Sweet baby Jesus, I love Swamp Thing. Don’t worry,
I won’t use this space to pluck the petals from a rose and explain all the
ways. I do, however, want to take a moment and explain the bizarre period in
both our lives when we met. If you’re
not interested in the short jaunt down memory lane, feel free to scroll down to
my Parliament script.
Let’s start in the late 1980’s. I was a kid who couldn’t
get enough comics. I savored hitting up the racks at local convenience stores
or supermarkets to catch up with the colorful, costumed heroes that made up
universes I would get lost in for hours. I had it pretty rough as a youngster,
so escapism via newsprint was a much needed and cherished pastime.
On one of my childhood comic hunts, keep in mind
specialty shops were non-existent in my town at the time, I wandered into a
dark little place known as a smoke shop. It was located directly adjacent to
the railroad tracks, so how could I know if I was on the wrong side of those
tracks without a little exploration?
Today it’s wild to think a ten-year-old boy could just stroll
into store tailored to people’s vices unsupervised. I thank the heavens above
that was the case. There were comics inside! Not the largest selection, and
they were heavily outnumbered by adult magazines wrapped in semi-secretive poly
bags, but nonetheless, there were comics! The first book I picked up was an odd
bird fitting of the strange, cigar smoke filled environment I found myself in
that day.
The cover was a striking image. A blue Swamp Thing
floated within the eye socket of a skull. The header, above the awesome Swampy
logo, read “Sophisticated Suspense”. Now to me it might as well had said “Not
for you kiddo!”, so I nervously flipped open this mysterious mag.
I had absolutely
no idea what was going on, none. The story flew right above my young mind, but
it looked so cool! Plus, Swamp Thing was in space. Being the little fan that I
was, I had been aware of Swamp Thing. A muck encrusted mockery of a man that
resides in the bayou, so what the heck was he doing among the stars? I needed
to know more, but first I must have this! I took the book to the chain- smoking
cashier, slapped my seventy-five cents on the counter and with that, Swamp
Thing #56 started a love affair that has lasted thirty-four years and counting.
When I arrived home, comic in hand, I remember quite
clearly going over to the calendar on my wall, and for some reason, picking a
random date in January of the following year and inscribing it “Day of the
Swamp Thing”. I wanted to write my own
Swamp Thing story and explore weird concepts. Prior to this my only aspiration
was acquiring yellow lenses so I could make a Blue Beetle mask and hop the
rooftops of my hometown. I suppose the influence Swamp Thing #56 had on me prevented
my mother embarrassment, possible jail time, or perhaps an untimely death from
falling off a building.
So, the script your about to read must be related to
Swamp Thing #56, right? Well, not exactly. It does stem from Swampy’s time in
space. In issue #60, Alan Moore wrote a trippy tale in which, while traveling
through the cosmos, Swamp Thing is assaulted by an alien being. The narrative of the story is told from the
alien’s perspective, as she explains to her children how she met their…father! That’s
some crazy stuff right there. Problem is, or at least how I see it, the
offspring are never referenced again anywhere.
As years went by, I was shocked nobody ever picked this
up and ran with it. There are biomechanical Swampy babies out there. How could
a concept that cool just be abandoned? I decided to grab a few influences,
sprinkle them with real life experience, stir in some easter eggs, add a dash
of time travel and season them with a whole lot of Arcane.
After mixing up this concoction in my mind I ended up an
idea that goes something like this: A thief
in the 1800’s makes the worst decision of his life, opening the door for him to
become an unwitting accomplice to Anton Arcane, who believes by killing a scared
child from the stars, he will doom the Parliament of Trees at the dawn of Planet
Earth.
Keep in mind I’m no Alan Moore. Hell, despite how much I’d
like to be, I’m not a professional writer either. There are bound to be blemishes
and accepting them is appreciated. I just want to get this out into the world
and I’m truly grateful you’re taking the time to read this first draft of issue
one (and maybe telling me what you think). My hopes are it’s accessible to
everyone and satisfying to hard core DC Comics/Swamp Thing fans alike.
