The following photograph of Sam Dezz as Sebastián was captured by Mitchell Royel in the Fashion District and draws inspiration from the story of Matthew in the Bible. Specifically, it reflects the moment described in Matthew 9:9 (NIV): "As Jesus went on from there, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax collector’s booth. 'Follow me,' he told him, and Matthew got up and followed him."
The term "Matthew’s Call" draws inspiration from the Book of Matthew in the Bible, specifically Matthew 9:9, where Jesus calls Matthew, a tax collector, to follow him. This moment signifies leaving behind a life tethered to societal expectations and material pursuits to instead answer a deeper, more purposeful invitation. Similarly, "Matthew’s Call" reflects the universal, introspective experience of redefining success—not by external measures, but by aligning with one's core values and emotional truths. It serves as a reminder of the courage required to make this shift and the fulfillment it brings to those who choose to follow their own path.
written by Mitchell Royel: At the outset, Sebastián, a privileged yet troubled young man, arrives in Cancún with his friends, seeking both indulgence and purpose. Amid the vibrant chaos of nightlife and luxury, he carries a Bible, determined to save at least one soul. The contrast between his mission and the self-serving nature of his companions sets the tone of conflict. Sebastián's encounter with Mateo, a hardworking resort employee, presents what seems like an opportunity for Sebastián’s plan to blossom.
The middle of the story delivers the emotional crux. Sebastián's attempt to connect with Mateo through faith falters as Mateo reveals the weight of his own struggles and aspirations. A pivotal scene in the VIP cabana exposes the arrogance and cruelty of Sebastián’s friends. When Sebastián fails to stand against their demeaning behavior, his moral weakness becomes glaring. A tense altercation between Mateo and the group escalates, leaving Sebastián bloodied and Mateo dismissed from his job, symbolizing the consequences of Sebastián’s hypocrisy and inaction.
The film’s end is a moment of reckoning and reflection. Sebastián, battered physically and spiritually, realizes that his quest to "save" someone was rooted in arrogance and ignorance of his own flaws. Mateo, bruised but dignified, walks away, leaving Sebastián to confront the emptiness of his faith and actions. The final scene, with Sebastián wading into the ocean while clutching his ruined Bible, is a symbolic act — a moment of surrender, seeking cleansing or retreating into insignificance.
Ultimately, "Matthew’s Call" explores themes of self-righteousness, the complexities of hope and dignity amid socioeconomic divides, and the painful yet necessary process of confronting one's privilege and shortcomings. It challenges viewers to reconsider what it truly means to help, to love, and to grow.
MATTHEW’S CALL – Plot Summary in Ten Points:
Introduction to Cancún’s Tourist Zone: The film opens with a chaotic, neon-lit Cancún nightlife. Sebastián, a charming yet conflicted young man, observes the mayhem detachedly, hinting at his inner turmoil.
Sebastián’s Mission: Through a fragmented montage, Sebastián reveals his intention — he came to Cancún to "save one soul," blending this spiritual goal with indulgence in his friends' hedonistic vacation.
Mateo’s Introduction: At sunrise, Mateo, a hardworking resort employee, meticulously sets up the beach chairs. His quiet resilience and ambition are underscored by glimpses of his tough life and aspirations.
First Encounter: Sebastián approaches Mateo with his Bible, offering salvation and hope. Mateo rebuffs Sebastián's assumptions, taking only a $20 bill to help his family, further emphasizing their differing realities.
The Cabana Clash: Later, Sebastián’s friends mock Mateo’s life while Sebastián joins in nervously, betraying his earlier preaching. Mateo overhears, confronts them, and a physical altercation breaks out after Nathan disparages him.
The Fight: The fight escalates, and Sebastián throws a punch at Mateo in the chaos. Mateo retaliates, leaving Sebastián injured and humiliated. Resort security escorts Mateo away, cementing the rift.
Sebastián’s Crisis: Alone in the aftermath, Sebastián reflects on his actions and the hypocrisy of his mission. Haunted by guilt, he struggles with his fragmented faith and the shallow impact of his outreach.
Final Encounter: At dawn, Sebastián sees Mateo leaving for good, bruised but dignified. Sebastián’s emotional apology fails, as Mateo, disillusioned, walks away without forgiveness, leaving a lasting impact on Sebastián.
