“In the dome, there’s nothing but despair, but the sunrise illuminates a path to freedom, hope, redemption and community!”
The sky was aglow with different shades of orange, yellow, and red. As if every other day in Springfield, many townspeople were spending their lazy summer evening at Moe’s Tavern. The sound of conversation was the only thing heard there for a moment. Pete was chattering up on Boe whenever Carl walked in.
“Hey guys, I heard on the radio that there is a warning from the EPA tonight,” he shouted across the room. Boe snapped with concern at Carl. Pete simply replied with laughter, prompting a brief worry within Carl. The people eyed Carl and his statement with increasing brittleness, this lead to increasing silence surrounding the room.
Then, Homer burst into Moe’s Tavern interrupting the unspoken discomfort in the room. Bringing high spirits and cheer that everyone knew him for. And behind him? On his back, a glass container filled with dirty water that he had just picked up from the local lake Molehammock.
“Look!” he called out loudly. “I’ve polluted the lake!” he immediately won everyone’s scorn as he downed a toast.”As always, Baby-kills everybody!” Moe yelled back flushed with anger, “Leave it to Homer.”
The entire core of Springfield watersupply was tainted by Homer’s misadventure, and everything came tumbling down from there.
News had already spread around Springfield about the EPA warning on the radio. Some were sitting in the local church while a few others were chatting in the town hall. Inexplicable foulness and sickly hues had begun to emanate from the locals’ water taps. The authorities believed there was nobody that could have done this but either way, resilliance was certain. The Simpson family was unfortunately the offenders.
Homer knew it wasn’t his best even as he tried to wash the filth away from his face in a sink. He had no compassion, couldn’t tell when or how to take care of serious matters, that he never paid attention to daily routines that affected the functionality of the city and now his primitive act had made him a target of prosecution but most importantly, had put his family and his community in peril. Without warning or further notice the small microphone on Homer’s shirt vibrated: one confirmation of surveillance team closing in at his spot.
Cutting corners sometimes isn’t inconsequential.
Unaware of the timer on the back of his instrument, the composter and trailer slowly fell into larger trouble. Whilst his entire disposable assets belonged into the environmental protection agency who applied them to create such awareness talks, assisting him became a tedious task for them. Homer could sense change even in the air-conditioner, and he knew that he had to run, run any distance by any means so long as he didn’t allow things to decline further.
Homer heard the silent alarms hooot and knew the end was near. A fleet of black SUVs appeared on the street where Homer was standing. His wife, Marge, and his three children, all looked on in horror. Agents hopped out of their vehicles and riffled assigned shields like they were in some sort of violent video game. The Simpson family members clutched each other and began screaming. Escape was the solution but Homer was slow. The enforcement club grew alert the moment agression extracted within them when they stopped on top of the Simpson property to place a clever obstacle in the way.
Their actions however, bore roots in what the Simpsons had recently been embraced face to face with, and nobody notices.
It was a jolt sent reverberating through the giant frames. Baldwin ran instantly up ahead, raising his guns sights up towards the dizzying heights of a nearby consulate, surveying what sent that lightning image-rocket in their gut, numb with crisis and warning. Smoke was veiling them off, fumes were everywhere. And all attempting any dashes went blur when a gigantic dome – like the scummy compound sugar-cooking– delineating the borders pierced over their minds buried panicked expression deep, the shield enforced by unknown authorities on episode fifty nine; blown wildly out of control with a sonic boom. Benedict glanced fearfully upwards and adjusted his helmet with precision, seemingly frozen in his spot.
Within minutes, quiet municipalities became raucous city states overflowing with chaos and dissent.
Chapter 2: The Dome’s Arrival
Springfield was in chaos. People were running in the streets, cars honking their horns, shouting out their concern: the town had been closed off from the rest of society, and they were all trapped inside a dome. The outside world had cut them off – all because of Homer Simpson.
Marge Simpson breathed heavily, huddling on their living room couch, as she listened to the news broadcast. It seemed uninhabitable: winds reaching over forty miles an hour inside the dome wall compounded an already intense heat wave and left times tense to the suburbs. Lisa was trying to complete homework that went straight over her head, whilst Bart was in a blur trying to quickly map out an escape from his room. Homer, as usual, lounged on the TV room recliner set, a blank look on his face.
His face suddenly surprised into attention after he noticed Marge carefully watching him. He cleared his throat uncertainly. “So, what is everybody in town so upset about?”
Homer had a habit of blocking out most of the world’s circle around him, and to be unblissfully ignorant of people’s contributions in the strife-torn community of Springfield. Marge wished for once he might care enough to take something like these troubles seriously.
“The dome, Homer.” she exclaimed.
“The whatmaroo?” Homer asked, his confusion palpable.
Indignant and furious, Marge marched to the center of the TV room and turned off the sitcom with a swift click of the remote.
“The E.P.A., aka Environmental Protection Agency, has dropped a giant dome on Springfield trapping everyone inside”. Marge informed him.
While Homer failed to understand the magnitude of the issue, he was slightly bothered by Marge’s anger. To pacify her, he said “Okay, Marge. Everything’s going to be alright.”
“Everything’s not alright.” Marge intoned, giving him a hard look. “The dome is half a mile away from our armchair, and I’m worried about the marauding wild animals, the loss of clean food, and people not being able to get to work.”
“Look on the bright side, honey. Almost every problem inside that dome can be solved by cranking up the air conditioning.” Homer joked erroneously.
But the issue presently troubled him too, and he tried to take it face on.
“I heard on the news (Marge’s high-polylogy radio) that everyone is supposed to conserve water and other stuff”.
Turning back to Marge, he said solemnly: “I know everyone will be counting on me, but I really could use your advice.”
And miracle of miracles, it actually seemed to sink in.
For more the next forty-eight hours while the dome proved an apparent intransigence, Homer took water conservancy very vividly. Every non-conservative consumption was forbidden in his household, but Marge nurtured a deep-rooted notion that he would go at that rate until he ran dry. Nonetheless that initial level of menace gave way soon enough, and for fear of earning more scorn he decided merely to cut off extra use when he felt himself tiring. It felt disgustingly impossible precisely when he had to forgo his hard-earned canned water and drank one tap of the house area coffers.
He muttered about the taste under his breath, as Marge left the apt room to make admissions to Lisa and Bart in a better corner of the home.
Chapter 3: Fugitives for Fun
Following their narrow escape from the EPA and Springfield authorities, the Simpson family now found themselves on the run, officially deemed fugitives from the government. It was both stressful and exhilarating for the family, and in a way seemed like a bizarrely thrilling adventure. But as they moved on, they started to feel the weight of their fugitive status.
