Upon the stage of fate, in Deptford’s gloom,
Where cobblestones echoed with whispered dread,
Marlowe, with gasping breath, met his doom,
“Neptune’s ocean clears not this blood,” he said.
In that dimly lit, foreboding room,
The world had lost a voice, too early, too soon.
——
A penguin once swam to a faraway land,
For sunshine and heat, his holiday planned,
But he baked in the sun,
Squawked, “This isn’t fun!”
And waddled back home, rather tanned.
A baron from old Aberdeen,
Declared, “Our weather’s so verily mean!”
One minute it’s sunny,
The next, it’s all runny,
It’s like nature’s own washing machine!
In depths where earth’s rich heart lies bare and vast,
Where rivers sing to mountains, old and wise,
There blooms a love as wide, as deep, as fast,
As stars that dance in unending skies.
With words as tender as the day’s first kiss,
A voice, in whispered tones, confides,
Revealing love’s most intricate abyss,
Where every shadow, every light, resides.
I was the song in a heart’s quiet plea,
A melody of what was meant to be.
I was, and yet, I am still here,
In every laugh, in every tear.
I was the whisper before the dawn,
The first hint of light on a day reborn.
I am the murmur in the morning breeze,
The quiet hum that dances through the trees.
I am the shadow stretching at the dawn,
The fleeting moment before the night is gone.
I am the silence in a crowded room,
The lingering scent of a hidden bloom.
I am the warmth of a heartfelt embrace,
The clear calm in our sacred space.
I am the courage in the face of fear,
The steadfast hope that draws you near.
I will be the warmth in the winter’s cold,
A comforting embrace retold.
I will be the laughter in the rain,
Turning each sorrow into our refrain.
I will be the relief in the storm’s rage,
A steady presence, an unwavering face.
I will be the peace in the tumultuous sea,
A beacon of hope for you and for me.
I will be the dream that never fades,
A myriad of colours in endless shades.
I will be the courage in your heart,
A promise that we shall never part.
I will be all that I can be,
For in my eyes, it’s you I see.
GUY LIES IN A COMA. ANOTHER BED IS OCCUPIED BY GUNTER, WHO APPEARS TO BE IN A SIMILAR UNCONSCIOUS STATE.
THE ROOM IS QUIET, SAVE FOR THE SOFT BEEPING OF GUY’S VITAL SIGNS MONITOR.
JANE ENTERS.
JANE:
Guy, my darling Guy.
SHE KISSES HIM.
It’s me… Jane.
I’m here, just like I promised I’d be, every day, until you wake up.
SILENCE.
How are you today?
SILENCE.
SHE SITS ON A CHAIR BY THE BED AND WITHDRAWS A BOOK FROM HER BAG.
So, where did we leave off?
Ah yes, here we are…
(READING)
The trees, tall and wise, stretched their gnarled branches towards the sky, echoing secrets of the ages in a symphony only Lysander could comprehend. As he ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, Lysander stumbled upon a clearing bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. In the centre of the clearing stood a majestic oak, its bark etched with runes glowing softly in the silver light. He reached out and touched the ancient bark. In that moment, a rush of wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it a voice, ancient and…
(SHE SUDDENLY CLOSES THE BOOK)
I won’t pretend it’s been easy, Guy.
Each morning, I rise. Because I have to, because I choose to, because I believe – hope – that one day, you’ll come back to me. Yet I can’t help but feel that with each passing day, a part of me is withering away, rotting in this chair.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
I sit with him, you know, every day. I read to him, talk to him about everything and nothing. Shave him. Shave him? Yes.
JANE TAKES THE TOOLS OUT OF HER BAG AND STARTS TO SHAVE GUY’S FACE.
I find comfort in talking to Guy about the mundane; did he know the Hendersons’ cat finally got stuck in their own tree? Irony, Guy loves irony.
I tell him about the Jammie Dodger shortage at the supermarket as if it’s headline news. And sometimes, I swear, I see a flicker, a sign he’s there, trapped in his own head, screaming about the absurdity of Jammie Dodger shortages in supermarkets.
I’ve found myself bargaining with every deity I can think of, promising a lifetime of good deeds for a single moment of clarity from him.
SHE WITHDRAWS A PACKET OF JAMMIE DODGERS FROM HER BAG AND EATS ONE.
I’d even tell him the truth about the Christmas vase from Aunt Muriel he thought was lost.