Symbolic Surrender: Sebastián walks to the ocean, holding the ruined Bible. He wades in until submerged, caught between cleansing guilt and escaping responsibility.
Ambiguous Ending: The camera holds on the rippling waters, leaving Sebastián’s fate and what he will find within himself unresolved, as the city begins another indifferent day.
Matthew’s Call
A Short Film
Running Time: Approx. 15 minutes
Genre: Drama / Social Conflict
FADE IN:
EXT. CANCÚN HOTEL ZONE – NIGHT
Black. Then a BASS DROP so deep it rattles the frame.
Neon floods in: hot pink, electric violet, a sick acid green. The Hotel Zone strip pulses like an open wound. Taxis honk. Vendors shout. A girl in a glitter bikini top screams with joy at nothing.
SLOW MOTION. Bodies spill out of club doors. Sweat flies. A tequila bottle spins through the air and catches the light like a falling star.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
My mom says God made the ocean so we'd remember how small we are.
INT. CLUB "ÉXTASIS" – CONTINUOUS
A cave of strobes. Smoke machines breathe out clouds that glow purple and then red. Hundreds of bodies move as one animal.
In the center of it all, half-lit, stands SEBASTIÁN COLE (24).
He's the kind of beautiful that makes strangers stop mid-sentence. Sharp jaw. Dark gold hair pushed back with sweat. Pale green eyes that look almost too clear for this room. A white linen shirt, open at the collar. A thin silver cross rests against his chest.
He isn't dancing. He's watching.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
I think he made places like this so we'd forget.
Around him, his friends lose themselves:
NATHAN WHITMORE (24), broad, sunburned, loud, money in his posture. He pours a shot straight into a stranger's open mouth.
MADDIE PRICE (23), blonde, gorgeous, filming everything on her phone, her face lit blue by the screen.
TREY OKAFOR-LANG (24), lean and grinning, sunglasses on indoors, dancing like nobody's watching while making sure everybody is.
KENZIE ROSS (23), quiet, sharp-eyed, nursing a drink she hasn't touched.
Nathan slams a shot glass into Sebastián's hand.
NATHAN
Saint Sebastian! Drink, you beautiful martyr.
Sebastián looks at the glass. Gold liquid. Shaking with the bass.
SEBASTIÁN
One.
NATHAN
That's what Jesus said at the wedding. One.
Everyone laughs. Sebastián smiles, a practiced smile. He drinks.
FRAGMENTED MONTAGE – NIGHT
Quick cuts, warped audio, the music bending as if heard underwater:
— Maddie spinning, her hair a halo of light.
— Trey kissing a stranger against a mirrored wall. Two of him. Four of him.
— Nathan standing on a table, arms wide, a king of nothing.
— Sebastián in a bathroom stall, forehead against the door, whispering a prayer we can't hear.
— A pink neon sign flickers: "VIVE SIN LÍMITES." Live without limits.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
I came here with a plan. Sun. Friends. And one soul.
(beat)
Just one. That's all I asked for.
SMASH CUT TO:
EXT. RESORT BEACH – EARLY MORNING
Silence. The music is gone. Only waves.
The sky is the bruised color of a peach. The sand is perfect, raked into soft lines.
A figure moves along the shore, dragging two heavy lounge chairs at once.
MATEO REYES (24).
He is stunning in a way that has nothing to do with trying. Deep brown skin glowing with sweat. Black curls pushed off his forehead. Dark, heavy-lashed eyes that seem to take in everything and give away nothing. A crisp white resort polo, the name tag reading MATEO. Strong forearms. One earbud in.
He sets the chairs down. Lines them up with exact care. Measures the distance between them with his foot.
He does it again. And again. Forty chairs. Forty umbrellas.
CLOSE ON: His hands. Callused. A faded tattoo of a small swallow on his wrist.
On a wooden service cart sits a battered paperback, thick and dog-eared: Fundamentos de Ingeniería Civil. A pencil tucked inside as a bookmark.
Between chairs, he steals a glance at it. Reads one line. Mouths it. Back to work.
INT. SEBASTIÁN'S HOTEL SUITE – SAME
Wide windows. The same sunrise, but behind glass.
Sebastián stands on the balcony, hair wet from a shower, shirtless, the cross gleaming. Below, tiny on the beach, Mateo drags chairs.
Sebastián watches him for a long moment.