They needed to find a place to land, to rest, to regroup, and to gather supplies before that government laid claim to them.
They slowly made their way in the general direction of Flanders’ lake cabin, long-abandoned and isolated, on the outskirts of Springfield. The route was difficult; most of the locals knew them and the anger and frustration that surrounded the dome debacle. They kept constantly on the move, avoided arterial paths and main roads, and snuck through a few neighbors’ houses to stock up their dry rations.
Finally, the small weedy hamlet- Merriam – parted daybreak like fist penetrating through feather-pillowed door. And though faintly reminiscent of a displaced flock’s nesting site, what little eyes could all make out was the welcoming view of Lake Flanders – an abrupt presence of sparkling, fresh, freshwater.
They trudged toward the cabin, surrounded by the sounds of flitting birds and rustling trees. It was still in good condition. Nothing looked touched since the last time they visited, with Neslon vandalizing Flanders’ stash – with just now rust affecting the front lock.
After breaking into the unit, everyone made themselves comfortable. For once everything looked perfect.
“Bart, Lisa,” Homer called out, “Go to the nearby shed for a free gas stove.”
“Unthinkable,” Bart muttered.
“Tomaco gives us ideas,” Lisa giddily agreed.
The Simpson family raged on fumes…
It turned out that the shack he had converted to a make-shift garage housed half-tankful fuel cell sundries for some makeshift go-carts park across Lake Winnies. Three bunk-beds and five sleeping bag pouches were uncovered – barely depleted.
Marge divided this into bare-bones storage materials, for starters. While being stashed into cubby space, they briefly contemplated life before government enforcement personnel shut them down.
“Guys…uhh…still. We need some kind of system,” Marge carefully talked as fo have everything laid out “…I don’t understand what you mean, Mom.” Lisa lifted an eyebrow, scratching her head over backpacks, sleeping mats, books, heads spinning from the aforementioned travel-extended sniff-around earlier detailed.
Homer burst in.
“Electric candles?” he burst in, holding two large lit-up candles before them.
“Quick, Lisa! Two forks,” Marge grinned, gesturing towards the candles as Homer hoo-aahed, delighted.
They fashioned tiny bonfires of corrugated tubes quartered inside halves like ancient wriggling ghosts – them o’some burnt-out arrowhead-resembling objects.
Before it, Bart had taken all shoes off carelessly. He whomped through scattered smoke, fists down upon grounded shed planks. He may hurt, but he isn’t backing down or retreating. Something about his confident zeal softened the tension in the atmosphere.
“Good work everybody,” Marge spoke uncalcualatinglly to Bryce, Lisa, their bags lying carelessly around the cabin finally taking in the dour sunlight. Watching, scratching his neck skin under printed Blitting Lizards t-shirt, Homer commiserated a moment by engrossing himself with a positive speculation on bag proportions left.
Quiet that voice issuing the glowing EER was, very much a contrasting black figure beside wrinkled sheets. So much to do…where to begin…
But bespite of all the doubts, there was no denying that they were much safer here than out in Springfield.
Chapter 4: Lisa’s Master Plan
Lisa sat curled up on the couch in the Simpson’s living room with a stack of books on either side of her, her trusted saxophone resting against her leg. She was deep in thought, sketching delicate plans of action in her spiral-bound notebook.
The sound of her family chattering and rustling around the room did not faze her. Instead, she found their lullabies comforting and familiar, feeling an indescribable warmth emanating from her childlike nature. Lisa had spent the whole night shut in her room trying to figure out how to break the dome surrounding their hometown, Springfield.
She had retraced her steps constantly trying to find loopholes in her theory. So far her ploy to come to and fro Springfield via the sinkhole became her favourite revelation. Of course, before all that plan kicks off she had tasked herself with convincing her family members that it’s feasible, only that she needs their support, albeit reluctant, and they all know it.
As she scribbled, she revealed more about the city’s containment in reaction to her father’s polluted concoction. “Okay,” she mumbled “get some salt, get to the hole, write a note to Ned, see if he has any information on a possible leak through cartoons that might breach the dome, and meet outside city hall.”
It seemed so straightforward in her head, but the sophistication paralyzed the calculated Lisa. Happily taking a break to look to her family on the other side of the room.
“Marge, what sort of dome shields off air like this?” she asked.
“I suppose any body of energy shielded by conscious control can form a pattern that can embody itself in space, sweetie,” her mother answered trying her best to clarify her rationality.
Lisa frowned, “It just seems so rock solid, though. I don’t imagine anything except a massive hydraulic pump could interfere with its energetics,” she replied discontentedly.
Homer listened to all she had to say intently and considered his biggest mistake thus far, served his family’s shock of new energy tonight the drink of genius potion for another day when he is away from them. They still depend on him even though he didn’t always live up to their high expectations.
“Dearest, idly talking about fizzy bubbles in front of your little one gave us far fewer things to be anxious about,” said Patty, interrupting traffic effortlessly as always.
“Stop it!”, scolded Homer, aware how sensitive Lisa can naturally be from time to time. He threw her a gentle gaze only a father could pull, planting a slight kiss on the interlocutor and looking away to mask their chitchat.
They bumped into some laughter amid the unseemly comparison by Selma of America’s executive authority to Washington.
Ignoring the ongoing conversation, Lisa couldn’t sit still. She heard the faint noise emitted from Colin and Rebecca laying on separate ends near the rack. They never attend animated occurrences unlike other toddlers, only their mother’s power of storytelling can mollify their imaginations.
Her eyes leaned forward, taking in their energy pills staring at a mobile device-like thing they carefully wielded under the coverlet draped over them.
“Milhouse, fall on fourteenth in the downtown tomorrow at 5,” muttered Lisa flipping through the pages, striking the item off the checklist on the next page. “Concast, eyes Closed. No board shows.”
A model cartographer had charged her with skepticism bustling with diversity beneath the fallen planks from the underground compartment worked her synchrony creating with telephony monitored abacus tied to her school online confessionals, Lisa didn’t notice anyone except her was baffled by it when she came to a finished scribble.
In the midst of all these distractions, Homer darted out of nowhere showering his arrival with stupendous applause. Marge gave a trite, pleasantly surprised smile at how expressive the audience had grown these whiles while fixing the family launchware array, and slid her hand over his.
“You’re late!” boomed His home’s missis, gladly noticing the remaining burps held within no fewer cages this morning—the beginning of the affection he had for humanity immediately leaving him with some savory aroma.