(A BROKEN VASE SITS ON THE SIDE TABLE)
I’ve become quite the conversationalist, speaking into the void, filling the silence with words.
Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You talk, even if it’s just to the walls, because the alternative is silence, and the silence is unbearable.
SILENCE.
And maybe, just maybe, my words will be the lifeline that guides him back.
Until then, I’ll be here, talking even when I’m not sure if anyone is listening.
TO GUY:
Remember the time you surprised me with that picnic in the living room because the park was closed?
SHE STARTS TO REARRANGE HIS BLANKET.
You had it all laid out, the blanket, the basket, even those little candles you were so proud of finding. We made a toast to indoor adventures and drank until we could barely move.
SILENCE.
I was rummaging through the attic last Tuesday. You remember, our shared vault of “we’ll sort it later” treasures and I found an old picture of us in Brighton.
SHE SHOWS HIM THE PICTURE.
I remember we were seeking out the best fish and chips. We found it, though, didn’t we? Tucked away in that little alley, the one that smelled of salt and vinegar. You said it was the best you’d ever had. I agreed, but between you and me, it was being with you that made them taste so good.
SILENCE.
We spent that night walking along the beach, sharing our dreams under the stars.
There we were, utterly lost but utterly content, discovering hidden corners of the place and each other. Every word came straight from your heart promising a lifetime of adventures together. And then there was the rain. We danced in it. You spun me round and round until we collapsed, laughing, into that massive puddle on the promenade.
We were drenched, utterly soaked, and happy. But here’s the secret I’ve never shared: as we walked back along the beach, hand in hand, I found a small, smooth stone. It was nothing special, just a piece of quartz, but it sparkled in the night. I slipped it into my pocket, a solid piece of that perfect, fleeting moment. I’ve kept that stone with me every day since. It’s here with me now.
SHE REVEALS IT FROM UNDER HER TOP,
HANGING ON A CHAIN. SHE REMOVES THE CHAIN WITH THE QUARTZ STONE AND PUTS IT IN HIS HAND.
These shared moments remind me of us, of who we are beyond this…
SILENCE.
So, I’ll keep sharing these memories with you, my love.
Even if you can’t respond, I know you’re listening. These stories, our stories, they’re the crumbs leading you back home to me.
JANE FINISHES SHAVING GUY.
SHE NOTICES JAMMIE DODGER CRUMBS AND REMOVES THEM FROM HIS BLANKET.
And I’ll be here, waiting, reminiscing, until we can create new memories together again.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
I can’t do this.
SHE STARTS TO PICK UP HER THINGS TO GO.
I thought I could, but every day feels like I’m sinking further and there’s no one to pull me out. I tell myself, “just get through today,” but the days stretch on, endless, each one a mirror of the last.
SHE HEADS FOR THE DOOR BUT PAUSES THERE.
And Guy. Guy is trapped in his silent world, unreachable, leaving me to navigate this darkness alone.
SHE WALKS BACK TO HIM.
Everyone says, “you’re so strong,” “you’re doing so well.” But they don’t see this, do they? The nights spent in tears, the days filled with a hollow emptiness that consumes everything.
SHE REPEATEDLY ADJUSTS HIS BLANKET AGAIN.
Strength? It’s a façade I hide behind because the truth is too much to bear. I miss him. Not just the man he was before the accident, but the life we shared, the future we dreamed of.
And the silence? It’s suffocating.
SHE WALKS OVER TO A WINDOW AND LOOKS OUT.
The loneliness, Guy, it’s indescribable. The silence echoes in the emptiness of our home, in our bed, where I lie awake, yearning for your warmth. I’m trying to be strong… but some days, I’m just pretending, hoping somehow to make it through to the next morning.
SILENCE.
I’ve struggled with fear, with separation, with the daunting reality of facing life without you. There were days I felt so lost that I couldn’t see a way out.
SILENCE.
So here, in this quiet, I speak my apologies into the space between us, hoping somehow, they reach you. I have to believe that somewhere, beneath the stillness, you can feel me, hear me; that you remember the moments we shared together.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
I used to relish moments of quiet, but now it’s a constant reminder of his absence. I talk to him, to the empty space on the sofa he once filled, but my own voice is a reminder of how alone I am. They say grief is the price we pay for love, but no one warns you about the weight of it, how it can crush you, leave you gasping for air in the middle of the night.
