INT. BASEMENT – DAY
A pair of legs lie sprawled on the ground. An empty pill bottle rests in a limp hand. This is DANNY (25), slouched against the wall, his posture unnervingly still.
Mom’s eyes fall on him, and she moves toward him quickly, her breath sharp.
MOM
DANNY!
(frantic)
Oh God, Danny! Hold on—please hold on!
She hovers over him, her hands moving wildly, unsure of where to start. A rush of panic floods the room, thick and paralyzing.
MOM
Oh God, no, no, no—
DANNY
(weakly, barely audible)
Mom?
MOM
Just… just hold on. Please.
Her hands shake as she pulls out her phone, dialing 911 with trembling fingers. Her whole body quakes, the weight of the moment sinking in.
DANNY
(weak, struggling)
Mom, don’t—
MOM
What are you doing? What did you do?
She struggles to steady her hand, her voice a frantic blur. Danny looks at her, his eyes barely focused but steady enough to make a final plea. His voice is hoarse, and a faint but firm resolve underlies it.
DANNY
(barely a yell)
DON’T!
Mom stops, the phone slipping from her hand as her gaze locks onto him. For a moment, the frenetic energy leaves her, and something in his eyes grounds her. The chaos inside her stills.
DANNY
I won’t make it, anyway.
Mom’s voice cracks, a faint whisper of helplessness.
MOM
Danny, I—
DANNY
It’s okay, Mom.
He looks around the basement, the weight of the room pressing down on him.
DANNY
Can you sit with me?
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