Original Premise: The Deer Hunter (1978) – Russian Roulette
A terrifying, sweat-inducing scene where Christopher Walken and Robert De Niro’s characters are forced to play Russian roulette, their lives hinging on the pull of a trigger.
Opening Scene
The backroom of Sal’s Deli was not a place for the weak. It was a place where men tested their limits, where fear and courage danced a deadly waltz under the flickering glow of a single, dust-covered lightbulb. The walls, stained from years of sweat, regret, and the occasional flying meatball, bore witness to countless games of chance. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, the stakes were higher than ever.
The usual suspects sat around the battered wooden table, their eyes locked on the centerpiece of the night’s event: a massive, thick-skinned zucchini, glistening under the weak light.
Jimmy “Two-Toes” cracked his knuckles, his fingers flexing like a pianist preparing for a concerto of poor choices. His sharp, sunken eyes scanned the table, lingering on each player as if measuring their worth. “We all know the rules,” he muttered, his voice rough from years of smoking cheap cigars. “No backing out. No crying. And if you pass out, the game goes on without you.”
Frankie “The Ferret” let out a dry chuckle, his gold tooth flashing. “Ain’t nobody forgettin’ the rules after what happened to Big Tony.”
The table fell silent.
Big Tony had been a legend, a man with nerves of steel and a head like a brick. Nobody thought for a minute that a simple game of zucchini roulette could take him out. But that was before. Before the zucchini found him. Before the incident. The dent in the wall behind them still bore the faint outline of his head.
Vinny “The Sauce” shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. “You sure we gotta do this again? I mean, we could just play Chutes and Ladders, or Candyland instead. Nice, easy game. Nobody gets hurt.”
Mickey “One-Eye” snorted, shaking his head. “And what, let people think we’ve gone soft?” His remaining eye locked onto the zucchini, his expression hard. “We got reputations to maintain, ya know.”
Jimmy grinned, satisfied. “That’s right. Now let me show you who’s got guts.”
With a swift motion, he reached for the zucchini and gave it a firm spin in the center of the table.
The massive vegetable wobbled and rotated, its smooth green surface catching the dim light as it slowly lost momentum. The world seemed to hold its breath as it came to a stop, its stubby end pointing directly at Mickey.
A hush fell over the table.
Mickey inhaled sharply. He’d played before. He’d survived before. But survival was never guaranteed in this game.
Frankie leaned forward, his grin widening. “Looks like it’s your turn, One-Eye. You know the drill.”
Mickey exhaled, reaching out with a steady hand. The zucchini was heavier than it looked, its firm, almost menacing surface cool against his palm. He lifted it, bringing it to his temple.
The room was silent.
Even the lightbulb above seemed to pause its flickering.
Mickey gritted his teeth, adjusted his grip, and—
SCHPLOMPH!
The impact echoed through the room. The zucchini struck his skull with a dull, meaty SQUOP, reverberating through his bones. For a split second, nothing happened. Then—
SPLORCH.
The zucchini burst, sending a thick spray of seeds and pulp flying in all directions. It dripped from the ceiling, clung to the walls, and left a bright green trail down Mickey’s face.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
Then, a slow, shaky breath escaped Mickey’s lips. He was still upright. Still breathing. Still in the game.
The room exploded into cheers.
Frankie pounded the table, laughing so hard he nearly tipped over his chair. “Unbelievable! The guy’s got a head like a goddamn anvil!”
Vinny clutched his chest, wheezing between laughs. “I swear to God, I thought that was the one! I thought we were gonna have to scrape him off the wall!”
Jimmy wiped a stray zucchini seed from his cheek and nodded approvingly. “You did good, Mick. Real good.”
Mickey blinked, his good eye unfocused for a second before he slowly placed the ruined remains of the zucchini back on the table. He wiped the pulp off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Did I win?”
Jimmy smirked. “You lived. That’s close enough.”
But the night was still young.
With the same methodical precision as a priest preparing the sacrament, Frankie reached down into the crate beside the table and pulled out another zucchini. This one larger, darker, meaner. He placed it on the table with a heavy BLORP.
The laughter died.
Vinny swallowed hard. “Where the hell you gettin’ these zucchinis, Frankie? They ain’t normal.”
Frankie shrugged, wiping a stray seed off his shirt. “I got a guy.”
The table fell silent once more.
The gigantic zucchini just sat there, daring them. It was bigger than the last. Thicker. Denser. A zucchini that had seen things.
Jimmy exhaled through his nose and gave it a hard spin.
Round and round it went, the weight of fate resting in its swirling dance. The air in the room grew thick with anticipation.
It slowed.
It teetered.
And then—
It stopped.
Pointing directly at Vinny.
Vinny “The Sauce” let out a sharp breath, his hands twitching as they hovered over the table. “Alright,” he muttered, forcing a grin, though his face was a shade paler than before. “Alright, I got this.”
He reached for the zucchini, lifting it carefully like it was an unexploded grenade. He glanced around the table, looking for a way out, a reprieve, an excuse—anything.
Nothing.
They were all watching.
Vinny gulped and raised the zucchini to his temple. His fingers clenched around its thick body, his breathing shallow.
The room was deathly quiet.
He closed his eyes.
BLURFF!
The zucchini slammed into his head with a brutal, sickening SQUOP!
The others lurched forward, eyes wide. The zucchini remained intact.
Vinny, however, did not.
He wobbled. His lips parted, as if to say something, but only a small, garbled noise came out. His chair rocked slightly. And then—
He collapsed face-first onto the table.
The zucchini rolled from his limp fingers, landing with a dull SCRONCH on the floor.
Frankie was the first to break the silence. He reached out and nudged Vinny’s arm. No response.
Jimmy whistled low. “Damn.”
Denouement and Closing Scene
Mickey wiped a glob of lingering zucchini pulp from his ear. “So, uh… is he dead?”
Frankie leaned in, pressing two fingers against Vinny’s neck. He waited. Then, after a moment, he sighed in relief. “Nah. Just unconscious.” He shook his head, grinning. “Poor bastard took a bad roll.”
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “That’s the game, boys.”
The table sat in silence for a moment, staring at Vinny’s motionless form.
Then, Frankie grabbed another zucchini from the crate.
“Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Who’s up next?”
Next up: Bonnie and Collide