“Marge, after stumbling through a long mile of traffic head-on. Away,” Homer tried grinning through the aura around him.
“Well, dear, all preparation’s under check. Word is it that the kids won’t contain whatever reaction that is waiting beside an unusually positive one,” she replied.
Collin now dozing away, holding on to the edge of the couch, his snores coming unhitched and very delicate, barring clear accordance with Lisa creaky height asked. “It had his mother that had called hours back warning, Lisa’s secret speech has got her this popular?” looking with awe at her.
“Can’t everybody mind their business?!”, Lisa suddenly protests a tad too much, considering she didn’t configure herself to be addressed at that instance, perhaps displaced a step inches away, maybe resting her fluid being on stool the way she could.
“That much-concealed secret your sister Marge recalled from some shreds of Springfield history, centuries outdated. Forty angles meet no known inhabitants. The children here deep fried themselves and the day hell breaks loose,” Selma, maybe her sister Patty said.
Lisa ceased, holding on to Maggie, “Okay, calm down, relax.” It frustrated Lisa to is accurate with everyone else cowering in panic. She feared it wouldn’t be quickly debunked, making it exceptionally challenging to forestall any surprise calamity.
Marge put a colossal finger around her lips, “Shh. Let the girl have her rest. Blessions proceed to show their way up, slowing gory down,” she murmured overlinging both eyes reflexively smoothening the wrinkle lines laced horribly under them.
“But what event were you in,” Casey, Erica, rebecca recovering slightly their technology, Lisa ponderously.
For a beat, nothing but jumping and buzzing plastic out of their pockets, quiet all around at one of a child’s tent rendezvous.
“Hurry Up to bed,” You nit duaned the sunlight the next morning when finally Lisa got herself to sort out additional moves that sparkled her mind through frigid pizza the previous afternoon born just enough for her ingenuity.
She shuttered Facebook on her cellphone punching her number at emergency sub whose friend helped her never forget. Thinking good plan building great pillars that could raise Chicago bigger never kicked up much big noise back in it when she’s convinced initially to lean to adventure.
Unexpectedly she was footed pure fancies as made sense by the push of those absent throughout the household and reached into smaller cart of brief lucidity. She asked herself if this only happened with everyone?
The past day we’re not possible reasons, Julie hazy moaned directly illustrated with perfect celerity from outside. Lisa heard her brother walking close down the road’s pavement, crowing eloped from Alise’s. One last smack her mind and familiar procession ensued.
Everything appears overly unclear when imagination is exhausting overwhelmed power. It is fascinating when night brings angels not at inspection cupboards in their space records. Hum askance such times are sweetest for someone who realign thoughts 4 times brighter than a new basketball sneakers call for reasons in and not valid enough than God’s forgotten miracles only without perpetual juice you often have blue weevils biting here and there egging mental perversion.
With a recently-acquired enclaving sense of power, Lisa concluded her stint on the couch, a happy grin plastered across her sweaty face, ready to put her full force into bringing her newest plan forward. It could work. Indeed, it would work. She’d convinced herself that the authorities had no idea to counter in self-defense than expect the unexpectable within.
Chapter 5: Marge Saves the Day
Marge runs barefoot through the forest, panting and wiping sweat from her forehead as she blazes a trail from the cabin to the hideaway. Her mind is reeling with everything that has happened over the past few days. Though she knows that she and her husband are ultimately responsible for the mess they’re now in, part of her can’t help but rage at the absurdity of the entire ordeal.
The forest looms around her, dense and teeming with life. Occasional rays of sunlight burst down through dense leaf cover, bathing her in a pale glow that feels wholly unnatural. But she has no time to spare–today, out of all days, is to be the climax of this big misunderstanding. And she is resolved to see the mission through to a successful and just conclusion, leaving her family happy, unhurt and perhaps, wiser.
Arriving at the clearing, she heaves a deep breath of relief. Briefly, she allows herself a moment to savor the pristine beauty of this place – the clearing is surrounded by fragrant smoke trees, leaves quaking excitedly in the beginnings of a chilling breeze… but amidst those good moments come lessons and she takes the profound lesson lurking in every crevice of the woods around her is that things are rarely just one thing.
Her thoughts twitch back to the present; wonders if she’s blended in rapid enough the fact that the clearing was the rendezvous point prescribed by the renowned anchorman. She clenches her fists, trying to still her confused emotions.
Suddenly, she spots him, leaning casually against a tall bark of a great blue spruce tree, eyes shielded from the bright backlight under an old Cowboy’s hat. When he spots her coming up, from behind mask of hair that covers his banged up cheek and jaw, he smiles – genuine pleasure reflects in his black spade mustache – and maybe a glint of wickedness too-sparkles in his normally calm brown eyes.
“Mrs. Simpson,” he says, greeting her with a slight bow of his head. Growing bolder, the anchorman walks over to her and reaches out a hand to help steady her stance.
Marge takes his offered hand with a grateful nod, then jerks free of it feeling uneasy. Instinctively sensing his mischief, even before he disclosed much of his mission, something odd suddenly pings her mental atmosphere, making her insides tense and prickly.
“It’s over. Springfield is in the clear,” proclaims the anchorman, tapping her angular shoulder blade with the back of his left-falling shealled hand. Something about his wording seems ominous, but Marge finds herself too extremely thankful and too bone weary to care. She forces a smile, even though her heart is beating erratically in her chest.
“It’s a sea of relief for us, thank you,” she manages, “Homer and my children will be overjoyed to see this unwarranted search finished once and for all.”
But clearly, the anchorman is not quite finished. Naturally hesitating, Marge steals a moment to glance around, looking for anything else he might not want her to hear.
“There is something…else,” he confesses after a long, flustered pause.
Marge stiffens apprehensively. What on earth could be left? The arrests, interrogations, everything…it’s all taken a toll. She pushes those ugly thoughts aside, looking at him unsurely.
“Well? What is it?” she presses. But there is no answer.
“Mr. Anchorman?” Marge forces the words out, her voice scratchy and too loud.
His chin dips down only momentarily. Then, the anchorman grieves her with his unreadable gaze, making her increasingly worry about what is to come.
“It’s about the dome. There are concerns – big concerns – regarding possible health issues surrounding the stopping of the pollutant used throughout Springfield’s perimeter.”
The bombshell of concern dawns on Marge’s stricken face, replacing a momentary sense of apprehension with a blood-chilling panic as she stammers her reply: “What? What do you mean, Mr. Anchorman?”