Behind him, Nathan is passed out face-down on the couch, still in last night's clothes. Maddie's high heels lie in the doorway like a crime scene.
Sebastián picks up a small leather Bible from the nightstand. Worn soft. Gold edges rubbed away. On the inside cover, in a woman's handwriting:
"Go and make disciples of all nations. — Love, Mom."
He runs his thumb over the words.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
Back home, everybody already knows the story. They've heard it a thousand times.
(beat)
Here, I thought maybe someone would hear it for the first time.
EXT. RESORT BEACH – LATER MORNING
The beach has come alive. Tourists sprawl in the sun. A DJ booth thumps lazily near the pool. Waiters in white weave between chairs with trays of bright drinks.
Mateo kneels, wiping down a lounge chair with a rag, steady and fast.
A shadow falls over him.
He looks up. Sebastián stands there in a pale blue shirt, sunglasses pushed into his hair, the Bible held at his side.
For a beat, neither speaks. Two beautiful young men, the same age, the same height, on opposite sides of a lounge chair.
SEBASTIÁN
Hey. Morning.
MATEO
(standing, polite, professional)
Good morning, sir. You need a chair? Towel?
SEBASTIÁN
No, I'm good. I'm... I'm Sebastián.
He offers his hand. Mateo glances at it, then wipes his own palm on his shorts and shakes.
MATEO
Mateo.
SEBASTIÁN
Sebastián and Mateo. That's, like, two apostles' worth of names right there.
Mateo doesn't laugh. He doesn't not laugh. He waits.
SEBASTIÁN (CONT'D)
I saw you out here at sunrise. You were the only one on the whole beach.
MATEO
Chairs don't set themselves.
SEBASTIÁN
Right. Yeah.
(beat, gathering himself)
Can I ask you something kind of personal?
Mateo glances toward a SUPERVISOR in a headset at the pool bar. Then back to Sebastián.
MATEO
I have a few minutes.
SEBASTIÁN
Do you know Jesus?
A long pause. The DJ's beat thumps faintly. A seagull cries.
Mateo's mouth tugs, almost a smile, almost not.
MATEO
My abuela had me baptized when I was three weeks old. Catedral de Mérida. I have the photo. I look very angry.
SEBASTIÁN
(laughing, relieved)
Okay. Okay, that's great. But I mean, like... do you know him? A real relationship. Not just tradition. Not just a ritual.
The almost-smile fades.
MATEO
Not just a ritual.
SEBASTIÁN
I just mean... you work so hard, man. I watched you. And I thought, this guy deserves to know there's something bigger. That he's not alone out here. That there's hope.
CLOSE ON MATEO: Something flickers behind his eyes. It isn't anger yet. It's recognition, like he's heard this song before in a different key.
MATEO
You think I don't have hope.
SEBASTIÁN
No, that's not what I...
MATEO
(gently, but firm)
I have hope. I have a mother in Valladolid with bad lungs. I have a little sister who wants to be a doctor. I have two more years of night classes.
(beat)
I have a lot of hope, Sebastián. What I don't have is time.
Silence. Sebastián is a little thrown. He holds out the Bible anyway. Then, a beat later, slides a folded twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tucks it inside the cover.
SEBASTIÁN
Just... take this. Read the Gospel of John. Chapter one. That's where I'd start.
Mateo looks at the Bible. Then at the edge of the green bill peeking out.
CLOSE ON: Mateo's hand. A hesitation. A war fought in two seconds.
He takes it. Not the Bible. Just the twenty.
He hands the Bible back.
MATEO
(quiet)
Gracias. For the tip.
SEBASTIÁN
It wasn't a tip, it was...
MATEO
I know what it was.
The SUPERVISOR shouts across the sand.
SUPERVISOR
¡Reyes! ¡Cabaña tres, ya!
MATEO
(to Sebastián, already moving)
Enjoy your stay, sir.
He walks away. Sebastián stands alone, holding a Bible he couldn't give away, as the sun beats down.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
He said "sir" like it was a door closing.
EXT. VIP CABANA – AFTERNOON
A private cabana on a raised wooden deck, draped in sheer white curtains that breathe in the wind. Inside: champagne in ice buckets, fruit nobody eats, a speaker blasting reggaeton.
The light here is overexposed, golden, almost hallucinatory. Everyone glows.