Sincerely,
David Schultz
On a random date in January 2021
* This story is intended for a five issue mini and is for mature audiences only*
Parliament of Trees
#1
By David Schultz
PAGE ONE
Narration box: Somewhere along the southern border of
Texas and Mexico, 1845.
Full page. We open with a desert landscape. The dirt cracked
by heat. Not completely flat, there are some hills and ridges populated by
warped cactus that look defeated by the sun. The lean one way or the other as
if they are lazy, and given the opportunity would gladly lay down. There are
some dry bushes and grass also scattered along the scene.
PAGE TWO
Panel One/ Long panel across top of the page:
Two men ride horses weighed down with packs. They move
slowly. Nothing that lives can withstand the temperature without paying a
price.
Panel Two:
We creep closer now to see the finer details of our tired
travelers. They are dressed in garb common to the era, covered in layers of
dust and sweat. One has dark brown hair
peeking from under his hat, this our main character Mason. The other is his
friend, a shaggy blonde with an unkept beard named Billy.
Panel Three:
Mason raises his hand as a signal to stop. Billy takes a
swig from a filthy and nearly dry canteen.
Panel Four:
Both lead men on horseback are in scene.
Billy: Mason,
you sure that map is worth following anymore? We’re dry passed dead with no
respite near. You said we was close hours ago!
Mason: There was supposed to be a cave where that
ridge is, see?
Panel Five/ long across bottom of the page to achieve scope:
He points to the ridge ahead of them, where the cactus lean.
It is far enough away it requires a squint to get a better view, which is
exactly what both men do.
PAGE THREE
Panel One:
Billy stops squinting at the ridge and turns to Mason.
Billy: Cave?! We would be lucky to find a damn hole
in the ground. Let alone a pile of stones fulla' treasure. Mason, you drug our
behinds all this way all because you stole this cursed map off a damned fool.
An I was more foolish to follow you! Talking wealth beyond our means and imo-
imo-
Panel Two: Mason replies still squinting as he looks ahead.
Mason: Immortality.
Panel Three:
Billy: Yeah, Immortality. Who needs it? All I want
right now is a beauty with loose britches and to get out from under this sun.
We been friends a long time and had our moments robbin’ and poachin’, but this
here is subjecting ourselves to certain death! It’d be best to turn back.
Panel Four:
Mason turns to address Billy directly who’s now dismounted
his horse to stretch his muscles.
Mason: I told you from the very beginning, we aren’t looking
for money. Money’s something that can be
gained, lost or stolen. What we are aiming to find is rare. Power beyond your
wildest dreams.
Billy: Well, I’m a simple man Mason. I judge wealth
on whether I can count, drink or fuck it.
Panel Five:
Mason holds up a map made of parchment. There is a broken wax
seal with a calligraphed “A” on it. He smiles at the comment while studying the
directions.
Mason: If you weren’t so damn stupid Billy, I’d
accuse you of being clever.
Billy: HAR!
PAGE FOUR
Panel One:
Billy adjusts a pack on the back of his horse. Mason still
sits upon his steed, holding the map in one hand.
Billy: This
was a fancy feller you thieved the map offa', right?
Mason: Yep. Fancy as they come. Not a speck of dirt
on the man if he stood in a pile of pig shit.
Panel Two:
Billy: What the hell a man of means need out here
anyhow? From what you been telling, doubt he’d ever drag his polished ass out
this far for nuttin'.
Mason: It’s more than that. You had to hear him speak
Billy. I don’t know how to explain it other than you hang on every word like it
was some type of hypnotism. I dunno. There’s
something special out here. I can feel it Billy, I swear it. Magic even.
Billy: Magic? Look
Mason, I’ve always trusted yer instincts. Not completely sayin’ I ain’t now, and I been
willing to choose a coffin for coin aplenty. But this wild yarn you been
spinning and got yerself all twisted up in... well.