“Not just for the emission but also concerns floating down from neighbouring sectors.” Anchorman stressfully admits, wishing desperately the moment would go away or change.
Marge’s face flushes, all color draining from it as she grasps the immensity of his words: hazards involving contaminated hydrocarbon could be widespread. panic and paranoia increase in both of them as their communication devices are suddenly rendered unusable.
The anchorman speaks into his mic, issuing an immediate call from the far side of the clearing. However, Marge only hears garbled confusion that hints there is likely no reassuring solution.
As if sensing her panic growing more and more, the anchorman moves irrationally towards her. “You need to hide, Mrs. Simpson. Right now.”
‘Hide? What could possibly protect against something like this?’ Marge doubles-over, everything combining into a wave of confusion. “I-I don’t-” What’s she supposed execute, where’s she supposed to go – this situation could take any twist or amplitude with impunity.
Unexpectedly, a dot of light darts in the darkness, growing ever closer towards them. Marge’s heart jumps even louder in her chest as the beam slices darkness searching for her. Panic taking over unintentionally, she begins to back subconsciously towards the forest where she is but a shadow.
“You need to go. You, your family. Hide yourselves in the cabin,” he orders, fixing her behind his safety laser rifle, dearth of doubt crashing into his mind.
Fear tightens its grip on Marge. Next chapter describes what happens at Homer yand children later that day.
Chapter 6: Clashes with the D.E.N.
The sound of high-powered engines echoed through the deserted streets of Springfield as a black helicopter swooped low, searching for any sign of the wanted fugitives. Homer had made waves in the national news after unwittingly causing an environmental disaster that resulted in Springfield’s containment below a seemingly permanent dome. The Destruction and Enforcement Network (D.E.N.) had been authorized to hunt them down, which meant that with each passing day, the Simpsons’ prospects of surviving unscathed were getting slimmer.
Though the Simpson family had managed to escape detection by living in various locations within their community, their latest hideout had been compromised by the howling wind’s force which blew off their recycle bin disguised roof. And soon, they found themselves being pursued once again. In a flash, the family retreated to behind the dumpster bin that also held an entryway leading somewhere underground (to be revealed further on).
The whirring buzz intensified before fading into the distance but with a tremendous cling coming from a nearby street. Peeking through cringed fingers, they shoehorned a glance at what had formerly been the domicile of mild-mannered next-door desk-jockey, Cory. Alarmed by cascading crumbs leading to the crank handle of his bespoiled mailbox, the residents were spine-chilled and stupefied respectively hoping that Cory’s whereabouts would not result in their own incarceration noting in unison the grotesque messages bombarding the walls just beside their paper-trimmed window. Cumbersome desks embedded between shoddily reconstructed prisons that once experienced natural light paved a landscape remembered from 3rd-grade dungeons and dragons manuals.
“Homer, we need to get out of here,” Marge exclaimed frantically, “before they find us.”
Hearkens of motor music sounded within miles of the family drama, now enveloped in inciting disbelief.
“I know, Marge! Everybody grab what you can, and meet at the entrance!” Homer said, tugging open the dumpster’s hatch and bracing himself to slide down the precarious metal stairs.
As Homer descended to stairs, he tries to reach parts of the supposed underground tunnel using matches as his light source. No kind exterior lighting filtered through showing a dim cellar joined onto another rental apartment. Although it was apparent, nobody had been using the subterranean passage atop refuge that provided supplies and a thorough pathway leading out of Springfield limits.
Bart double-checked the dark basement for anything pure and holy, while Lisa tied the several trash bags to their rope made of the duct tape available around the house. Marge holds mag-lite reflecting through shallow trembling flashes, searching hastily, under stacked decking leading out the abandoned tunnels. Finally they all herded child-sized but necessary portions of equipment needed to see life from a different viewpoint; while wearing awkward hand held steering ingenuity coupled with parts blended up from memory, used to experiment and build with his dad.
Just then, the uneven patter of boots made over to them, rapidly breaking the silent atmosphere. “FREEZE!” yelled two men in black armor, carrying sophisticated weapon systems emblazoned with the subtle letters of ‘D.E.N.’.
“Oh, no,” groaned Lisa. “What do we do?”
“Switch off the lights,” whispered Bart, as he hastily located an old wall switch behind the boxes. “Quickly!” he commands.
Turning off the flashlights, reinforced by Maggie’s timely interruption of animated drone-play, they are plunged into darkness. With bated breath and freezing shudders, the five hid themselves behind dense launders. For minutes minutes that lasted eternity a little squeaky thud from stomping boots gets closer then faded when middle-aged men led by sonless spectacles corriere just further a hundred inches from within the close trodden mud to deter ground shaking albeit ever so intentionally slow.
“Simpsons!” Calls the dark armour plate messenger with a hint of piercing cowardice identifiable based on details in his clumsy accent “Come out where I can see you.”
They held their breath, waiting for what seemed like forever. Yet, even though they couldn’t see clearly, they could feel a small ounce of hope – hope that they did not get caught.
However, the Simpson family seems to have trained for such events in a brainstorm of concealed endeavours transitioning into pulling several fast ones learned from renegade T.V shows transforming their debris to elite weapon usage with nimble training handed down from generation to generation forming an extended funnel made of trash bags tightly bundled at the centre of it all giving them a unique and small window to move without restriction.
At that moment, each sector is filled with clinking of bottles and cans filled with dry leaves found among munks trash bin convisted of mattress in disrepair pairs, splint and assorted rubbery compounds. Over time, the harmonic tensions between the silos hung beside the long gooseneck fans commanded by dusty rust proved just enough for the men to miss the family emerging amongst diffuse refuse cracks within plumbing systems operating unknowingly inside Springfield limits.
Chapter 7: The Kindness of Strangers
The Simpson family found themselves relying heavily on help from their neighbors as they remained fugitives, hiding from the watchful eyes of the authorities. Bart had brought back Brux’s boat key, Annie Chicken’s recipebook, and Buck McCoy’s lasso.
“Annie Chicken will never forget how politely you handled her nerves after her husband’s death!” Marge praised while looking closely at her son, as she and Lisa fiddled with store-bought pizzas.
Petroleum billionaires of Springfield put their plane garages to use by putting some paper oil on Marge’s bald head. Peggy Black, a towering housewife who never spoke, chewed duckberry Tootsie Rolls quietly until Marge asked what they could barter for.
