🎬 #214 Short Story To Feature Film.

So many huge films have their beginnings in short fiction. Sometimes a story of just a few pages can spawn vast cinematic worlds to explore. In that spirit, I’ve included some of the most famous examples, as well as one of my own short stories. A bit of a departure from the norm, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Bry

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Maybe the most adapted short story writer is Richard Matheson. Many of his novels, as well as a large number of his short stories, have been the basis for film adaptations.

Duel, Spielberg’s ABC Movie of the Week, was adapted into a screenplay by Matheson himself from a short story he wrote. Others include Button, Button - filmed as The Box by Richard Kelly (of Donnie Darko fame), and Steel, adapted as Real Steel - the robot boxing film with Hugh Jackman.

Many of Ted Chiang’s short stories have been optioned, with Arrival (based on “Story of Your Life”) being the first to be brought to the screen by Denis Villeneuve.

Philip K. Dick is also heavily adapted, both his novels and short stories - most famously “We Can Remember It for You Wholesale” becoming Total Recall, and “The Minority Report” becoming, you guessed it, Minority Report.

When you read the shorts mentioned here - or any short story from these authors - you can immediately see the richness of the worlds: broad brushstrokes of huge concepts across a very economical number of pages. It’s incredibly inspiring in terms of finding a tone and approach for a larger project, right there in a handful of pages. If you can think of any other short stories that were adapted, or that you’d recommend, let me know in the comments!

Now, not to place myself in the same echelon as those writers 😂 , I present my own short story:

The Shape.

I’ve never felt the sensation of my mind wanting to do something and my body not doing as it was commanded. But that was happening right now. As much as I wanted to tell my friends about what I had seen, in my very own living room, my fingers wouldn’t type the language, symbol by symbol that my brain conjured up seemingly in full swathes. Consciousness that deciphered language out onto a keyboard every other moment of any other day, almost overlapping or preceding my inner monologue as it ‘spoke,’ subvocalising words. But whatever that mysterious system is, it was broken. Today, day 245 out of 365. Normally that’s how I feel about days. But today is special and it’s a Wednesday. It’s the first day I saw THE SHAPE. I could write any other combination of words - ‘hey how are you,’ for example. But not the words I wanted. I even found it difficult to express to myself what I was seeing. Like what I imagine people feel just before dying. Seeing something extraordinary coexist with the domestic. Whatever it was it consumed me. I had no time for anything else in that moment. The moment the light from its surface was sent to my retinas and my brain tried to make sense of the signals it received as it didn’t fit the map of reality that it had gotten used to, all I felt was a strange awe. I could attempt to describe it here but without seeing my shape, the shape - you wouldn’t really feel it. But that brings up a good point, am I the only one with the shape in my house? Would others be like mine if they did have one suddenly show up, scrambling their brains as to what lay before it. Who knows? But for now here’s a primer. The surface was black like a rough rock surface but flat and geometric. Its form was so seamlessly attached to the floor as to look like it was pushed through it from the other side - non-destructive. A black limpet phone conferencing device. That’s the thing it most reminded me of. The most earthly parallel I could think of. For anyone unlucky enough to spend extended hours in a corporate meeting room you’ll understand the shape’s geometry immediately, like a slightly bulged incredibly shallow tripod. The iconography of technology that lets disinterested people speak with other disinterested people. And like that device, it drew you in closer. Conference devices usually did so out of failure, this, it seemed to me, was drawing me in by design. I could feel that draw immediately as suddenly the idea of me telling people about it fell away from my mind. And all I could think about doing was being with it. So clean, so spidered out, gripping the floor in its black perfection. The Shape.

I’d barely noticed the day become night - as I lay limp on the sofa staring at it. As extraordinary as this was - it was time for bed. So much time had passed and even though I’d done nothing, I felt vaguely fulfilled. Pre-occupied but with nothing to show for the time spent. Yet no emptiness I might normally feel after doing nothing. Guilt maybe more than emptiness, but there wasn’t even a trace of that here. Maybe the warm, numbed buzz of anaesthesia. A vague glow of happy in that numbed state. As the sun came up, I awoke with a feeling I hadn’t had since Christmas morning deep in childhood. That need to go into a room to check if some mythic figure had delivered dreams impossibly down a chimney - wrapped perfectly. I leapt out of bed, the first time I’d done that as long as I can remember. Probably since those Christmas mornings way back in time. I had mystery and awe now to lure me out. I didn’t even think about work, or what I would say to them as an excuse. I’d figure it out. I ran to the living room, the domestic details shrouding this other thing, so exotic but so at home here as I crept in through the living room door, half expecting it to be gone, hoping it wouldn’t be. And there it was in the dawn light - looking even more mathematically perfect, the coolness of the light rendering it more science-fiction. I realised I had an odd feeling, before I could even articulate it to my mind. I was glad it was still here - the feeling it provided me at total odds with its arachnid, teleconference aesthetic. I wanted it to remain, I’d been alone too long I’d solemnly realised. This was another day I wouldn’t call a number, this was the beginning of another day worthy of a name. This is Thursday and I got to spend it with The Shape. My Shape.