Nathan lies sprawled on a daybed, sunglasses on, beer resting on his stomach. Maddie paints her toenails. Trey shuffles a deck of cards. Kenzie reads a magazine she isn't reading.
Sebastián steps up onto the deck. Drops into a chair.
NATHAN
The prodigal son returns! So? Did you save him?
SEBASTIÁN
Leave it.
MADDIE
Oh my God, he struck out.
TREY
Rejected by the towel guy. Brutal.
NATHAN
What'd you offer him? A green card to heaven?
Laughter. Sebastián shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself.
NATHAN (CONT'D)
No, seriously, bro, what's the pitch there? "Accept Jesus and you might get a second shirt"?
TREY
He's had that same polo on since we checked in.
MADDIE
Maybe it's his only one. Maybe he washes it in the ocean every night.
NATHAN
Dude probably lives in a house made out of our Amazon boxes.
More laughter. Louder. The speaker thumps.
WIDE SHOT – BEHIND THE CABANA:
Through the sheer curtains, a silhouette approaches with a tray of drinks. Mateo. He stops just outside, about to step up and serve.
He hears.
TREY (O.S.)
What do they make here, like, eight bucks a day?
NATHAN (O.S.)
Eight bucks and all the sand he can eat.
CLOSE ON MATEO: Through the gauze, his face is soft-focus, ghostlike. The tray trembles slightly. The ice in the glasses clinks.
Inside, Kenzie glances up from her magazine.
KENZIE
You guys are kind of being gross.
NATHAN
Kenz, relax. It's a joke. He can't even understand us.
KENZIE
He spoke English to Seb.
NATHAN
"Towel? Chair? Towel?" That's not English, that's a menu.
Laughter erupts again. Everyone looks at Sebastián, waiting for him to join in, or to stop it.
CLOSE ON SEBASTIÁN. The moment hangs. We can feel him standing at a fork in the road.
The music seems to SLOW. Warp. The light pulses.
He smiles.
SEBASTIÁN
He did keep the twenty, though.
(beat)
Guess Jesus pays better than the hotel.
The cabana EXPLODES with laughter. Nathan howls and throws a grape at him. Maddie cries laughing. Trey slaps the table.
Sebastián laughs too. It feels good for exactly one second.
Then the curtain moves.
SMASH CUT TO SILENCE.
The music stops. Not the speaker, but the film's sound. Total silence.
Mateo stands at the edge of the deck, holding the tray.
SLOW MOTION: Every face turns toward him. Maddie's laugh dies mid-breath. Trey's hand freezes on the cards. Nathan's beer hovers.
Sebastián's smile drains away like water through sand.
Sound CRASHES back in: waves, the distant DJ, a child laughing somewhere far off.
Mateo steps up onto the deck. Calm. Too calm. He sets the tray down on the table with great care. Each glass placed precisely, the way he lined up the chairs.
MATEO
Your drinks.
Nobody moves.
MATEO (CONT'D)
Two margaritas. One mojito. One Corona. And one sparkling water.
(looks at Sebastián)
For the saint.
NATHAN
(sitting up, defensive)
Okay, man, nobody was talking about...
MATEO
Say it again.
NATHAN
What?
MATEO
The thing about the boxes. Say it again. To my face this time.
Nathan laughs, a nervous, ugly laugh.
NATHAN
Bro, it was a joke. Chill out. You want a tip? Here...
He pulls out his wallet and peels off bills, holding them out like a treat for a dog.
Mateo doesn't look at the money. He looks only at Sebastián.
MATEO
You.
Sebastián stands slowly.
SEBASTIÁN
Mateo, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...
MATEO
You came to me this morning. You held my hand. You said I wasn't alone.
SEBASTIÁN
I meant that.
MATEO
(a breath of disbelief)
Then you walked fifty steps and sold me for a laugh.
He reaches into his pocket. Pulls out the crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Holds it up between two fingers.
MATEO (CONT'D)
You want to know why I kept it?
(beat)
My sister needs a textbook. Forty dollars. I've been short for three weeks.
He lets go. The bill flutters down, landing on the Bible resting by Sebastián's chair.
MATEO (CONT'D)
I'll find another way. Keep your Jesus money.
He turns to leave.
NATHAN
(muttering, too loud)
Dramatic much? Like he can afford pride.
Mateo stops.
CLOSE ON: His back. His shoulders rise and fall once. His hands curl into fists.