The eccentric Caesar ordered three bottles of Krusty and mashed them together so he could ‘imagine’ Homer’s distinct scent long after they embark on their endeavor. Lunch Lady Doris still gave out leftover frosting roses from Mitchell’s birthday cake last week but the family attempted to refuse.
Grateful for every stitch of help, Homer expressed his gratitude as genuinely as possible, although the pressure was finally starting to wear him down.
“Everyone has been so lovely and helpful, and it’s greatly appreciated,” Homer said to Marge as Brux took them on a tour of the backroads of Springfield.
“And we’ll definitely pay them back in one way or another, but how many of our fellow Springfieldians and store-bought pizzas can sustain us long enough until we figure out how to lift the dome? It could be days, it could be weeks, it could even be months.”
Marge’s face fell even further as she brooded about their perilous situation.
Brux pulled over his boat on the tranquil Chart-blum river, and Dolf came out from underneath the wooden planks which hid themselves in the bowl deprive him of any current love interests … physical or otherwise … as his rippling muscles revealed themselves off underneath a brown tank top, and a large kerchief that kept his long and damp hair up hidden behind dark sunglasses.
He reached for Marge and helped her aboard, looking pleased to welcome her company.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight huh?” He ripped off his sunglasses, his beady lion-brown eyes fluttered menacingly.
Marge felt disoriented and very apprehensive about spending another night in jeopardy, not knowing when or where the Feds would show up.
Brux watched Marge on his starboard side, plainly worried about the tension permeating throughout the family.
“Nothing…good,” Marge said morosely, clutching Lisa’s hand tightly.
“Just wait out the storm and hope for the best,” Lisa put in, then swiftly removed her hand, blaming it on being too sweaty and muggy in the early summer dusk.
As they passed into the darkness, the family settled in for another long, lonely evening, serenaded only by the occasional swishing in the weeds beneath the vessel.
The atmosphere on the vessel was saliently tense, and Marge fingered the splintering wood of her seat with nerves. While the kids slept beside her and Brux waged some minor espionage, she sat wondering just how long they could survive like vagrants, running scavenger hunts for graces from incognito strangers, and hiding out from the authorities, whom she suspected were closing in.
“I don’t know how much longer we can play it like this,” she spoke aloud, rousing the curiosity of Brux.
“We’ll help however we can,” he sighed, crinking that hopeful smile, but his eyes told a more somber tale.
“It’s no longer certain that there will be a Springfield for us to return to once this all blows over,” Marge continued. “This invisible wall..it’s encaged our town like rats, what are they after? Something from inside Springfield?”
As Marge pondered out loud, Lisa chirped up trying to offer hope.
“We might be the only ones who understand what’s going on inside!” Lisa said encouraged, leaning into catch Marge’s eye, but it was obvious nothing she said could dispel the emptiness Madge felt.
The journeying memories of the kindness of the fellow Springfieldans continued to float past, offering a lifeline, but for Madge, it was part of her conscience praying against her emotional fatigue.
Chapter 8: …And Reciprocated
It was early morning when the group finally reached Whatever Flanders First Church of Springfield. The building gave off a humble vibe of comfort and quiet joy.
Marge and Homer were grateful for somewhere to sit as the kindly parish welcomed them with open doorways. A blanket knitted for love draped across a soft maroon sofa was their solace.
“That’s better. That’s what we need,” croaked Homer hoarsely as he put his feet up. “We were starting to think o’ stayin’ with the cause-n-iconix. Never again.”
Marge ushered the spread into the chill mouth, smilin’ “they were just trying’ to offer help. And besides, we need as much assistance as we can get right now.”
“We did very well so far”, said Ned, realizing that this was the time the Simpsons have uncovered one of their darkest secrets.
Oscar smiled warmly. “I’ll start whipping you all up some breakfast, eat in while we scheme up some plans.”
“I don’t know, fellas,” chimed Lenny, cautiously inspecting the congregation of minds. “What makes you think we can trust them?”
“Seems straight t’ me,” burped Earl ambiguously, riveted to the hubbub around him. “All folks innumerable humble buildings. Ain’t bad, you know.”
Wrecking this building has more substantial financial tie-ins than the others. But something kept stirring Marge’s heart, the same that made Homer laugh with joy, up to a point anyway. Oscar and his daughter were people who cared what would happen next, they should have lived their lives against addendums and opulence.
“Look into approving bonds with the Allied Rowley asphyxiators,” added Seymour cutting in, but paused once he saw the softening glance of Marge.
Marge replied amazed to herself in words, “strangers have offered us food and shelter, shelter!” Nothing could extinguish Marge’s awry intentions, she always saw the small essence of positivity in even this scouring water world.
The congregation united, neckbow-headed wompson and trustable allien together. Quietly, sitting there patiently, sharing stories of their interrupted lives, reminded them what they were fighting for.%timeout
Chapter 9: Down to the Wire
Springfield’s streets had fallen into disrepair and disillusionment. The once beautiful homes and lawns had become lifeless husks, with boarded-up windows standing like gravestones to the towns’ former glory. The Simpsons’ once beautiful home was barely standing, wires and pipes verying their vital gases ripping out of the walls.
As night fell, and the moons unusual beings started to soar, wind ripping from cracked concrete and uprooted powerlines as the Simpsons raced to put Lisa’s exploration into work. Keeping Marge and Bart to distraction, Lisa worked the computer units and her trusty doormat to carry out her plan.
As every meter sped towards an empowered punch line, it seemed like it wasn’t enough for our family friends at Park View Cemetery, who stepped in to lend their groaning support, incorporating much-needed power and energy gains into Lisa’s strategy.
Clouds of dust hurled the emergency crane from their discombobulated framework and into the graver danger zone beyond the cemetary’s asphalt. Furthermore, huge city mobs surrounded the crane, hampering Lisa’s sneak attack, and almost necessitating another impromptu endurance session.
But just when doom was presumed, sense came, and the plan went flawlessly into practicality, with Marge and Bart taking over in a burst of unexpected bravery, knuckling down and braving up – for fatherly Homer’s superbly planned secret trump cards had thinned the citizens’ short-sighted nets once and for all.
In the end, with a scream and a lurch, the dome went down and the sun once again shone on the Simpsons’ hometown. Everyone, from the townspeople to the Simpsons family, breathed a sigh of sweet relief.
All around, air rafts drifted toward the band and their more cordial than expected rivals.
“Mending that scene,” intuited homeless anciliary Lou performing emcee duties, “will turn out well countless tomorrows.” And hearts everywhere began to swirl with once-abandoned hopes and dreams.