I’m tired, you’re tired. We been traveling for days now. Let’s
just turn back while we still can, okay?
Panel Three:
Aggravated, Mason throws the map at the ground.
Mason: GAWDDAMMIT!
Panel Four:
Mason’s demeanor changes from anger to dejection.
Mason: (quietly) You’re right. Let’s get out of here.
PAGE FIVE
Panel One:
Mason peers towards the ridge where the lazy cactus sit in
hopes of what he’d been seeking would suddenly appear. Instead, he catches a
glance of something wholly unexpected. There is a small dust cloud surrounding
a cactus that now looks larger than the others.
Panel Two:
Mason’s eyes widen despite the blistering sun shining in his
face. He’s using his hand to shield his eyes.
Mason: Billy, am I finally losing my mind here or is
that cactus…moving?
Panel Three:
The image is clearer now. While unable to fully make out the
form, a cactus is coming their way, and by the increased size of the dust cloud
left in its wake; this creature is big and moving fast.
Panel Four:
Billy mounts his horse in a panic after witnessing the same
unbelievable sight.
Billy: Sweet Jaysis!
Panel Five:
Full view of the charging creature. The monstrous cactus is
misshapen and warped, an attempt to imitate the form of a man, and the results
are grotesque. Its trunks are now arms, the hands are clubs covered in needles.
Empty eye sockets and a shallow mouth imply rage. The once sturdy base has
split to form legs in which to run with, leaving ripped, sinewy stems exposed. It
is easily twice the size of an average man.
PAGE SIX
Panel One:
Billy pulls out his pistol and squeezes off a shot. BLAM!
Panel Two-Three:
The monster barrels into Billy’s horse, flipping them both.
Panel Four:
Upon his panicked horse, Mason wildly lets off a shot that
grazes the monster’s shoulder to no effect.
Mason: Billy!
PAGE SEVEN
Panel One:
Billy is on his back. The shadow of the massive form blankets
him. His eyes are wide, anticipating his own demise. Unable to breathe, he
gasps out a final word.
Billy: W-wait.
Panel Two:
The beast’s massive, clubbed hand comes down on him hard,
smashing Billy’s skull and sending bloody fragments adorned with needles into
the air.
Panel Three:
The creature turns his hollow face in Masons direction. The
objective of this monster is clear; murder anything made of flesh and bone.
Panel Four:
Mason snaps the reigns on his horse. Run or die.
Mason: Fuck! I’m sorry Billy.
Panel Five:
Mason looks straight ahead towards camera. The monster
continues to pound his dead friend into the dirt, creating yet another dust
cloud that rises in the distance as Mason rides away.
PAGE EIGHT
Panel One:
Narration Box- Redtooth, Texas 1887
An old man stares blankly ahead as he sits at a bar with an
empty shot glass in his hand. It’s Mason. Despite a scraggly white beard, and
the years creating countless creases in his skin; the eyes that once peered at
the ridge remain the same. The shutter doors that mark the entrance to the
saloon allow just enough light through their cracks to tickle the wooden planks
that make up the floor.
Panel Two:
Behind Mason, a handful of men are playing cards in the
saloon. They sit at a round table that holds stacks of coins and drinks. One of the men has lost a hand. He’s a large,
burly cowboy and not one to be trifled with.
Man 1: Crud!
Panel Three:
The losing player slams his fist on the table, as he rises
from his chair, spilling the drinks.
Man 2: What in the hell! Ya lost fair and square!
Man 1: Don’t mean I can’t be mad about it. Bart, get over here and clean up my mess.
Panel Four:
The man turns to Mason who sits expressionless at the bar,
oblivious to the event behind him.
Man 1: Maybe the old bastard gone deaf. Lord knows
his brain is already softer than my sister’s teat.
Hey, Batshit Bart! I’m talkin’ ta you!
PAGE NINE
Panel One:
The man grips Mason’s shoulder hard and spins him around.
Mason: Huh? Wuzzat?
Panel Two:
The boisterous cowboy holds Mason up by his collar.
