Short Film Script Examples
Below are three short film scripts written from start to finish, and each one shows a different way to build a short: “Light” is told entirely through behaviour, without a single line of dialogue (3 pages); “The Radio” moves through subtext between two people in one location (5 pages); “Take a Number” is a comedy set in a waiting room (4 pages). All three are in standard screenplay format and you can read each one in full on this page.
What does each example teach?
- Light — Storytelling without dialogue. A habit is set up (a lamp that flashes twice every night), then broken. All the feeling is in behaviour: putting a coat on and taking it off again, pulling a chair up to the window.
- The Radio — One location, two characters, subtext. The siblings talk as if they're dividing up belongings, but the real subject is who stayed with their father. The key piece of information only arrives in the final scenes.
- Take a Number — Comedy and character change. The impatient young man accepts, at the end, the coffee he turned down at the start. The change is shown not with a line but with an object.
How should you read the examples?
- Read the logline first, then the script. Does the script keep the promise the logline makes?
- Stop at the end of each scene and ask: if this scene went, what would be lost?
- Put the ending next to the opening. In a good short film, the ending changes the situation of the first scene.
- Read aloud and time it. It should come out at roughly a minute a page.
The rules all three examples share
- Three locations at most: all of them can be shot inside a real home or building.
- No more than two or three speaking characters.
- No inner thoughts on the page: there's no “Harold feels sad”, there's “he hangs the coat back on the hook”.
- The ending arrives through an action, not a line.
1. Light — a short film script without dialogue
Short film script without dialogue · 3 pages ≈ 3 minutes
A lonely pensioner who says goodnight every night to a window across the street by switching a lamp on and off discovers what that silent habit means to him when, one night, no answer comes.
INT. HAROLD'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
A narrow living room. The wall clock ticks. On the table: one plate, one fork, one glass.
HAROLD (70s, cardigan, glasses pushed up on his forehead) rinses the plate, dries it, puts it away. He turns the glass upside down on the dish towel.
The clock says ten.
Harold goes to the window and parts the net curtain with two fingers.
Across the street: an old block of flats. On the third floor, a desk lamp in a window comes on. Off. On. Off.
Harold reaches for the switch of the lamp by his window. On, off. On, off.
The lamp opposite comes on once more and this time stays on. A few seconds. Then it goes off.
Harold lets the curtain fall. He lowers his glasses, winds the clock, turns off the light.
INT. HAROLD'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Another night. The same single plate, the same single glass. Ten o'clock.
Harold goes to the window. Parts the curtain.
The third floor opposite is dark.
Harold waits. The minute hand moves on a notch. Another notch.
He switches the lamp on, off. On, off.
No answer.
Harold takes his coat from the hook. Gets one arm into it. Looks at the door. Stops.
He takes the coat off and hangs it back up.
He carries the chair from the table to the window. Sits. Looks at the dark window.
INT. HAROLD'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – MORNING
Harold has fallen asleep in the chair. His glasses have slipped into his lap. The lamp is still on.
Outside, the warning beep of a lorry reversing.
Harold wakes with a start and leans towards the window.
EXT. THE BUILDING OPPOSITE – MORNING
A small removal van pulled up at the kerb. Two MOVERS carry boxes.
ZOE (20s, backpack, messy hair) comes out of the front door. On top of the box in her arms sits a desk lamp, its cable wound round it.
Zoe hands the box up into the back of the van. Then she lifts her head and looks across the street.
On the second floor, a net curtain is parted. Behind it, Harold.
Zoe takes the lamp off the box. Raises it in both hands — as if raising a glass.
At the window, Harold's palm presses against the pane.
Zoe puts the lamp back on the box, pulls the van's door shut, climbs into the front seat. The van drives off.
INT. HAROLD'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
One plate. One glass. Ten o'clock.
Harold goes to the window. Taped to the third-floor pane opposite, a sheet of paper in big letters: TO LET.
Harold switches the lamp on, off. On, off.
He waits.
Then he switches the lamp on — and this time he doesn't turn it off. He doesn't close the curtain.
He leaves his chair facing the window, sits, takes a book from the shelf and opens it. The light falls across the street onto the building's empty window.
FADE OUT.
2. The Radio — a single-location short film script
Single-location short film script · 5 pages ≈ 5 minutes
Two siblings meet after years to clear out their father's flat; when Matt, the one who lives abroad, goes after a broken radio, he learns the weight his sister has been carrying for years.