Chapter 10: At Breakneck Speed
Marge had been on the phone with one of their few trusted allies when they heard a loud knock on the door. They looked at each other, fear etched on their faces, as Marge hastened to find a place to stash broken rigs and anything defining the house as a hideaway from the authorities. She re-entered the living quarter warily, looking over at Homer.
He looked at her, tilting his head, and asked, “who was on the phone?”
“It was Willie,” she replied heaving a sigh, relief palpable in her voice, “according to him, there is worse than local clamping going on – testing for the virus.”
Homer did not seem too worried, merely concerned that those in power were bound to vent their fears a bit more adversely than others.
Abuzz with conversation plus a few nerves, the whole family joined Homer in the kitchen when Marge picked the phone back up.
“They’ve got us pinned down,” their neighbor said, his voice shaky yet holding steely determination beneath it all.
The statement itself rang true – Lisa and Bart clung to each other anxiously, everyone tensed as though waiting for some more ominous news. There was a lingering moment of silence, but they broke through with many deep breaths.
“Willie” Marge started hesitantly, her fingernails nervously tapped across the kitchen table. “Is there anywhere-” She choked on her words, fearful of arousing any confusion over desires to save their home and community now under maximum duress and turmoil. But spirits remained bolstered by an overriding resilience that this time, things could seriously change for the better.
Strange as it may have seemed, Lisa figured at that moment they had nothing but heart (and the potential from other kind souls they hoped rang true).
“Yes, of course. Once out of your house, proceed behind and cover up.”
In an instant, all hell arose in a sense. Homer, egged on by their predicament, bolted to the windows, gripping the latch pains, “these guys don’t have any charm,” he exploded, fear just plain grit.
Outside, they could hear the loud screech of car tires and cursing in pursuit of their dangerous trail. For but a few adrenaline-fueled moments, it seemed they could outpace everything, but as Homer turned to land a strike in the pursuing vehicle, Marge held him back, chiding Barney to just restart the car.
It was a tumultuous few seconds where everything they scrambled around to find and stash hurriedly threatened to get them killed- let alone the enforced lack of defense, minute long without natural structures as begetter or fulcrum for information.
But, they slipped down the street relatively unnoticed, chased by barking lawmen unapologetic over the manner in which they had worn them down.
There were moments where Marge felt sure they might break under the suspense, but soon they emerged safe as untraceable fools onto the other side with thoughts about what their next likely development could surface with minds wholly reeling – as though punctuated on what course of action would suffice, they make a decision in the interest of all.
Carefully they crept back into the Spencer/Rubble rectitude of a moderate garden, its walls cover off an appealing inroads. They pant continually as though they have been tightly trapped for hours.
Willie’s persistent calm clicked back into his voice within seconds of them taking in sightlines of their underground bound, shimmery vanguard far too dark to be comprised of mud or just harsh light.
He’d found them a back road to the perfect safe haven – despite still private to the author, residents themselves only moved locations faithfully, split as it were from surrounding villages.
He has to be careful to determine the dawn’s group ranking, any odds stacked against achieving covert logistics and a tight fit for the few hundred (thousand? [name tag versus sticker?]) protrap a few stale corners up both coasts overnight trying to ascertain varying managements to occluding ones who the author happens to think is much larger an organization in play on this supposed network of influential aid along one side. To be seen is scarcely left to question— and probably isn’t.
Looking out over rows of his vegetable garden and admiring his collection of roses, he took time to browse for a way forward. No sooner had he laid plans about what would come next, he said, guiding everybody else luckily taking them to the Haven, they came to the car. Somewhere, around at hand, brown paper having detoured adistinguished metal access door from some innocuous sector promised easy access to made it all of more tranquil turning routes leading deep wanted at night, something well decked as if born spares which come usual wide indeed.
Homer manages to peek past their disguises, eyes wide as he gazed on the sleeping aristocrats next in the car. Bart’s exclamation of “Pin It!” echoing throughout as she was left unseen no fight left, undoubtedly resigned to their fate.
The traffic remain aggravating, breathing down their tailpipes trying to yet outpace however possible strategies, but they managed to lose them for a time.
“Hang in there everyone. We’re almost there.”
Gathered voices demanding spaces for their souls to their yolkings, they rely on their companionship to remain unified in fortitude underneath round after round of abuse, unlivable consequences, fatigue like they’ve never lived through before, and endless sunburned days– in shorts, they find themselves before tackling the standard issue, a long way sadly cutting deeper through these moments they hoped would at least be championed with enthusiastic welcome from experts and humanity alike.
Overall, everyone scrambled inside the previously concocted broken down building with eyes shifting throughout the myriad hallways, they talked in muddled voices- hurried, but somehow communal.
Squinting and rubbing fast, seeing the same individuals he’d seen ten minutes ago seemed about right—it has to be around that leorthotomevil (Lesotho?),” Homer joked, nervously.
The center provided they had planned, catered to some high-tech individuals then rudely persuaded by local government. Ended with pitch soups bought and served for five cents a bowl and a promise to keep in touch, mere miles divided them from the end.
Marge sprung into action, setting up the bulk of their existing supplies, as Homer stepped gingerly closer to the freshly sorted storehouses. It lent less supply of space than should have existed– a room too small, too filthy, inviting too many would-be vandals.
They were stealthily aware that they kept chasing the locals who believed they might move into one quell, rather than long worn spital bound- sites on mountainous slopes endlessly told that they were paranoid, but everybody else keeps spoiling secrets crucially.
Frustrated, uneasy survivors shuffling with piles, and sleeping in heavy breathing upon carelessly formed spots, wondering what dangers could lie ahead, they remind themselves soon of the tomorrow nigh to come, observing the silver lining to the dark cloud that had constant-ly been overhead.
For the Simpson family, every day such uncertainty makes their existence miserable while the rough tides around them begin receding slightly in how they treat the other largely unprivileged lives forever as unwanted during the new order.
Through it all, Bay Area skies are of confliction like everything else, beaming high into the air to overcome so much chaos even when countless numbers of outsiders and especially likeminded heroes groan in torment from hearing increased rustling of an even more uncanny break-over of emotion set to dramatically change tendencies they know too well within another two or three rounds.
Chapter 11: Life and Laughter
The Simpsons had never felt lighter, freer, or happier. Thanks to the combined efforts of Springfield’s locals and their quirky family, the EPA had lifted the dome off of the city, and with it had lifted the weight of a five-day suffocation that Springfield had endured. Along with health, freedom came to the several dozen of its inhabitants that had been afraid to simply breathe polluted air alongside others in the world outside –with the EPA’s leniency – they could finally. freedom was hard-earned, dearly-bought, and fully appreciated.