I’d spent most of the day with it, like all the intervening days. I ran my fingers over its impossible surface. Like a rock in the sun. Slightly warm. The closer I got to it, the more neutral I felt. Calm. I read once that a capybara emits a hormone that relaxes other animals. Why those incredible pictures of it exist surrounded by creatures that would normally maul it without a second thought. That idea struck me as I felt its stone face against my hand, how when I was close to it I felt numbed out or zen, or however the colour of empty space might be interpreted as an emotion. That’s how I felt. Lacking for nothing, not searching for anything. All ok on the inside. Zero. Another thought caught me later as I sat on the sofa, looking at the shape. From this angle it could be mistaken for a large, 3 tentacled, starfish - but dipped in crude oil and left to evaporate to dryness at midday. Parallel to that thought, another existed, overlapping. A memory of a girl I had passed in the street last week, wasn’t more than a flash and nothing graphic. But somehow, I was instantly primed as if she was here in the room. The initial flash of a fantasy continued, elaborating. Expanding outwards in ways I wasn’t really in control of. Before I knew it, the wetness of the stain between my legs brought me back to reality. Me on the sofa, breathless. It there, unstaring. The giver. The Shape. The warm blackness of My Shape.

It hadn’t crossed my mind, hunger. That was now as strange to me as the shape first was. But now the shape was home. It was the thing I wanted to be near always. If I was counting my old way I suppose I’d say that this was day 324. But today was a Friday and today was special like any day with the shape was. More and more I felt at, not quite peace with it, but with everything. Peace is not the right word. I felt provided for. But I didn’t know how. Not in a mother way - but somehow. I wasn’t really curious about the how of the shape or anything else logical. I was surprised even observing my own thoughts about it. Any curiosity was just replaced with a feeling of distraction or focus or a fusion of both. Even though I was feeling a different feeling - I knew it was different, but just like when I tried to type a message about the shape to my friends, my thoughts were walled off from body in some way. It was not unpleasant. If anything, this bubble, was comforting. All I wanted was here and somehow the shape gave me whatever I needed. Mid-foamed mouth, a sound, all low and air came from the living room. I tore the toothbrush out of the minty chasm of my mouth and ran to the shape, where I knew - hoped - the sound had to have come from. As I ran through the hall I caught the thin skin on the back of my hand on some unknown sharp edge. Wincing, I made it to the living room where the sound had long since faded. I looked down, my reaction is how I’d imagined feeling if I’d missed my babies’ first words. Looking down, I noticed the after effect of the errant sharpness. A gash through translucent white skin. A single drop of blood dripped away from it, pretty cinematic, I thought. Then, the strangest thing since the shape first appeared happened. It was even stranger than realising that even though I still went to the bathroom, I couldn’t remember the last time I ate or drank. This was possibly more strange than the shape’s arrival, as that was a physical object and physical objects do exist. But this was something altogether different. The dangling bead of blood moved backward, towards the gash. Retracing its exact wet slither. Then the gash, thin and small as it was, closed, skin pulled together like an invisible zip had stitched it. Before I could even start to comprehend how this was possible, the cut was totally healed. The head I was trying to figure things out with lifted itself to look to the only thing that could make this happen, The Shape. My Beautiful Shape.

I can’t remember the last time I saw another person, not that I necessarily missed them. I had all I needed here. Strange as it may seem. I had also long since stopped sleeping in my bedroom, instead laying close by The Shape. Which had become warmer as time went on. And let out those occasionally deep airy sounds. Like a whale’s voice note, suspended, transported over a watery network. I didn’t know if it was communicating or if it was decompressing in some sense. But the sounds seemed to grow more regular now. The dominance of the shape in my thoughts was absolute. I had nothing to fret over or fear anymore. The edges of my thoughts un-infringed by things that might disturb this odd peace I’d felt descend over me, over time. The idea of this voice in my head, being me, being a self had quickly faded, and for once - no desire, no wanting, no planning was taking place in the background. I just knew I was happy here with my shape and that’s all I needed. I was content I suppose you could say. Then it happened. The Shape, changed Shape. A long deep sound reverberated through me, not loud but intense like how an earthquake is. Waking me, from a dream about falling. The sound went on longer than usual, connecting deep in my chest. Then the air stood still, silence. The top of the shape, opened into a dark circle. As if no light could go there. I’d never seen the total absence of light before, it looked like a cheap visual effect. Too perfect to be real, too odd for my mind to understand exactly what was happening. But it looked like the most perfect circle I’d ever seen. A circle of nothing. Not consciously choosing any particular sequence of motor actions, I found myself with my face directly above this void. Like a compulsive wave - checking your phone because you had a phantom vibration or finding yourself touching the same sequence of apps, repetitive for no sake but to block something else out. That’s how my actions felt now. An absolute peace washed over me. Like how I imagine you are when you’re brand new. Or when you’re on the verge of death. Finally - there’s nothing more. The void was now up to my arm pit. Warm honey. I looked back on nothing. Every worry, every desire, every mistake - all faded away. Like a house of cards that you spent your life on pushed over by you. Wanting to fade into destruction, whatever that idea is that lurks in me. This was the purest action. Then internal speech, thought, time all fell away. I fell away. Fell away. There wasn’t me and The Shape any more. Just The Shape.

Becky! It’s time for school, we’re going to be late! She took after me, her dad, always running late for everything. Jona wasn’t much better but he was improving. I was running around with that pre-meeting anxiety, Jane was in the other room probably feeling something similar, Tuesdays were our meeting heavy days. Becky, Jona! Let’s go! No answer. Jane was quiet too. She was just in the next room. I peeked up the stairs, usually there would be sound - the rush of the morning. Jane too seemed to be making no disturbances in the kitchen either. I had toast in my hand, but I felt it leave quite suddenly. It bounced on the floor, making a mess but I didn’t care. It had my attention, whatever it was. There on the stairs, grasping them like a spider or something, but flat to the ground. Black. I couldn’t take my attention off it. And I knew somehow in that moment, Jane was looking at the same thing in the kitchen, and Jona and Becky too - were probably in the middle of staring at theirs. Their…Shapes.

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