INT. FATHER'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – DAY
A half-packed living room. Pale rectangles on the walls where frames used to hang. Words in marker pen on the boxes: KITCHEN. BOOKS. CHARITY.
MEGAN (40, hair in a bun, sleeves rolled up) tears the packing tape with her teeth and seals a box.
The doorbell rings. Megan doesn't get up.
MEGAN
It's open!
MATT (35, wet coat, wheeled suitcase) comes in. An airport tag on the suitcase handle.
MEGAN
Don't bother with your shoes. The rugs are gone.
Matt takes them off anyway. There's a hole in the toe of one sock. He notices, and tucks that foot behind the other.
MATT
I'm late.
MEGAN
For today?
Matt doesn't answer. He looks at the bare walls.
MATT
Already?
MEGAN
The landlord gave us till the end of the month. I've been packing for three weeks.
Megan takes a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and holds it out. A handwritten list.
MEGAN (CONT'D)
Tick what you want. The rest goes to charity.
Matt reads the list. Megan tosses him a pen; he catches it in the air.
MATT
The watch?
MEGAN
I've taken that.
MATT
Fine.
Matt runs the pen down the page. He ticks nothing. He caps the pen.
MATT (CONT'D)
I don't want anything. I came to help.
Megan gives a short, silent laugh. She holds out the tape.
MEGAN
Books.
INT. FATHER'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – LATER
Matt empties the shelves, stacking books into a box. In the kitchen area, Megan wraps plates in newspaper.
On the top shelf, behind the books, an old transistor radio. Its cable wound round the handle.
Matt lifts the radio down. Wipes the dust off with his sleeve. Turns the knob. Nothing.
MATT
The radio's not on the list.
MEGAN
(without turning)
It's broken.
MATT
Since when?
MEGAN
Don't know. A year. It just stopped coming on.
Matt opens the back of the radio. Two batteries inside, their ends crusted with white powder.
MATT
The batteries are just dead.
MEGAN
Then take it. It's yours.
Matt holds the radio as if weighing it.
MATT
Every Sunday when I called, this was on in the background. The match. Dad never turned it down, so I'd end up shouting.
The plate in Megan's hands stops inside the newspaper.
MATT (CONT'D)
These last months he always sounded far away. I thought he had me on speaker.
MEGAN
He couldn't hold the phone.
Matt looks at her.
MEGAN (CONT'D)
I held it. Next to the radio. So he wouldn't have to turn it down.
Silence. Matt slowly sets the radio down on the lid of a box.
MATT
Why didn't you tell me?
MEGAN
I would have, if you'd asked.
Megan finishes wrapping the plate and puts it in a box. She opens a kitchen drawer. It's full of battery packs held together with rubber bands.
MEGAN (CONT'D)
He hoarded batteries. Like there was a war coming.
She takes out two and slides them along the counter towards Matt.
INT. FATHER'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON
Matt fits the batteries, closes the back, turns the knob. Static. He slowly turns the tuning dial.
Out of the static, a COMMENTATOR's voice emerges.
COMMENTATOR (ON RADIO)
...wins it in midfield, and he's driving on towards the box...
Megan comes over from the kitchen and sits on a box. Matt sits on the floor beside her. Both of them look at the radio.
COMMENTATOR (ON RADIO)
...and it's off the post!
An involuntary “ah” escapes Matt. Megan turns to him. She smiles.
MATT
You take it.
MEGAN
I listened to it for twelve years.
Megan picks up the marker and writes on an empty box in big letters: MATT.
She puts the radio in the box without switching it off. Closes the flaps. The match plays on, muffled, inside the cardboard.
Matt takes the tape and seals the box. Megan reaches for the next shelf.
FADE OUT.
3. Take a Number — a comedy short film script
Comedy short film script · 4 pages ≈ 4 minutes
An impatient young office worker, desperate for his number to be called at the ID office, waits beside an odd old man who gives his ticket away to everyone who comes in — and forgets what he was in such a hurry to get back to.
INT. ID OFFICE – WAITING ROOM – DAY
Rows of plastic chairs. A radiator ticks. Red digits on the screen on the wall: 097. A beep.
JAKE (27, shirt, tie loosened, work lanyard stuffed in his pocket) looks at the ticket in his hand: 148.
