Poster of Tillis Under the Sunshine: An old leather boxing glove and a pair of worn basketball shoes hang—side by side—inside a sunlit barn, with golden fields stretching beyond the open doors. Dust motes float in the warm light, evoking nostalgia, courage, and unfinished dreams.

Dedication

And so, for the dreamers who ride against the wind and the hearts who carry the songs of those who came before them, this story—Tillis Under the Sunshine—is a tribute to their courage. In this story, every fall turns to dance. Moreover, every dust trail shimmers under golden light.

Introduction

Indeed, this is not merely a story. Instead, it is a written cinema—a film stitched with words instead of reels. Surprisingly, it is projected not on a screen but across the boundless walls of your imagination.

As you step into Tillis Under the Sunshine, experience it as if sitting in a silent theater. First, feel the warmth of the Oklahoma plains. Then, hear the thud of boxing gloves. Suddenly, see the flicker of hope in a young woman’s eyes.

Here, dreams do not die—instead, they linger, dance, and light up the dusty roads of memory. Ultimately, let your heart—not just your eyes—follow the story.

OPENING SCENE

EXT. VARIOUS LOCATIONS – MEMORIES IN MONTAGE – DAY AND NIGHT

Soundscape: Gentle breeze, distant lapping water, crackling fireplace.

First, fade through memories like old, golden film reels:

Selene and his father walk through a pine forest, the trees murmuring secrets to the sky. Then, sailing and fishing across the tranquil waters of Mystic Lake, reflections of clouds drifting alongside them. Next, a spring afternoon exploration in a blooming garden, laughter carried on the wind.

Afterward, their reflective steps through the marble corridors of Boston University’s Art Galleries, the light touching ancient frames. Later, spirited debates over Champion fights in their cozy sitting room, the screen’s glow painting their animated faces. Finally, wandering Cape Cod’s moonlit shores, the constellations mirrored in dark waves.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

For those who followed, these memories shimmer like distant stars—each one a light to guide tonight’s path.

EXT. PROFESSOR’S CHILDHOOD HOME – CAMBRIDGE – NIGHT

Soundscape: Creaking wooden floors, ticking clock, the occasional soft whisper of wind against old windows.

Tonight, however, the scene has shifted.

Meanwhile, Selene and his father stand in the professor’s childhood home—an old but dignified Cambridge house. Here, the scent of aged books lingers like memory while wooden floors murmur with echoes of the past.

In the study, leather-bound tomes and dust-softened artifacts hold time’s weight. Before them, a flickering candle stretches shadows across a worn portrait of the professor’s father—a man whose success remains both presence and mystery.

Above all, the mantle clock ticks with quiet insistence, measuring not just seconds but those fragile moments where success, failure, and meaning intertwine—as if woven on life’s silent loom.

FADE INTO:

(The candle flickers. Selene leans closer. The old house breathes a long-forgotten story.)

Soon after, the evening settled like a heavy velvet curtain over Cambridge, whispering through the creaking limbs of old oaks and the sleepy streets lined with gaslit lamps.

Meanwhile, inside the professor’s childhood home, Selene and his father sat by the large bay window, the scent of cinnamon tea weaving into the amber glow of a single reading lamp.

Across the room, a basketball game played silently on the muted television, its flickering images throwing restless shadows along the walls.

At first, Selene glanced at it absentmindedly. Then, he turned back to his father, who seemed lost in thought, fingers gently tapping the armrest.

Suddenly, the professor broke the silence, his voice low, cinematic, as if inviting Selene into another world.

‘Indeed, Selene,’ he said, ‘let me tell you a story. Not a tale you will find in any library… but a cinema stitched from real lives, real dreams.’

At once, Selene straightened, sensing the shift.

Thus, the room darkened around them, and the story began to roll like an old film reel in Selene’s mind.

FADE IN:

EXT. OKLAHOMA PLAINS – 1960s – DAY

“The sun hangs low and mercilessly, casting long, trembling shadows across the cracked earth.

Meanwhile, a skinny but fierce boy wrestles with a wild horse. As if in answer, dust and sweat blur into gold as he throws a lasso, muscles straining against nature.

Soundscape: At once, the howl of the wind, the sharp whinny of a horse, leather creaking under strain.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

‘Indeed, James “Quick” Tillis was born in dust, molded by horses and hardship. To begin with, he was the fifth of nine children, the grandson of a Cherokee cowgirl and a Black cowboy who tamed storms with bare hands.

Even then, long before Tillis Under the Sunshine was a dream, there was just a boy and the wind wrestling for a place in the world.’

Later, Selene whispers, eyes wide, ‘He was really a cowboy?’

Without pause, the professor smiles without breaking the rhythm.

‘Oh yes, a real one. Not like the kind you see in movies—but rather the kind who rode dreams too wild to be broken.

EXT. BACKYARD – NORTH TULSA – 1970 – SUNSET

Now, a teenager, Quick, sits on a weathered fence, strumming a broken guitar.

Below, his boots dangle, tapping to a silent rhythm.

Behind him, his mother hangs laundry while watching the horizon. All the while, her movements match the quiet rhythm of the day.

Soundscape: In the distance, a low hum of cicadas, accompanied by the soft thud of boots against wood.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

‘First, before gloves, there were dreams. Then, before arenas, there were sunsets and promises whispered to the evening wind —

in the end, the first echoes of what would later become Tillis Under the Sunshine.

