EXT. ANIMAL PEN – DAY
We are outside of a smallish animal pen. It sits in back of some wooden structures. The build and design is that of early 19th century American. It would pass for urban and commercial as opposed to agrarian. Within the pen we see SEVERAL SHEEP grazing. Into the pen walks a BUTCHER. He is a white man in his mid-forties. Without any particular regard he takes up one of the sheep, and wrestles it into a shack-like structure.
The sheep BLEATS. The Butcher pays it no mind. He produces a knife. The blade catches the light. In one practiced motion he draws it across the animal's throat. Blood spills. The sheep's legs kick, then still.
The Butcher wipes the blade on his apron. He exits the shack, crosses back through the pen. The remaining sheep have moved to the far corner, huddled together. The Butcher doesn’t look at them.
We HOLD on the pen. The morning light shifts. Dust motes float in the air. The sound of the street beyond — carts, voices, the clang of a blacksmith — filters in.
A YOUNG BOY appears at the fence. He watches the pen with wide eyes. He is no more than ten. His clothes are threadbare, patched at the elbows. He carries a small wooden bucket.
The Boy sets the bucket down. He reaches through the slats of the fence and touches one of the sheep on its nose. The animal flinches, then settles. The Boy smiles — a brief, private thing.
From somewhere beyond the structures, a BELL tolls. The Boy looks up, startled. He grabs his bucket and runs off down the alley, bare feet slapping against the packed earth.
The pen is quiet again. The sheep resume their grazing as though nothing has happened. The morning deepens. Shadows shorten. The world moves on.
The Butcher reappears from the shack. He wipes his hands on a rag, surveys the pen. He counts the remaining sheep under his breath. Satisfied, he latches the gate and walks toward the street.
A CART passes on the road beyond. The driver tips his hat. The Butcher nods but does not stop. He turns the corner and is gone. Only the sheep remain, and the slow creep of morning light across the dirt.