Marge and Homer were in the backyard, watching their kids frisbee and chatter appreciatively while a warm breeze buffeted the grass. The bounce was in Bart’s step, and Margie no longer flinched at her baby’s baby fat.
“You boys aren’t fired, you know,” Marge said wryly to Bart & Homer as the two used their beers clink together. “Ith just be dat we also wouldn’t call it a ride again in a hot minute,” proposed the younger Simpson rather doggedly…They toasted their own stubbornness and each other as sweet music rolled off of banale neighbors engaged in relaxed games, delight filled by their seeming smaller importances. Undentable, form far away Smithers mutters off the last notes of ‘Spider-Pig’, and business would be completed.
The chimera beheld under the dome thrilled but provoked like American dance music — now that it was surviving outside of system’s old key had shrunk unaccountably. Healthier air was certainly pulsing through newly born Springfield, Illinois, and while sweat now dotted ever-freeing skin, the Simpsons were among most liveliest runners which every now and then marathoned among them, achieving small goals.
Orange tangerine aromas mingled with sunflower power-struggles, scraps born to better days. Maggie found lots of nature to ponder over and gaspy baby breaths freshly enabled in warm airs caused Lisa’s lungs to expand happily like a thoroughly opened book; expansion like she’d known only on solo visits to foreign libraries, or with her mother in selective habitats. These rich gory browns and varied verdant hues popped off, bouncing and talking. Ecru bees silenced and flew-to, landing in different packages, revealing pollens of celebration. No one around here could predict what comes next outside of book pages of fancy romance novellas or, who knows, science-fiction. All experienced fortune that as it would, at any given day rock oceans of crises; and many, given time, would come up with fun – and sometimes weird pranks, like motion-sensing sprinklers or pet iguanas nicknamed Fughub.
And although, everyone grew aware of frailties evident in the unseen realms, be it due to stubborn failure, contagious organism or force of necessity, life wasn’t something that had or ought to change all at once. Everyone promising in brief silences that continued to naturally coexist beside sweet singing oblivious children – life now incorporated the best necessities of new resident to matured veteran, who should share his wisdom expiring by the epitomes of growing sets of pearls headed off the dangers yet unencountered- new and comforting strife will take dear ones and test love at its point of most intense pulse.
But none of that occupied anyone’s mind now. Now, it was just a moment of relief in spite of the rolling speckles on everybody’s peaceful pandemoniums meant to throw indoors.
Marge watched as her three kids and her quirky husband played in the sunny warmth and took the moment to appreciate what was truly important— a weekend away from the cares of civilization albeit with trust restored – one built adjacent in times of troubles – for good.
The sky gleamed a pale amethyst around Springfield, and everywhere people were rebuilding and continuing their pastimes once again. The Simpsons were either laughing, talking, or eating among the forgotten.
And Maggie? Maggie took her first steps toward of unknown adventures – one Sunday’s afterglow engulfing all, gifted as ancestors’ most treasured knowledge, passed on grandchildren writing genealogies centuries from now.
Some scenes from the AI movie The Simpsons Movie
EXT. A DREARY LONDON STREET – DAY
The sounds of bustling city life consume the street as the camera pans to reveal a young woman, CLARA (25), walking briskly with a purpose. Her mind in another world, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, a tall, mysterious man, THOMAS (30) wearing a long brown overcoat appears from an alley in front of her, blocking her path. She looks at him intently – he has a serious countenance with piercing blue eyes, which seems to look into her soul.
You have what I need, Clara.
Clara looks puzzled and responds tentatively.
I’m sorry, what do you mean?
Your Uncle spoke of your photographic memory.
Clara’s tenseness dissolves as a tender memory snaps back in her mind, revealing her Uncle.
Uncle Rupert? He hasn’t been lucid in years. Who are you?
Thomas unbuttons the top of his coat to reveal a badge.
I’m Detective Thomas West. You’ll have to come with me, Clara. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency.
Clara recoils from his words, her determined demeanor still unraveling her past connections with her Uncle.
Wait, what could happen to me now?
Thomas looks at her intently and continues to press on.
Let’s start with clearing things up. A well-respected gentleman named Harold Cook passed away, arranged old Rupert his estate, and applied your qualifications for the job. You cannot decline the role any longer.
Clara appears shocked and apprehensive – this could change her life forever. The camera pans into a close-up of her face as the music intensifies, finally fading to black.
FADE TO BLACK.
As this is a continuation of the previous scene, I’ll assume that the opening scene has already been written, and here’s the next scene:
EXT. PARK – DAY
We see Finn walking in the park. He’s lost in his own thoughts, conflicted between wanting to meet Emma again and feeling ashamed of his past mistakes. Suddenly, his phone buzzes.
On the screen, we see an email notification from his boss, Sam.
INT. FINN’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – DAY
Finn’s pace is slow as he enters the apartment, a glass of water in his hand. He walks towards his phone, sitting face up on the coffee table. Looking at the screen, he seems hesitant for a few moments before finally picking the device, unlocking it and opening the said email.
The email is an invitation from his boss for an urgent meeting at the office. With a sigh, Finn walks towards his closet to grab something more appropriate to wear.
INT. THE OFFICE – DAY
Sam’s office is lavish, with a large desk at the end of the hall and refreshments on the side. Sam is already busy going through files before Finn sits before him. He looks up.
Sam: “Thank you for coming, Finn. We’ve a few things to discuss. First and foremost, we’re gearing up for a project of obtaining the necessary funding to complete the game we’ve been working for with almost a year.”
Finn: “That’s great news!”
Sam: “It can be if done right, and that’s where I need your full concentration to tweak a bit on some elements of the game before pitching it before our investor.”
Finn: “Okay, understood and I’m all-in.”
Sam nods in approval and thrusts one of the files his way.
Sam: “Excellent. Now, I’ve also received some news about Emma Olsen.”
Finn perks up in interest.
Finn: “What about Emma?”
Sam: “She’s holding a fit for charity event at her father’s hall. Now, knowing that our office contributed to charity events in the past, some of our colleagues will go, along with me.”
Finn frowns at this revelation, but Sam doesn’t notice it.
Sam (CONT’D): “I remember you two use to… well…have a connection so you might want to come along.”
Finn remains silent for a moment.
Finn: “I’ll pass.”
Sam looks at him as Finn stands up.
Finn (CONT’D): “I’ll work on the required materials, Sam.”
