============================================================ PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY Screenplay by Julio Lonnie Lopez 2026 ============================================================ FADE IN: INT. GARY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Moonlight seeps through gaps in the boarded windows. The room is sparse, functional. A mattress on the floor. A baseball bat leaning against the wall within arm's reach. GARY (40s, gaunt, unshaven) lies on the mattress in a faded night robe. His eyes snap open. He stares at the ceiling, listening. DISTANT SOUNDS - shuffling footsteps, low moans, the occasional thump against a wall. Gary's hand slowly moves to the baseball bat. He grips it. Waits. The sounds fade into the distance. He exhales, releases the bat. His stomach GROWLS. Loud in the silence. Gary winces, places a hand on his stomach as if to quiet it. He sits up slowly, listens again. Nothing but the distant chorus of the undead. Gary stands, ties his robe tighter, and pads barefoot toward the door. INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS Gary moves through the dark hallway. Boards cover every window. Moonlight creates striped patterns on the walls. He passes a bathroom - empty. A closet - door ajar, mostly bare shelves visible. His stomach growls again. GARY (whispered, to himself) I know, I know... He continues toward the kitchen. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Gary enters. The kitchen window above the sink is boarded, but there are small gaps between the planks. Faint moonlight filters through. He freezes at the entrance, listening. OUTSIDE - closer now - the shuffle of feet. A low moan. Something bumps against the back door. Gary holds his breath. The sound moves past. Fading toward the backyard. Gary carefully approaches the window, peers through a gap in the boards. EXT. BACKYARD - GARY'S POV - CONTINUOUS Several ZOMBIES shamble through the overgrown grass toward the tree line. Their silhouettes barely visible in the moonlight. CLOSE ON: Their feet. One wears pristine Nike running shoes. Another has leather boots that look barely worn. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Gary looks down at his own bare feet, dirt under the nails, calloused. He shakes his head slightly - a dark moment of recognition. His stomach growls again, louder this time. OUTSIDE - a zombie MOANS in response, as if answering. Gary freezes. Waits. The moaning fades. Gary moves carefully to the cupboards. Opens the first one - nearly empty. A can of green beans. An old box of baking soda. Second cupboard - bare except for a single coffee mug. Third cupboard - he reaches in, moves aside a half-empty bag of rice... His hand stops. His eyes widen slightly. He pulls out a jar of GOOBER - peanut butter and jelly swirled together. The seal is still intact. Gary holds it like a treasure. Reads the label. Checks the expiration date. Still good. A tiny smile crosses his face - the first hint of joy we've seen. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Gary sets the jar down gently on the counter. He opens a drawer - slowly, carefully. The drawer SQUEAKS slightly. He freezes. Listens. OUTSIDE - shuffling continues, but no reaction. Gary pulls out a butter knife. Closes the drawer with painstaking slowness. He moves to the bread box on the counter. Opens it. Inside - half a loaf of white bread in a plastic bag. Gary reaches for the bag, then stops. He eyes the plastic wrapper. Knows it will crinkle. He picks up the butter knife, positions it at the twisted tie of the bread bag. CLOSE ON: The knife carefully cutting through the plastic tie. The bag opens with barely a whisper. Gary slides out two pieces of bread. Sets them on the counter. OUTSIDE - a MOAN, closer now. Footsteps shuffling near the back door. Gary's hand hovers over the bread. He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. The footsteps pause at the back door. THUMP. Something bumps against it. Gary's eyes dart to the deadbolt. Still locked. THUMP. Again. Gary remains perfectly still, his hand an inch above the bread. Beat. The footsteps shuffle away from the door, back toward the yard. Gary slowly exhales. He picks up the Goober jar. Grips the lid. CLOSE ON: His hands beginning to twist the lid. The seal CRACKS - loud in the silence. Gary winces. Stops. OUTSIDE - a zombie GROANS. But it doesn't sound closer. Gary continues, twisting the lid slowly, letting the seal break in increments rather than one loud pop. The lid comes off. He sets it down silently on the counter. CLOSE ON: The swirled peanut butter and jelly inside. It looks perfect. Gary dips the butter knife in, scoops out a generous portion. He spreads it on the first slice of bread with the careful precision of a surgeon. Each stroke of the knife calculated, controlled. Not a sound. He spreads the second slice. BEHIND GARY - through the gap in the boarded window - we can see SHADOWS moving in the backyard. At least four or five zombies shambling aimlessly. Gary doesn't notice. He's focused entirely on his sandwich. He places the second slice of bread on top of the first. Presses down gently. A complete sandwich. Gary stares at it for a moment. This simple thing he's created. He picks it up. Takes a bite. CLOSE ON: Gary's face as he chews. His eyes close. For just this moment, everything else disappears. He takes another bite. Chews slowly, savoring it. His posture relaxes slightly. His shoulders drop. He opens his eyes, looks around his kitchen - the boarded windows, the mostly empty cupboards, the deadbolt on the back door. GARY (V.O.) (barely a whisper) Maybe... maybe this isn't forever. He takes another bite. Stands there in his night robe, eating his sandwich in the dark. For a moment, he looks almost peaceful. BEHIND HIM - through the window gap - the bag of rice he moved earlier is starting to shift. So slowly. Imperceptibly at first. Gary finishes his sandwich. Licks his fingers. His stomach is quiet now. He looks at the Goober jar on the counter. Still half full. The hint of a smile. BEHIND HIM - the rice bag shifts more. Tilting. Gary turns to put the lid back on the jar. The rice bag tilts further. Teeters on the edge of the shelf. Gary screws the lid back on the Goober. The TWIST of the lid echoes slightly in the quiet. The rice bag tips over the edge. INT. KITCHEN - SLOW MOTION The bag falls. Tumbles through the air. Gary begins to turn, sensing something. The bag hits the floor. RICE explodes across the linoleum - a CASCADE of sound, grain scattering everywhere. INT. KITCHEN - NORMAL SPEED Gary's eyes go wide. OUTSIDE - immediate MOANING. Multiple zombies, all reacting at once. THUMP THUMP THUMP - fists pounding on the back door. Gary grabs the Goober jar. More MOANING - from the sides of the house now. They're converging. The BACK DOOR rattles violently. Gary runs to the front of the house. INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS Gary rushes through, clutching the Goober jar to his chest like a football. He reaches the FRONT DOOR. Unlocks the deadbolt. Chains. BEHIND HIM - the BACK DOOR SPLINTERS. Wood cracking. Gary throws open the front door. EXT. FRONT YARD - CONTINUOUS Gary bursts out into the night. He scans the front yard - darker here, facing away from the moon. A few scattered ZOMBIES in the distance, but they haven't noticed him yet. The street is relatively clear. BEHIND HIM - CRASH. The back door gives way. MOANING floods from inside the house. Gary runs barefoot down his front walk, night robe flapping behind him, Goober jar clutched tight. He doesn't look back. WIDE SHOT - Gary disappears into the darkness of the suburban street. Behind him, ZOMBIES stumble out of his house, drawn by the noise. His house - his sanctuary - is lost. But he has his Goober. FADE TO BLACK. ============================================================ From False Universe https://afalseuniverse.com ============================================================