He turns around.
MATEO
(in Spanish, low and shaking)
¿Qué dijiste?
(SUBTITLE: What did you say?)
NATHAN
(standing, puffing up)
I said you can't afford...
Mateo crosses the deck in three strides. Nathan shoves him hard in the chest. Mateo stumbles back into the table. Glasses SHATTER. Ice skids across the wooden floor.
MADDIE
Oh my God!
KENZIE
Nathan, stop!
THE FIGHT – FRAGMENTED, HANDHELD, CHAOTIC
The camera loses control. Close, shaky, smeared by golden light. Sound drops in and out, muffled, then deafening.
— Mateo regains his footing. Nathan swings wildly. Mateo slips it, clean and fast, a fighter's instinct born somewhere else in his life.
— Mateo's fist connects with Nathan's jaw. A sick, wet SMACK. Nathan crashes into the daybed.
— Trey jumps in, grabbing Mateo from behind. They wrestle. A curtain RIPS free and drifts down over them like a shroud.
— Maddie screams, still filming on her phone. Her screen captures blurry flashes of limbs.
— Sebastián rushes forward.
SEBASTIÁN
Stop! Everybody stop!
— Mateo twists free from Trey and turns, wild-eyed, chest heaving, straight into Sebastián.
FREEZE-FRAME HALF SECOND: The two of them inches apart. Equal height. Equal beauty. Equal shock.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
I could have stepped back.
— Sebastián throws a punch.
It lands on Mateo's cheekbone. Mateo's head snaps sideways.
— Silence. Total.
— Mateo slowly turns back. A thin line of blood on his cheek. He looks at Sebastián not with rage, but with something worse. With understanding.
— Mateo hits back. One punch. Sebastián spins and goes down, his eyebrow catching the edge of the glass table. A spray of red across the white wood.
— The Bible tumbles off the chair. Lands open, face-down, in a puddle of spilled margarita and blood.
HARD CUT TO:
EXT. VIP CABANA – MOMENTS LATER
Sound returns all at once: shouting, radios, a crowd gathering.
Two RESORT SECURITY GUARDS haul Mateo backward by the arms. He doesn't fight them. He just breathes.
The SUPERVISOR arrives, red-faced. Behind him, the HOTEL MANAGER (50s), crisp suit, crisper smile, rushes up to the tourists.
HOTEL MANAGER
Señores, señoritas, I am so, so sorry. Are you hurt? Please, please, everything is on the house tonight.
NATHAN
(holding his jaw, pointing)
He attacked us! He just came in here and started swinging!
KENZIE
That's not...
MADDIE
(over her)
I have it on video!
She doesn't show the video. Nobody asks her to.
The Hotel Manager turns to Sebastián, who sits on the deck holding a towel to his bleeding brow.
HOTEL MANAGER
Sir? Is that what happened?
CLOSE ON SEBASTIÁN.
Every eye is on him. Nathan. Maddie. Trey. Kenzie. The Manager.
And Mateo, held by two guards, his cheek bleeding, waiting.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
There's a moment in the Gospels when Peter is asked if he knows Jesus.
(beat)
He says no. Three times.
Sebastián opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
He looks down at the sand.
CLOSE ON MATEO. He watches Sebastián's silence land. A tiny nod. As if it confirms something he always knew.
HOTEL MANAGER
(to Supervisor, in Spanish)
Sácalo. Ya terminó aquí.
(SUBTITLE: Get him out. He's done here.)
The guards lead Mateo away across the sand. Tourists part for him, phones raised, recording.
He doesn't look back.
Sebastián does. He watches until Mateo is just a white shirt in the distance, and then nothing at all.
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. SEBASTIÁN'S HOTEL BATHROOM – NIGHT
Darkness. A pink neon sign from the club across the street bleeds through the frosted window, washing everything in sickly magenta.
Sebastián stands at the sink. Shirtless. A butterfly bandage over his split eyebrow. A purple bruise blooming on his ribs.
He runs the faucet. Watches pink water swirl down the drain.
On the marble counter beside him: the Bible. Its pages swollen and warped. Stained in pale red and lime-green margarita. The twenty-dollar bill is still stuck inside, glued to the page.
He peels it free. It tears in half.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
I've had a speech ready for every stranger I ever met.
He looks at himself in the mirror.
