICKEY
Gum.
DOYLE
Did you get it from that briefcase?

NICKEY
Uh huh.
Doyle forgets all about the phone call and suddenly throws
her over his lap, slamming her back with his hands.

DOYLE
SPIT IT OUT!!
Nickey thrashes angrily, trying to get away from his
powerful flogging.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 2.

NICKEY
WHAT THE FUCK’S THE MATTER WITH
YOU!! HERE!!
She spews the gum out. A glob of saliva and partially chewed
gum hits the window.
Frantically, Doyle picks it off, rolls down the window. A
MOTORCYCLE COP is parked alongside, and in SLOW MOTION,
regards the next sequence of events.

SLO-MO: Doyle throws the gum up in the air. The wad of gum
hurtles upwards into the sky. The motorcycle cop follows
it’s trajectory with his eyes.
Back inside the car, a stunned beat. Nickey, dazed, stares
at Doyle, gape-mouthed.

NICKEY
It tasted like shit anyway. What’s
your fucking problem, you
certifiable son of a --

BOOM. A mushroom cloud of fire erupts in the sky above the

car. Startled bystanders scatter, screaming. Traffic lurches
to a chaotic, blaring stop. The motorcycle cop hits the deck
as fire and ash rains down on him.
The gum has exploded.

For a second, there is a still calm. Straggling bystanders

run crazily for cover. Some just stand gaping at the sky.
The motorcycle cop rises to his feet, looking first towards
the smokey sky, then back at the beat up black Chevy
that the gum was hurled out of. He lifts his walk talkie to
his lips, at the same time going for his gun.
Doyle sees this, and raises the window.

DOYLE
Driver? Punch it.
THE END