A slow pan over the misty road. The first light of day creeps over the mountains like hesitant fingers. Birds chirp in the acacia trees, but beneath their song is a low hum a quiet warning, like a memory trying to surface. The gravel crunches softly under Masimba's boots.
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NARRATION (V.O.)
"They say the dead don't speak. But on this road… every stone carries a secret."
MASIMBA (17) walks alone along the shoulder, fingers brushing the rough grass. He's not just walking he's searching. For closure. For the truth. For forgiveness that might never come. His eyes flick toward a small, weathered shrine by the roadside: half-burnt candles, limp flowers, and a cracked picture frame. He stops. Stares.
The photo shows TATENDA (16), smiling, her eyes full of mischief. A jolt hits him like cold water.
FLASHBACK: NIGHT OF THE ACCIDENT
(Rapid, fractured cuts)
- Rain pounding the windshield.
- Tires screech. Masimba’s hands grip the wheel tight.
- Tatenda laughs. "Faster, Masi!"
- The world shatters. Screams. Blood on his hands.
- A voice (his own?): "Drive, Masimba! Don't stop!"
- Blackout.
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Masimba blinks. The highway snaps back into focus. The shrine blurs for a heartbeat.
Masimba steps in. Conversations die. Villagers glance away, except the children their eyes wide, accusing. A kid whispers, "That's the one who killed her."
Masimba orders a coke. The shopkeeper slides it silently.
DIALOGUE – SHOPKEEPER (low, wary voice)
"Guilt walks heavier than chains, mwana. You sure you ready to stay here?"
MASIMBA (steady, though his eyes betray him)
"Chains break. But roads? Roads come back to haunt you."
He tosses coins, leaves. The door creaks like a sigh.
Tatenda’s MOTHER tends a dying garden. She’s hollow-eyed, grief carved into wrinkles. Masimba’s shadow falls across the dry earth. She doesn’t look up.
DIALOGUE – TATENDA’S MOTHER
"I prayed for the truth. Not for your return."
Masimba stands frozen.
MASIMBA (voice cracks)
"I didn't run from what I did. I ran from what I became."
The woman’s gaze lifts raw, wounded. No forgiveness there. Only loss.
Bass throbs, laughter stinks of stale beer. The village boys crowd around pool tables. Masimba slips in. Eyes narrow.
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JETHRO (19), his old mate, grins a touch too wide.
DIALOGUE – JETHRO
"You came back to make peace? Or to dig up ghosts, blaz?"
Masimba leans in, voice dropping.
MASIMBA
"The truth didn’t die that night, Jethro. You and I know it."
Jethro’s grin falters. He glitches a man hiding something.
Masimba returns to the curve. Gravel whispers underfoot. The night air vibrates.
Footsteps echo. He spins.
Headlights flare. A motorbike roars past, rider masked. Something flips onto the road a folded paper.
Masimba snatches it.
The note reads:
"SHE DIDN’T DIE ALONE."
He unfolds it fully. A scribbled map points down a dirt track. Into the dark.
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NARRATION (V.O.)
"The road isn’t just where things end. Sometimes… it’s where the truth begins."
FADE OUT.
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.