Man 1: What’s the matter Batshit? Daydreaming about plants
aiming to murder ya out in the desert?
The rest of the bar patrons roar with laughter.
Panel Three:
Man 1: This useless old drunk used to be somebody.
Ain’t that right Bart? You was once the toughest sunnabitch in Texas.
Mason: Stop.
Man 1: Then one day, he and his compadre head out to
Mexico lookin’ fer magic beans. But only Batshit here comes back, with wild talk
of blood thirsty cactus. Ha!
Panel Four:
The man releases his grip on Mason and postures for the
others while continuing to recount rumors of Mason’s past.
Man 1: You see boys, not a soul believes the wild story Bart was spinning. So what he go an do? The once proud an mighty man here
decides to drown himself daily. Sun up to sun down just killing bottles like he
probably done in the dumb fuck that followed him out into the desert alla them
years back.
Panel Five:
Full view of the bar interior. The cowboys continue to laugh
as Mason stands feeble.
Bartender: I think that’s enough now. Let him alone. I’ll
tend to the mess.
PAGE TEN
Panel One:
The rowdy cowboy appears to settle his mood prior to
continuing.
Man 1: Yeah, sure. Enough is enough. An just to be
fair, suppose I woulda drowned my woes in whiskey too had I came home half a
man with my ass fulla pricks!
Panel Two:
He’s laughing so hard now, he doubles over.
Panel Three: The bully has a hand on his belly as he stands
up straight again to wipe a tear from laughter from his eye.
Man 1: Hoo-hee!
Panel Four:
Mason’s liver spotted fist taps him on the chin with a punch
lacking force it once had. *THOCK*
Panel Five- Six:
Full shots of the man’s face post punch. First, he is
shocked that Mason would even dare attempt such an act. Then a throbbing vein
in his forehead represents his rage.
Man 1: Batshit, you dead.
PAGE ELEVEN
Panel One:
Mason comes flying out the saloon doors head-first.
Panel Two:
Mason then proceeds to trip down three steps, stumble over a
water trough and land on his rear.
Mason: OOF!
Panel Three:
He leans back against the trough and closes his eyes. The
mid-day sun shines brightly upon his weathered skin. The town that surrounds
him is alive with activity. He cares none, content to sit after yet another
humiliation he’s grown accustomed to.
Panel Four:
Mason is suddenly covered by a shadow, exactly as Billy was
before the cactus took his life all those years before.
Panel Five:
Mason opens his eyes and is filled with terror. He leans
farther back on the trough in a hopeless effort to escape what stands before
him.
Mason: Y-You!
PAGE TWELVE
Panel One: A slim man stands in front of an elaborately adorned
stagecoach. He is dressed in all white. Hat to boots. His skin is nearly as pale as his wardrobe. Next
to him is a stunning woman with long, curly brown hair that extends past her
shoulders. She is wearing a purple dress and black gloves. [Note to artist:
Arcane looks like David
Bowie’s Thin White Duke]
Arcane: Bartholomew Rexford Mason. At long last, we
meet again.
Panel Two:
Flashback panel that looks like an old sepia colored photograph.
Arcane smiles wryly while holding the same map from the beginning of our story
with wax seal intact.
Panel Three: Arcane extends his hand to help Mason stand up,
but he refuses to release his grasp on the trough, as though he’s at the foot
of a ghost.
Panel Four: Arcane wears a face of indifference.
Arcane: Hm. Miss Graham, help our friend Mr. Mason to
his feet. We’ve got quite a journey ahead of us and little time to be laying in
the dirt.
Graham: Of course, Mr. Arcane.
Panel Five: Miss Graham easily lifts Mason by his arm as if
he were a rag doll. He doesn’t resist.
Panel Six: They are all loaded in the stagecoach now and
Miss Graham shuts the door. Arcane and Mason sit on opposite sides, but we can
see through the windows that while Arcane is smiling, Mason looks to be in a
state of shock.