MIRROR SHOT: The reflection doesn't quite match. A half-second delay. A flicker.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Every argument. Every verse. Every answer.
Through the wall: muffled laughter. His friends in the next room, already drinking again. Nathan's voice, loud and cheerful, retelling the story. Someone laughs. Maddie squeals.
NATHAN (O.S.)
...and Saint Seb just DROPS him, bro!
Cheers.
Sebastián closes his eyes.
FRAGMENTED MEMORY MONTAGE
Dreamlike. Overexposed. Sound distant and hollow.
— Mateo at sunrise, measuring the space between chairs with his foot.
— Mateo's hand hesitating over the twenty.
— "I have a lot of hope. What I don't have is time."
— Sebastián's own laughing face in the cabana, frozen, grotesque in slow motion.
— "Guess Jesus pays better than the hotel."
— Mateo's look. Not rage. Understanding.
— A young Sebastián, maybe eight, in a church pew in a small Texas town, his MOTHER'S hand on his shoulder as the PASTOR's voice echoes: "Whatever you did for the least of these..."
— Blood on white wood.
— The Bible face-down in the puddle.
BACK TO SCENE:
Sebastián opens his eyes. Grips the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles go white.
He picks up the Bible. Flips the swollen pages. They stick together. He forces them apart.
INSERT: A page, half-ruined by stains. Only a fragment still legible:
"...if I have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal."
He stares at it.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
I wanted to save someone.
(beat)
I never once asked if I was the one who needed it.
EXT. RESORT SERVICE GATE – DAWN
Blue-grey light. The ocean whispers behind a chain-link fence. Garbage bins. A delivery truck idles.
Sebastián walks down the service road in yesterday's clothes, bandaged, barefoot. The ruined Bible in his hand.
Ahead, near the staff exit, a small figure in street clothes. A faded black T-shirt. A backpack.
Mateo.
He stands at a window, handing his folded white polo to a bored CLERK. The clerk takes it. Hands him a small envelope. Final pay.
Mateo turns. Sees Sebastián.
They stand twenty feet apart. The sun hasn't fully risen. Everything is suspended in that strange in-between light.
Mateo's cheek is swollen, a dark bruise under his eye. Even like this, even broken, he is breathtaking. There's a stillness to him, a dignity that the bruise can't touch.
Sebastián takes a step forward.
SEBASTIÁN
Mateo.
Mateo waits.
SEBASTIÁN (CONT'D)
I...
Nothing. Sebastián's lips part. Close. Part again.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
Every verse. Every answer.
(beat)
Gone.
He holds out the Bible. Then seems to realize how wrong that is. He lowers it.
He reaches into his pocket instead. Pulls out his wallet. Opens it.
Mateo shakes his head. Slowly. Not angry. Just tired.
Sebastián freezes. Closes the wallet. Lets it fall to his side.
They stand there. Waves crash. A gull calls.
MATEO
(soft)
You know what's funny?
SEBASTIÁN
What?
MATEO
This morning, I almost believed you.
He shoulders his backpack. Turns. Walks through the service gate and out onto the street, where the sun is just breaking over the low concrete buildings of the real city, the one tourists don't see.
He doesn't look back.
Sebastián watches him go.
EXT. RESORT BEACH – SUNRISE
The beach is empty. The chairs haven't been set out. Nobody has raked the sand. It's rough, messy, marked with footprints and cigarette butts from the night before.
For the first time, there is no one here to make it perfect.
Sebastián walks to the edge of the water. The waves lick his bare feet.
He looks down at the Bible in his hands. Swollen. Stained. Torn.
He doesn't throw it. He doesn't drop it.
He just walks forward. Into the ocean. Fully clothed.
Ankles. Knees. Waist. The water turns gold with the rising sun.
Chest. Shoulders.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.)
My mom says God made the ocean so we'd remember how small we are.
He stops. The water laps at his chin. He closes his eyes.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I don't know if I'm being washed clean...
He goes under.
The surface ripples. Settles. Smooth as glass.
SEBASTIÁN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
...or just hiding.
HOLD ON: The empty water. Five seconds. Ten.
A single swollen page from the Bible floats up to the surface. Drifts on the golden light.
We wait for him to come up.
CUT TO BLACK.
Silence.
Then, faintly, the distant thump of a bass line as the city wakes up for another day.
THE END.