His phone buzzes. On screen: ERCAN – WORK. Jake declines it. The phone buzzes again at once.
In the next chair sits LOU (75, flat cap, a thermos in his lap). Between his fingers, a ticket: 101.
JAKE
Sir, would you swap with me? I'm on my lunch break, I've got half an hour.
Lou looks at his ticket. Looks at Jake's. Looks around the room.
LOU
Everyone's got half an hour, son.
He nods at the row opposite: WOMAN WITH PRAM (30s). The baby in the pram has started to squirm.
LOU (CONT'D)
Hers, for one. That one'll be hungry in twenty minutes.
Lou gets up and goes over to the woman. They swap tickets. She's baffled but grateful.
Lou comes back and sits down. He shows Jake his new ticket: 131.
JAKE
What did you do that for?
LOU
Baby.
Screen: 098. Beep.
Lou unscrews the thermos, pours coffee into the cap. Holds it out to Jake.
LOU (CONT'D)
Coffee?
JAKE
No thanks, I'm fine.
Lou drinks the coffee himself. With relish.
INT. ID OFFICE – WAITING ROOM – LATER
Screen: 112. Beep.
One row ahead, Lou is swapping tickets with a STUDENT buried in lecture notes. In return, the student hands over half a sesame bagel.
Lou comes back. He breaks the bagel in two and leaves one half on Jake's knee. His new ticket: 156.
JAKE
What are you even here for? What's it for?
Lou takes his old ID card out of his wallet and hands it over. In the photo: a young man with thick black hair and a moustache.
LOU
Renewing it. The photo's got old. Nobody recognises me.
JAKE
At this rate you'll be here till evening.
LOU
Evening comes at home too.
Jake hands the card back. The phone buzzes: ERCAN – WORK. This time Jake declines it without looking.
Screen: 131. Beep. The woman with the pram goes to the counter, turns and waves at Lou.
INT. ID OFFICE – SERVICE COUNTER – LATER
Screen: 148. Beep.
Jake shoots up, all but runs to the counter, slides his ticket and ID under the glass.
The CLERK (50s, reading glasses) looks at the ID, then at Jake.
CLERK
Biometric photo?
JAKE
Was I supposed to bring one?
CLERK
They do them downstairs. Then you'll need a new number.
Jake looks at his ticket. At the room behind him. His shoulders drop.
INT. ID OFFICE – WAITING ROOM – LATER
Screen: 152. Beep.
Jake comes back holding a passport photo that isn't dry yet and a new ticket: 203. He slumps down next to Lou.
Lou's ticket is now 199. In his lap a tangerine, a ballpoint pen and a child's drawing have piled up.
The phone buzzes: ERCAN – WORK.
Jake looks at the screen. He turns the phone face down on his knee.
Lou fills the thermos cap. Holds it out without a word.
JAKE
Go on, then.
Jake drinks from the cap. There's only one cup; Lou drinks his share straight from the thermos.
Screen: 153. Beep.
They both look up at the screen. Neither of them moves.
FADE OUT.
Checklist
- Does your short film have a single core (a moment, a decision, a feeling)?
- On the first page, is it clear who, where and what's wrong?
- Does every scene move the story one step forward?
- Does the ending change the situation at the opening?
- Can you shoot your script with the locations and actors you have?
Download as Word and PDF
Open the Word version and write straight over it; the PDF looks the same on every device and prints as it is.
Frequently asked questions
Yes. If you're a student you can read these scripts, study them in class and shoot them as a school or workshop project; the only condition is that you credit the source. Writing “Script: Senaryo Okulu (senaryookulu.com)” in the credits and in the description when you share it is enough. Publishing the text as if it were your own work, or entering it in a screenwriting competition, isn't right.
In standard format one page comes to roughly one minute. The examples on this page run 3–5 pages, so 3–5 minutes. For a first short, 3–10 pages is a realistic target.
Because you can't have the feeling said, you write it into behaviour. Set up a habit, let the audience get to know it, then break it: in “Light”, the lamp that flashes every night goes unanswered one night. The action lines describe only what can be seen and heard.
With a one-sentence logline: who, what they want, what stands in their way. Then a quick setup, a single situation that deepens, and an earned ending. You can start writing straight away in your browser with Senaryum.
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Last updated: September 27, 2026