PAGE THIRTEEN
Panel One: Interior of the stagecoach. Quite lavish transport
compared to anything of its day. The seats are cushioned velvet, and the wood
paneling is elegantly carved. A ride fit for a king. The driver has set the two
horses that pull it in motion, and they begin the ride out of town.
Anton pulls a shiny silver flask from his jacket.
Anton: Perhaps you would like a drink Bartholomew? To
settle the nerves.
Mason: Nope. Reckon I’m dead. Spent enough
time living wet.
Panel Two: Anton puts the flask back into his coat pocket.
Anton: He speaks! And here I thought the broken man
had lost his ability to communicate. Fret not Mr. Mason, you are not dead yet.
Mason: Fret? Sir, last thing that concerns me is my own
demise.
Anton: That’s rich coming from the person who once stole
something very precious from me so he could attain power that only gods possess.
Panel Two: Mason folds his arms and continues.
Mason: So, you’re telling me I got tossed down some
stairs to find a man I ain’t seen in years looking fresher than a newborn babe.
In his company, he got a woman strong as a bull who just picks me up and places
me in this fine wagon here to discuss the greatest wrong I ever committed in my
useless life. If this is not my personal escort to hell, I must have banged my
noggin harder than it hurt.
Panel Three: Arcane leans in.
Arcane: Ah.
What would you say if I were to inform you this useless life, as just stated,
has more significance than most would believe?
Panel Four: Mason is stone faced.
Mason: That I’m sitting across from a bold-faced
fucking liar.
PAGE FOURTEEN
Panel One:
Arcane slumps back into his seat dissatisfied with Mason’s
response.
Panel Two-Three:
Arcane and Miss Graham share a look with each other. There
is an unspoken language at play here and Arcane raises an eyebrow at what wasn’t
verbally said but mutually understood.
Panel Four:
Arcane rubs his chin.
Arcane: Shall we talk about the map then?
Mason: That cursed scrap was lost to blood and dirt.
Arcane: And what did you find?
Mason: I don’t care to discuss it.
Panel Five:
Arcane sits up and smiles wide akin to a viper with fangs
teeming with poison. He is prepared to strike the rawest of nerves to make his
point.
Arcane: But what is the harm if you are already dead
Mr. Mason? You dare call me a liar when all you have done is speak mistruths across
all of Texas? What was the ridiculous claim again? Ah yes, I remember now. A
plant man murdered your friend! Hilarious material indeed.
PAGE FIFTEEN
Panel One:
Mason bursts from his seat and grabs Arcane by his jacket. His
face displays all the rage it can muster.
Mason: Wasn’t
no man. It was a damn monster, and you know it!
Panel Two:
Content with the answer, Arcane gently grabs Mason’s wrists.
He releases his grip on the jacket.
Arcane: That I do. Miss Graham?
Panel Three- Four:
Miss Graham rises and guides Mason back to his place. She
takes the seat next to him.
PAGE SIXTEEN
Panel One:
Full shot of the carriage interior. Arcane rests his elbow
on his knee and gestures with his other arm. The windows that once were a view
of the exterior landscape are now dark.
Arcane: I am going to give you the truth in its
entirety. But first, as much as you believe or wish that you are finally dead, this
isn’t the case. Understood?
Mason: (quietly) Yeah.
Arcane: Good.
Panel Two:
Close in on Arcane as he continues to emote with his hands while
explaining.
Arcane: The map did lead to the power you sought. You
just happened to arrive at the wrong time. What we are truly looking for
operates within a certain pattern, its own… rhythm. Discovering the site itself
was being protected prior to arrival was excellent news. Your ordeal proved my
suspicions were correct, and what I want is there now.
Panel Three:
Mason is clearly agitated by what he has just heard and
replies angrily.
Mason: I told you already. The map is gone.
Panel Four:
Arcane: My dear man, the map was only intended to
serve as lure to procure my bait. Why would I need it now that I have you?
Mason: What did you just say?