INT. TULSA GYM – 1973 – EVENING

Then, the camera follows teenage Quick, fists wrapped, heart pounding, stepping into a boxing ring for the first time.

Above, fluorescent lights buzz overhead.

All around, a small crowd leans close, hungry for violence, redemption, or perhaps something.

Soundscape: From every direction, distant echoes of speed bags, shouts of trainers, and the squeak of sneakers on polished floors.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
‘In time, he found boxing like a man finds water in the desert—by accident, by need.

Thus, Quick Tillis, a boy whose fists could whisper or roar, stepped onto the path that would one day blaze through Tillis Under the Sunshine.

EXT. CHICAGO – 1980 – WINTER NIGHT

Meanwhile, snow falls in slow motion.
Quick walks alone, coat thin, dreams heavy.
Below, neon lights reflect in icy puddles.
A diner. A boxing gym. A cheap apartment with a broken radiator.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
At first, fame flirted with him. Fortune teased him. But the crown—the world championship—always danced out of reach.
Even so, the heart of Tillis Under the Sunshine was being written here—in the quiet walks, the cold nights, the relentless hope.

Then, Selene leans closer.
“Did he ever win, Dad?”

A long pause. The professor’s eyes glisten with memory.
Finally, he says, “No, son. Not the title. But he won something else.”

Soundscape: The distant rumble of a train passing.

INT. LOCKER ROOM – DUKE UNIVERSITY – 2004 – NIGHT

Then, cut to a tall, poised, fierce girl taping a worn photograph inside her locker.

It shows Quick Tillis smiling under a cowboy hat.

However, she looks at it not with pride but with defiance.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Iciss Tillis, his daughter, carried his blood and his unfinished story.

A basketball prodigy, she was afraid of the shadows she never cast and terrified of ending up “a nobody.”

Soundscape: The dull roar of the crowd warming up outside, sneakers squeaking on hardwood.

Meanwhile, the camera lingers on her face—beautiful, vulnerable, burning.

Finally, Selene whispers, “She wanted to be better than him.”

The professor nods, the candlelight trembling.

“Or she feared she would only ever be him.”

INT. BASKETBALL ARENA – CHAMPIONSHIP GAME – NIGHT

Now, sweat flies. The crowd roars. Iciss moves like a storm—grace and power blended—but her eyes carry weight.

Not just the ball but history.

Meanwhile, in a cinematographic cut, slow-motion dribbles. The camera zooms into her eyes, where a flicker of fear and determination fights for control.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

We think battles are fought on fields, in courts, in rings.

Instead, the fiercest battles are fought inside—against doubt, against ghosts, against the echo of failures not even ours.

Finally, the music swells: a haunting solo violin over a heartbeat-like drum.

EXT. QUIET PORCH – NIGHT

Back then, to Selene and his father. The candle gutters in the soft breeze.

The muted basketball game on the TV has ended; the night is full of crickets and stars.

At last, Selene breaks the silence.

“Did she win, Dad?”

The professor smiles, a slow, aching smile.

“She played, fought, and learned. In the end, that is the only real victory.”

Soundscape: A soft night wind rustling through dry leaves, the distant bark of a dog.

EXT. OKLAHOMA MEADOW – EARLY MORNING

Finally, a now-older Quick Tillis rides a gentle horse across a dew-kissed field, the rising sun painting the horizon in gold.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Success is not the belt you carry or the trophy you hold.
It’s the sunrise you ride toward after every fall.

FADE OUT.

EXT. OLD BARN – GOLDEN AFTERNOON

Inside, a weathered, sunlit barn, an old leather boxing glove, and a pair of worn basketball shoes hang side by side on a rusty nail.

They sway gently in the warm breeze coming through the open doors, and dust motes dance in the shafts of golden sunlight.

Soundscape: Only the soft breath of the wind. No words. No music. Only memory.

FADE TO BLACK.

(After the final FADE TO BLACK, a beat of silence. Then, on the black screen, in pale, fading type:)

SELENE (V.O., barely audible):

“Maybe we are all born with an unfinished song inside us.

Only the brave dare to carry it.”

✍️ Author’s Reflection:

As the final dust motes settle in the barn’s golden light, I reflect not just on Quick Tillis and Iciss Tillis, but on the countless unfinished songs we all carry.

Some are songs of dreams dared.
Others are songs of dreams deferred.

Nevertheless, all are part of the great music of life—echoes that shape who we are and who we are still becoming.

Indeed, Tillis Under the Sunshine is not a tale of winning or losing.

Instead, it is a tribute to those who stand, fall, and rise again carrying their invisible melodies—sometimes broken, sometimes defiant, always human.

Thank you for walking into this silent cinema with me.

May you find, in your own unfinished song, the courage to keep carrying it toward your sunrise.

With all my heart,
Jamee

📜 About This Story:

First, Quick Tillis was a leading heavyweight contender in boxing during the 1980s. He was known as “The Fighting Cowboy.”

Later, his daughter, Iciss Tillis, became a celebrated basketball star. She played for Duke University and later in the WNBA.

Together, their journeys—marked by ambition, resilience, and the weight of inherited dreams—inspired the spirit of Tillis Under the Sunshine.

As the dust settles and the light fades, the story of Quick and Iciss Tillis does not end here.

Instead, it lingers — in the quiet places of courage, in the unfinished songs we each carry.

Finally, thank you for walking into this cinema of the heart.
May your own sunlight find you, always.

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