INT. THE OFFICE LOBBY – MINUTES LATER
Finn sighs at the thought of facing Emma again as he reaches the lobby. Suddenly, he hears his name being called.
A FAMILIAR FEMALE VOICE (O.S.): “Finn!”
He turns around, and we see a surprise expression come over his features as his old flame, TARA, comes up to greet him with a hug.
Tara: “How the hell have you been?!”
INT. MARGE’S CAFETERIA – EVENING
The sound of the door opens us to a crowded cafeteria filled to the brim with different patrons, but we are attracted towards a discreet booth at the corner overlooking everyone else which has been blocked out from view with a partition wall. We see a determined Homer sitting inside the booth with an anxious Lisa sitting opposite him.
HOMER: I got it! I know how to fix this!
LISA: (Unconvinced) Dad, you caused this problem in the first place.
HOMER: Not helping me move past the blame, honey.
LISA: (Genuinely curious in a slightly astounded manner) So, what’s the plan?
With a proud grin on his face, Homer opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted as an ambitious television reporter rushes over, tripod in tow.
KENT: Kent brockman, channel 6 news. Springfield is under attack by an environmental disaster of unprecedented…
The unnatural light flashing from the bright Tvs’ screens of the cafe reflects on Marge, standing on the doorway, observing and pondering for a while until she activates her Apple computer, a solid open-source OS based computer with the one badge engraved, 24-carat gold capital M on her grey MacBook, positioning it firmly over her cash-till filled back-office table – yielding synthetic sounds akin to a training flight simulation.
BART: Old Christmas lights with labels attached – Left Electrical Butt Stick.
An elder-looking celebrity chef, Chef Luigi, makes a cameo outside of his Italian delight Joint across in the anemic review section of the Springfield Comet – as police squad cars blaze blazing by emblematically behind him-. An extensive traffic jam of retirees in their amorphous sedans is brim-filled with furniture grandmothers, babies crying in the back-central meshed seats through the nerve-racking commotion, rambling police helicopters roaming overhead when Mayor Quimby pulls up and toss open a heavy platinum alloy briefcase. Hands-on Hips.
MARGE: (to herself) This may be our chance.
She taps her Paying.Sophie device flat on the tale.. Her eyes scanning the current landscape of investments as diverse skills transmorp to instinctive directive UX buttons.
INT. SIMPSONS’ LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa, and Maggie sit sipping hot apple cider bewitched and astonished by the acceptance letter Lisa had received.
(eyes on Bart)
Lisa I am Proud of you!
HOMER JUMPS OFF THE COUCH AND DANCES
Woo-Hoo! Way to go, Lisa!”
LISA SMILING BASHFULLY
BART role eyes,
“You got accepted into a blabbermouth school. Who cares?”
LISA gives BART a icy gaze, pivots, and cheeks aglow heads upstairs to her room where she sees an unsettling sight…
INT. LISA’S ROOM – NIGHT
Lisa sluggishly walks over to her huge class tracings of Marie Curie. She cups the Tracing beaks and heads for the door. Just then, next door neighbor, Ned Flanders van pulls up into the Duck to avoid detection.
INT. LAW OFFICE – DAY
Karen sits across from SAMANTHA, a no-nonsense lawyer.
SAMANTHA: Let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that someone in the oil company leaked thousands of gallons of oil into the water and all of a sudden the fish are growing legs and attacking people?
Karen nods, looking like she’ll burst into tears at any moment.
KAREN: Yes, and the town can’t do anything about it. The same company owns the police force, local government, and sometimes it feels like they own the whole town.
Samantha looks troubled
SAMANTHA: That’s concerning. I’ll do everything in my power to take down the company, but I need hard evidence.
Karen smiles, a sense of hope spreading on her face
KAREN: Don’t worry, I have a plan.
Samantha stands up, covering her briefcase with her notes
SAMANTHA: I look forward to hearing it.
They shake hands, and Karen exits the lawyer’s office, with a determined look on her face.
INT. KAREN’S APARTMENT – DAY
Karen spends hours pouring over every document she has, piecing together every piece of information to form a coherent plan to stop the company.
As dusk falls, Karen stocks up on supplies; waterproof clothing and a backpack, sets out on a mission to gather photographic evidence of the unnatural fish phenomenon herself.
As she trudges across the eerily silent beach alone, she hears a bloodcurdling scream which makes her quicken her pace, signifying that these monstrous fish are multiplying and growing bolder.
EXT. LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL, DAY
We hear the sound of football practice before we see the school field from across the street. We move closer to the football field antennas and revolving cameras transmitting the game on Lincoln High’s dedicated TV channel to ironclad fans. Coach Maloney is yell-talking at the football team. The practice is in full swing. College coaches speak ghostly into unseen headsets, making notes of future potential players.
INT. LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL, HALLWAY, DAY
More football madness as prep coaches from elite schools Roarke Central, Prendergast Academy, and Malvern Predators tantalizing, shouting recruiting stats to prospects hugging the orange and blue Chicago flag that has a giant L in the center. Peyton, Susan, and Mark stood undecided talking to themselves while young prospects nod their head with star-filled eyes once they hear Malvern defense encourages kneel-down yardage at a dominant 2.1 yards per carry. Coach Cavanaugh pounces on this like a panther.
I can’t stress it enough! You better get on this Lighthouse ship before it sails without you! This is the voyage of a lifetime. Crossing an ocean gets crowded; we can only take so many of you mermaids with us!
After Coach plays recruiter, all the young talent moved towards the meeting in the auditorium.
INT. LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL, AUDITORIUM, DAY
Lincoln High’s school principal, Mr. Ingram, strolls up to the podium.
On behalf of the Lincoln High faculty, I’d like to welcome all recruits to our annual Lincoln High Kickoff weekend. You have an incredible opportunity to leave all that lasts behind and become something greater.
INT. LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL, TEAM ROOM, DAY
THE NEXT SARURDAY UNDER THE LAW OF AUGUST.
Peyton and Susan sat in disappointment in the back of the room while Vice Principal Winters speed narrated his annual rah-rah monologue that he must have delivered for eternity.
VICE PRINCIPAL WINTERS
“The next few years of your existence is crucial to the continuation of Lincoln traditions you must safeguard. Support each other! Participate in every part of high school life! Study! Learn and experience everything you can do alongside your studies! And, lastly if you work shitty, things stay shitty! Thank you, and God bless you all! Coach Maloney?”
Coach Maloney bursts through with arms up.
We take the field at 7 A.M tomorrow which means technically right now!