Panel Five:
Arcane: You are the map Bartholomew! The closer we
get, the more they will try to stop us, signaling that we are making them
uncomfortable. But your current
condition just absolutely will not do.
PAGE SEVENTEEN
Panel One:
Mason’s anger and frustration with Arcane has turned inward.
He balls up his fists in rage and rests them on his legs.
Mason: You knew what was gonna happen and sent us into
the desert to get destroyed.
Arcane: Absolutely by design.
Panel Two:
Arcane carries on gleefully. Mason’s misery is his medicine.
Arcane: We are all pawns in a grander game and there
are still significant moves to be made. With that, I recognize you have
suffered greatly, to show my appreciation for your sacrifices I offer a gift.
Mason: Keep it. There is nothing you can give that
will replace what was taken.
Panel Three:
Arcane: Oh no, I insist! Wouldn’t you like to be rid
of regret? What you are about to receive is the opportunity to heal all the
wounds that I, and others, have inflicted upon you. Let’s work together to
erase the past.
Panel Four:
Miss Graham leans and grabs Mason’s cheeks with one hand.
Panel Five:
Unable to resist, Mason’s eyes open wide as Miss Graham
kisses him on the mouth.
Panel Six:
Mason closes his eyes and submits to Miss Graham’s soft,
warm lips. A euphoric sensation he thought he would never experience again.
PAGE EIGHTEEN
This page is a series of panels that toggle between a long
kiss and Mason’s memories of the past 42 years. They flash from the original
attack, public ridicule, an abandoned suicide attempt with his pistol, and his
subsequent alcohol abuse. (Note: All these events will be detailed in an upcoming
issue) As we switch from memories to the kiss, Miss Graham’s flesh deteriorates
more. It cracks, flakes, then falls to nothingness. At the same time, Mason
grows younger until he returns to the age he was at the beginning of our story.
PAGE NINETEEN
Panel One:
Miss Graham is now gone, with only a few of her flakes
floating about in the air around Mason. He looks at his rejuvenated hands. The
windows of the stagecoach have also reverted to normal, detailing traditional
old-west scenery.
Panel Two:
Mason touches his face to feel the changes. His scraggly
beard is gone, and his skin is tight. Amazed and exuberated beyond belief, he can’t
help but smile.
Panel Three:
Mason: HA! Not a lick of this can be legitimate!
Panel Four:
The reality of all that’s transpired hits Mason like a brick
to the face. As such, Mason’s mood takes a sudden and serious turn.
Mason: I may not be dead, but surely, I sit in the
presence of the devil and if I have a soul… it no longer belongs to me.
This elicits a smirk from Arcane.
Arcane: The devil? No, I am from the future.
PAGE TWENTY
Panel One:
On the ridge where the cactus leaned, there’s now rocks
stacked to form the mouth of an entrance that leads underground. The remaining
text is represented in narration boxes.
Arcane: But your soul most certainly belongs to me. In
many ways, it always has.
Panel Two:
The rest of the page consists of follow shots detailing the
path underground. Close up of the entrance
and the jagged stones.
Arcane: You and I are about to embark on a sanative
journey Mason, but we are not alone.
Panel Three:
This panel is dark.
Arcane: In the darkness there is a frightened child
searching for it’s father.
Panel Four:
There is another rounded door framed by rocks in the
distance, illuminated by a green hue.
Arcane: We will find it, kill it….
PAGE TWENTY-ONE
We end with another full-page spread. Inside the room lies a
glowing green creature that is a combination of plant matter and machine. It
looks like a mutated version of the alien
Swamp Thing from Vol.2 #60. [Note to artist: Add computer chips imbedded in
it’s skin, metal tubing as exposed veins, etc. Feel free to go as far as your
imagination will take you to create this new hybrid being]
Arcane: …and destroy the Parliament of Trees before they
begin.
The creature speaks in orange word balloons.
Creature: Holland *BZZT* <Alien language font>
<
Series of numbers in code form>*BZZT*
Locate <Alien language font> Father *BZZT*
Alec?
END OF ISSUE ONE
