Okay, here's the story I wrote for the 2nd assignment that won 1st place, even though i liked the complexity of the first piece better.

genre: fantasy
location: diner
object: a stretcher

No Man's Land

logline: A young waiter drifting through life meets a mysterious stranger in the middle of the night.

INT. DINER - NIGHT

A stout, exhausted COOK tosses two plates of burgers with
fries up on the kitchen ledge and bangs a nearby bell.
Seconds later, RAHUL, a frazzled young man in his 20’s,
sweeps in and picks up the plates, putting them down in front
of a couple, moving quickly to another booth to take an
order. His eyes are exhausted and his shoulders hunched from
the weight of life, but he has the natural graceful movements
of a dreamer--someone who gets things done quietly and
efficiently without actually being present.

A bell DINGS.

Rahul returns and picks up more food.

TIME SPEEDS UP. Hours fly by as CUSTOMERS come and go, RAHUL
canvassing the room, bringing food, taking orders, bussing
tables, the hands of the clock on the wall above the cashier
register swinging around and around, marking the passage of
time. 11...12...1...2...

RAHUL (V.O.)
The graveyard shift. The underbelly
of time. But there’s a method to
the madness. After 1, you get
people coming off night shifts.
After 2, you get drunk crowds
stumbling in after the bars close.
But 3am to the break of
dawn...that’s No Man’s Land. That’s
when the rock of society lifts up,
and something...different crawls out.

The crowds thin as the hours pass. When the clocks hands
swing into position marking 3 o’clock, time returns to normal
speed. The bells above the front door chime behind a
departing group. The only customer left is an OVERWEIGHT MAN
in a green fishing hat reading a worn paperback romance novel
at the counter. In the kitchen, the cook is frying something.

Rahul takes out his notepad and doodles, drawing the man. His
drawing is detailed and well-done. He has talent. He looks
away and suddenly notices a man sitting in a booth right in
front of him shuffling playing cards.

The man is black with smooth skin, a slight frame, wearing a
neat black suit, white shirt and thin, red tie. Sneakers.
Next to him is a shiny vinyl backpack. His unlined face, the
sparkle in his eye and his unusual attire make it hard to
tell his age--he could be anywhere from a 17 year-old kid
coming from a school dance, to an eccentric 40 year-old.
We’ll call him DEE. Rahul approaches with a menu.

RAHUL
I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear you
come in.

DEE
No worries, I’ve got nothing but
time.

RAHUL
Can I bring you anything to drink?

DEE
Just coffee since I’m working.

Rahul returns to his station--pours the coffee just as the
cook puts down a plate of a giant brown mass swimming under a
lake of gravy. Rahul brings the plate to the guy at the
counter and brings Dee the coffee. Dee closes his eyes, flips
a card face up, opens his eyes, then puts the card in one of
two piles. Repeats.

RAHUL
If you don’t mind me asking, what
are you doing?

DEE
Just a little game to pass the
time. Testing my psychic abilities.

He flips one face up so that Rahul can see it but he can’t.

DEE
9 of Diamonds?

Rahul is looking at the 6 of Hearts.

RAHUL
Nope.

Dee’s face breaks into a devilish grin.

DEE
Guess I’m not psychic.

RAHUL
(amused)
Well, maybe it’s for the better.
It’s probably a burden to be able
to see the future.

DEE
That’s true. For most people, it
probably wouldn’t even make a
difference.

RAHUL
What do you mean?

Dee points to the guy at the counter wolfing down his chicken
fried steak.

DEE
Take that guy. If I walked up to
him and said, “Hey bud, in a few
minutes you’re gonna have a heart
attack and land face first in that
gravy so you should make the most
of the time you have left,” do you
think he’s going to stand up and
call his kids to tell them he loves
them, forgive his wife for leaving
him, and make peace with the world?

RAHUL
He’ll probably just think you’re
nuts.

DEE
Yes, probably. And your cook there.

He points at the cook half hanging out the back door of the
kitchen, smoking a cigarette.

DEE
If you told him that he’s going to
die in a fire at the age of 54
after falling asleep with a
cigarette in his mouth, do you
think he’s going to quit smoking
and start making each day count?

RAHUL
(uncomfortable)
You said you’re not a psychic.

DEE
I’m not. You don’t have to be to
know that each and every person in
this world is going to die. And
that’s the point. Every single
person knows they’re going to die
someday, and yet, it doesn’t seem
to motivate them to start living.

RAHUL
How do you know those guys aren’t
living their lives?

Dee laughs. His teeth are perfect and straight. He leans in
looking deep into Rahul.

DEE
Rahul...are you living your life?

Rahul looks flustered.

RAHUL
How do you know my name?

Dee points at Rahul’s nametag. Rahul self-consciously covers it with his hand.

DEE
You seem smart, talented, young.
You still have promise. So what are
you doing waiting tables in the
middle of the night?

RAHUL
I--I dropped out of law school. I
hated it, wasn’t doing that well so
I left to figure out what to do
with my life.

DEE
And how long ago was that?

Rahul stares hard at Dee.

RAHUL
Why do I get the feeling you
already know?

DEE
We’re just two strangers meeting in
the middle of the night and having
a conversation.

RAHUL
Two years ago.

DEE
Uh huh. And what have you figured
about your life since?

RAHUL
I have to get back to work. It was
nice talking to you...

He pauses, doesn’t know the guy’s name. Dee smiles broadly,
openly.

DEE
Death.

Rahul turns, rolling his eyes.

RAHUL
(under his breath)
Of course it is, you morbid fuck.

Rahul goes back to the cash register. He stares at Dee who’s
engrossed in his cards.

COOK
You alright, Ra?

RAHUL
Yeah, couldn’t be better.
(beat)
And you should quit smoking.

Suddenly, there’s a CRASH. The man in the fishing hat at the
counter has face-planted into his plate of food. Rahul rushes
over and lifts the guy’s head up, but his eyes are rolled
into the back of his head.

RAHUL
Call 9-1-1!

The cook rushes towards the phone. Rahul looks around
desperately. In the back booth where Dee had been, there is
only a full cup of coffee, but no other trace of him.

INT. DINER - LATER

The paramedics roll the body of the man out on a stretcher in
a body bag. Rahul, looking weary, approaches Dee’s booth and
picks up the coffee cup. There are two dollar bills and a
small piece of paper under the saucer. He picks up the paper.

On it is written: RAHUL SOMASETTY OCTOBER 29, 1982 -

Rahul stares at the piece of paper for a long time. Finally,
he takes a deep breath and turns it over.

Written in large block letters: MAKE EVERY MOMENT COUNT