The Cardinal's Sin (Dred)

FADE IN:
EXT. RURAL FARMHOUSE – LATE AFTERNOON

A weathered porch sags under GRANDPA (70s), all denim, sunburn,
and tobacco. A chipped mug of coffee steams beside him.
In the yard, a CARDINAL hurls itself again and again at the side
mirror of a rust-bitten pickup, wings flashing like sparks.

TAP–THUMP. TAP–THUMP.

Grandpa watches, calm, chewing a toothpick.
The screen door creaks open.

GRANDSON (10) steps out, BB gun across his arms, proud as a
rooster.

GRANDSON
I’ll get him, Grandpa. He’s been
peckin’ that truck all day.
He pumps the gun, sights the bird.

GRANDPA
You shoot that bird, boy, you might as
well shoot your own soul.

GRANDSON
(confused laugh)
It’s just a dumb bird hittin’ itself.

GRANDPA
Ain’t dumb. Ain’t hittin itself
neither. He’s fightin’ what’s inside
that mirror.

The boy lowers the gun a little. Grandpa nods toward the bird.

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
You ever hear how that red bird came
to be?

GRANDSON
(shakes head)
No, sir.

GRANDPA
Back before mirrors, before glass.
When Lucifer fell, one angel tried to
catch him. Grabbed his wing, tried to
pull him back. Didn’t make it. That
angel’s feather got caught in
Lucifer’s blood...
(MORE)

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
and what rose from that mix was the
first Cardinal, a reminder. Heaven’s
grace stained by Hell’s sin. Hell
wasn’t fire first. It was born from
the sins Lucifer carried. That’s why
the birds watch us. Because we’re the
same mix, boy. Every coin’s got its
opposite and we’re the ones stuck
flippin’ it.
The bird strikes the mirror again. THUNK! Leaving streaks like
blood. The boy’s grip on the gun loosens.

GRANDSON
He’s protectin’ me?

GRANDPA
He’s protectin’ what’s left of you.
That mirror’s hungry, boy. He knows
it.

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
Now bring that gun inside. Tools don’t
sleep in the dirt.
The boy nods and goes inside. The screen door SLAPS shut.
Grandpa stays watching. The bird pauses, wings trembling.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. FARM PORCH – NIGHT
Quiet. Grandpa still rocks, hat low. The cardinal is gone. The
porch bulb hums faintly.
GRANDSON steps out again, barefoot in flannel pajamas, flashlight
in hand.

GRANDSON
Grandpa? That red bird’s gone.

GRANDPA
Good. Means he did his job.
The boy steps off the porch. Gravel crunches. He raises the beam
toward the truck, the mirror is cracked, streaked red.
Nothing moves. Then his reflection blinks late.

GRANDSON
(soft)

Grandpa?

GRANDPA
(from the porch)
Don’t look too long, boy.

The boy flinches, turns, Grandpa hasn’t moved. Eyes shut. Still
rocking.

When he looks back, the reflection smiles. A slow, crooked grin he
isn’t making.

He steps closer. The cracked mirror glows faintly red. Something
shifts behind his reflection. Tall, feathered, and human-shaped.

GRANDSON
Grandpa, there’s somethin’

GRANDPA
I told you not to stare.

Grandpa rises, steady. He pulls a small wooden cross from his
pocket.

The reflection leans closer, pressing a hand against the inside of
the mirror. The sound isn’t a tap — it’s a heartbeat.

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
That thing you’re seein’? That’s why
guns stay inside and mirrors stay
covered.
He steps off the porch, cross raised.

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
Back to the dark, feather-thief. You
got no claim here.

The reflection convulses, wings spreading inside the glass — a
screech tears the air.
Then... CRASH! The mirror explodes outward, glass raining down in
silver shards.
Silence.
A single scarlet feather drifts through the air, glowing faintly.
Grandpa stoops, picks it up.

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
(soft)
One drop of grace. One of sin. And
all the rest... us.
He presses the feather into the boy’s hand.

GRANDPA (CONT'D)
Remember, it ain’t the bird that sins.
It’s the man who forgets what he’s
fightin’ for.

The boy nods. The feather glows faintly between his fingers.
In the shattered glass, his reflection turns its head, a split
second late.

A distant cardinal call echoes from the woods. Soft, mournful, and
endless.
FADE OUT.
THE END