EXT. HANNAH’S BEDROOM - MORNING

HANNAH sits in front of her aged computer as if it were a mirror. Her room is simple, except for a bookshelf that overflows with novels, books on physics, wizardry, travel guides, cookbooks, computer programming, engineering, poetry, painting, religion, performance art, etc. that stretches along the only full wall, where it barely fits. The way the colorful spines of the books are arranged spells out the word “KEY.” 

Hannah purses her lips. Her face, disembodied by a software package, floats in the confines of a window displayed on her computer monitor, which analyzes her appearance as she tries on different types of lipstick. 

COMPUTER

(overpowdered)

Purple was a better choice.

HANNAH

Shelly--

Hannah turns to face SHELLY, who is stretched across her bed and coloring on a large piece of posterboard with an oversized marker. 

HANNAH (CONT’D)

(teasing)

The stupid computer says this color’s off. 

SHELLY

Then turn the stupid computer off.

HANNAH

I can’t

give up--just like that. And it isn’t wrong...

Hannah shows Shelly her lips using the worst face she can muster. Shelly adjusts her gold-rimmed glasses and looks up.

HANNAH (CONT’D)

It’s just that the advice it gives on how

to fix it doesn’t make sense. If I paint my nose

it tells me that I need a lighter shade, 

and if I smile the wrong way, it will say 

I need to add more blush to look alive. 

SHELLY

How long have you been working on it? 

HANNAH

For months.

Hannah wipes the makeup off her face with what you might assume to be a slightly disgusted grimace and looks back at the screen to analyze whatever results are there for her to see.

SHELLY

Then maybe it would help to move onto 

something else? 

HANNAH

(distracted by matrices

of multiplying mistakes)

It only needs a little tweak. 

SHELLY

And then? 

HANNAH

And then I’ll put it on the web 

and build another newer version for

your phone that’s integrated with your apps

so you can have a Magic Mirror--that’s what

I’m calling it--everywhere you go

while I sit back and rake in all the cash. 

SHELLY

(pontededly affecting distraction)

That’s nice. 

Hannah gets up from her chair in front of the computer and goes to the bookshelf. She breaks the “KEY” by pulling off a stack of books, which she tosses down in front of Shelly. 

Shelly lifts her posterboard to take a look. She picks a tiny pocketbook titled The Entrepreneur's Guide to Inventions, 2020 and Beyond out of the pile and eyes it suspiciously. You could easily imagine her smoking a pipe and twirling a mustache, at least for a moment. 

HANNAH

It’s not nice--it’s a plan. In twenty years

I’m going to be the queen of fashion, and all

because I’ll be the person writing the programs

that tell designers how to dress, despite

the fact that I never cared about that crap. 

SHELLY

(teasing)

Is that so?  

Hannah slaps her hands together, like she’s catching a fly, and slides energetically across the room.

HANNAH

(stretching for a metaphorical

balloon as it flies between

bluejays and lazy jumbojets)

It would be so easy if it wasn’t so hard 

to get ahold of proper software suites. 

Do you know how much it costs to buy

a LabNET seat? A single seat? 

SHELLY

(setting the book aside

to study her friend)

No...

HANNAH

Ten thousand dollars. If I had that seat,

I could build a neural net that would

make you into a fashionista in an hour,

but it costs as much as a good car! And I need

a car that runs more than I need a shade

of independence.

Hannah deflates back into her chair.

HANNAH (CONT'D)

At least, that’s how it seems.

SHELLY

(struggling to help)

That’s the way it is.

HANNAH

(tired of it)

When in doubt, reboot...

Hannah moves to turn off her computer. But before she can, her dad, PAUL, appears on the screen in his own software window. His disembodied face floats next to hers. The Hereafter window he inhabits, unlike the grey work-in-progress GUI Hannah’s face floats in, is constructed of a soft blue background, framed by gentle ivory bars, that brings warm blankets and ocean lagoons to mind, and his face is digitally serene in a way that her living gaze could never be.

PAUL 

Don’t you worry, Han. I’m sure you’ll 

be right off to better places 

soon enough--a little less than 

twelve parsecs is all it takes to

turn your fate around. 

HANNAH

(feigning relief)

Thanks.

Hannah powers down the computer, while Shelly, visibly irritated but unnoticed, goes back to working on her poster. A pause passes like a poltergeist through the room. Hannah looks into the blank screen of her computer. Shelly watches her before speaking.

SHELLY

Is your mom used to seeing your dad in

Hereafter yet?

HANNAH

(bristled by the subtext)

She loves it more than me 

now that the preacher says it’s fine and dandy. 

It’s not much different than a grave or urn 

when you think about it. 

SHELLY

Except

that people in Hereafter talk just like

the person in a grave or urn. And then,

they all pretend to know you, even the ones

you’ve never met. It’s creepy when you get

suggestions for connections to a person

who died the day before, who you don’t know,

because some hackers in a country where

the laws about the dead are lax, have gained

complete control of someone’s afterlife.

HANNAH

(thinking about how to

say what to say when

she decides to say it in

a way that helps Shelly think

about it without giving

too much away)

It’s worth it when you think about the good

Hereafter does for people...how it connects

people everywhere with people that 

they can’t talk to otherwise...even if they’re fake,

the people in Hereafter help the living

fill a gap they couldn't fill before. Just think...

when was the last time people loved a thing

this much across the board--could it be so bad?

SHELLY

You’re missing the point--

HANNAH

(hiding how upset she is)

The point is that it helps.

Hannah presses the power button on her computer and the monitor flashes to life. Numbers flash across the screen while it reassembles its thoughts and reboots.  

SHELLY

The point is that they’re selling happiness

by commodifying the lives of people that

can’t fight to own them anymore.

HANNAH

As if

we own our lives when we’re alive.

Shelly holds up her poster, and Hannah turns to look. The poster reads, “Who’s LEFT after HEREAFTER?”

HANNAH

(after turning back

to her computer)

You're lucky

my mom's not here today, you know. 

SHELLY

(deadpanning)

I thought 

that we could go together. Leo’s going--

I think.

HANNAH

I’m busy with something right now.

The computer loads its OS, and Hannah starts her program again. She makes faces at it, which are shown on the monitor, absentmindedly.

COMPUTER

You look distressed. Powdering your nose

would help, unless that’s what you’re going for.

SHELLY

I know we didn’t know him that much, but still,

how would you feel...? 

HANNAH

I’ll catch RJ in the app

and say I’m sorry. 

Something unsaid seeps into the room. Both Shelly and Hannah pretend not to notice one another until Shelly picks up the pocketbook from before. 

SHELLY

(obviously stretching for

an excuse beyond the truth

of how she plans to spend

her time protesting at

the funeral, and showing

the strain of it)

Can I borrow this?

HANNAH

(equally strained, not realizing

how ridiculous a proposition

it is to read out of boredom

at a protest you had just spent

a good part of your morning off

painting a sign for)

Fine with me.

SHELLY

And can I bring

it back after the funeral? 

HANNAH

No problem--sure.

Shelly puts the book in her purse and starts out the door.

HANNAH (CONT’D)

Don’t tell anybody I skipped--I don’t 

want to go to school right now.

SHELLY

(taking the ghostly silence with

with her as she leaves the room)

Can do.