Screenwriter
11-14-2003, 10:28 PM
Here's a sample of what my story. only a sample. There's more beyond this.
M * A * S * H
R E U N I O N
By wad
Chapter 1
Corresponding letters
JANUARY 27TH, 1954
Hawkeye sat at a darkly-lit table in the back of a room. His back was facing a barred window. Dawn was approaching, and the moon had fallen away. The approaching sun was giving off enough light to keep the room aglow. With his arm propped upon the table and his head resting gently in the palm of his hand, his pen droned on.
Dear Trapper,
It’s me. Your friend, Captain Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce. It’s January 27th, 1954. Exactly six months since the end of the Korean War. I’m still here. With me a personal war ensues. One war that is juxtaposed between two forces: my rationale… and my state of mind. Sidney Friedman thinks that writing letters will help me with my problems. Sidney claims it’s a kind of therapy. I’ve been writing letters and sending them stateside ever since I arrived. You may be wondering why I still am in Korea. It wasn’t my decision. It wasn’t my fault either. It was a reaction more than anything.
The event happened while I was coming back from a picnic our Commanding Officer had organized. It was the 4th of July. We were driving through enemy territory when we found some refugees walking along the dirt path. We didn’t want them to arrive at the possibility of facing enemy attack, so we took them in. Our bus had room. But when the baby in the woman’s arms started to cry we were worried it would be us who would fall to enemy attack. To keep the noise down, I had told the woman to keep the infant quiet. She was confused and smothered her own child.
Hawkeye let out a concentrated sigh before returning to the letter.
It’s uncomfortable here, just as much as it was living on the campsite of our M*A*S*H unit. Klinger has been visiting me often. He lives here now; married to his native wife. I’ll never understand why he decided to stay here when he was so adamant about leaving in the first place. I sure as hell will never live here. Living in a country where no one around you understands you is one thing. Living in a country where no one around you wants to understand you because you’ve invaded their country to help them out for three years is another totally different atmosphere. Even though they’re South Koreans, they look at me and see the average American who came here to help out. I represent our troops, our generals, our soldiers, our medical staff and even our rescue squad. In some way, shape, or form, they see in me that we didn’t succeed in helping out their changing of the 38th parallel. I don’t belong here. Over here, it’s like living in the depression all over again. It’s almost as if it’s a third-world country. I could drone on in this letter and start rambling. Still I wouldn’t make the point that needs to be made. There is no real point. We’re all just in search of it.
Sincerely,
Hawkeye
M * A * S * H
R E U N I O N
By wad
Chapter 1
Corresponding letters
JANUARY 27TH, 1954
Hawkeye sat at a darkly-lit table in the back of a room. His back was facing a barred window. Dawn was approaching, and the moon had fallen away. The approaching sun was giving off enough light to keep the room aglow. With his arm propped upon the table and his head resting gently in the palm of his hand, his pen droned on.
Dear Trapper,
It’s me. Your friend, Captain Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce. It’s January 27th, 1954. Exactly six months since the end of the Korean War. I’m still here. With me a personal war ensues. One war that is juxtaposed between two forces: my rationale… and my state of mind. Sidney Friedman thinks that writing letters will help me with my problems. Sidney claims it’s a kind of therapy. I’ve been writing letters and sending them stateside ever since I arrived. You may be wondering why I still am in Korea. It wasn’t my decision. It wasn’t my fault either. It was a reaction more than anything.
The event happened while I was coming back from a picnic our Commanding Officer had organized. It was the 4th of July. We were driving through enemy territory when we found some refugees walking along the dirt path. We didn’t want them to arrive at the possibility of facing enemy attack, so we took them in. Our bus had room. But when the baby in the woman’s arms started to cry we were worried it would be us who would fall to enemy attack. To keep the noise down, I had told the woman to keep the infant quiet. She was confused and smothered her own child.
Hawkeye let out a concentrated sigh before returning to the letter.
It’s uncomfortable here, just as much as it was living on the campsite of our M*A*S*H unit. Klinger has been visiting me often. He lives here now; married to his native wife. I’ll never understand why he decided to stay here when he was so adamant about leaving in the first place. I sure as hell will never live here. Living in a country where no one around you understands you is one thing. Living in a country where no one around you wants to understand you because you’ve invaded their country to help them out for three years is another totally different atmosphere. Even though they’re South Koreans, they look at me and see the average American who came here to help out. I represent our troops, our generals, our soldiers, our medical staff and even our rescue squad. In some way, shape, or form, they see in me that we didn’t succeed in helping out their changing of the 38th parallel. I don’t belong here. Over here, it’s like living in the depression all over again. It’s almost as if it’s a third-world country. I could drone on in this letter and start rambling. Still I wouldn’t make the point that needs to be made. There is no real point. We’re all just in search of it.
Sincerely,
Hawkeye