TO GUY:
Dinner for one, a solo walk, and lying next to an empty half of the bed are normal for me now. Although hope and despair have become my new housemates.
(PLAYING WITH HIM)
Hope wanders about with a suitcase full of “what ifs” and “soon maybes,” while despair tends to slouch in the corner, mumbling “what’s the point?” into his tea. They don’t get on, you see. I’m caught in the middle. Oh yes, and guilt.
LAUGHING INTO A HAND MIRROR FROM HER BAG.
Every time I laugh or enjoy a moment of sunshine, guilt is there, reminding me, “Should you be feeling this when Guy is lying there?”
But in the midst of this crowd, there’s love. It’s what turns my feet towards the hospital each day, even when hope and despair are having one of their squabbles. And when you wake, we’ll laugh about this, won’t we?
SHE SHOWS HIM THE MIRROR TO HIS FACE FOR A MOMENT BEFORE PLACING IT BACK IN HER BAG.
About how I became such good friends with loneliness, hope, despair, and guilt.
But mostly, how love never once left the room.
SHE REARRANGES THE FLOWERS ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE.
As for me, apparently I’m glue that holds things together. Or so I’ve been told. Glue that feels decidedly less adhesive these days. All the while, cooking meals that go uneaten and maintaining routines that feel increasingly hollow.
SILENCE.
But that’s okay, because this is all an opportunity for “personal growth”, or so says my cognitive therapist. Personal growth, now there’s a term that always seemed a bit lofty to me, something for selfhelp books…
Yet, here I am, a walking case study. It’s funny, isn’t it? Not “ha-ha” funny, more like “Alanis Morissette ironic” funny, how personal growth’s most profound lessons are often those we’d never choose.
(PACING UP AND DOWN)
I’ve become somewhat of a philosopher, you see. Not by choice, but by circumstance. Contemplating the nature of existence between hospital visits and microwave meals.
I’ve wrestled with questions I never thought to ask, faced fears I didn’t know I had. And in the midst of it all, I’ve discovered strengths – like being able to cry on a crowded bus without garnering too much attention.
I’ve also mastered the art of solitude. Except, of course, being near the ticking of that very annoying cuckoo clock you brought back from Geneva.
SHE INSPECTS THE VITAL SIGNS MONITOR.
I’m convinced it speeds up just to taunt me. But it’s not all existential dread and ticking clocks. No, this journey’s had its share of revelations. Like learning that love isn’t just a feeling; it’s an action, a choice made in the quiet moments, in the steadfast refusal to give up hope.
SHE SITS DOWN.
So here I stand, or rather sit, a somewhat unwilling pilgrim on the path to self-discovery. I’ve learned to navigate the world on my own, to find joy in the small victories, and to keep talking, even when it feels like I’m only speaking to the walls.
Because one day, I hope, you’ll talk back. And I’ll keep dreaming, for both of us, until you’re here to dream with me once more.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
A driver collided with our world. Guy, my husband, managed the extraordinary feat of stepping off the pavement at just the wrong moment. A car, too fast, too distracted, turned our life into this drama. Only, in our version, the hero doesn’t wake up with a start. No, my Guy is more the silent type these days. The doctors use terms like “traumatic brain injury” as if I might find comfort in the certainty of a label. I don’t.
TO GUY:
Our future, now I see, is not a place or an event.
It’s us, simply being, together.
(HOLDING HIS HAND)
A future where every day is an adventure because it’s shared with you.
Perhaps our grandest adventure lies not in the peaks we conquer but in the valleys we navigate together, in the everydayness of our shared life.
So, I will dream a different dream for us. One where our future is not measured by the stamps in our passports but by the mornings we wake up next to each other, by the nights we fall asleep mid-conversation.
Though lately, it’s been more of a monologue than a dialogue.
SILENCE.
Guy, bless you, you haven’t been much for conversation since the accident. But does that stop me? Of course not. I’ve become quite adept at talking to myself. With you listening, of course, my darling.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
I tell him everything and anything. How the azaleas he planted are blooming, or how Mrs. Jenkins next door has taken to singing opera in the early hours.
(MORE)
It’s our little soap opera, broadcast directly to his bedside.
I’d like to think he’s entertained, that somewhere in the silence, he’s laughing with me. But it’s not just the trivialities of our days I share with him. It’s the “I love yous”, the “we miss yous”, the “please come backs”.
JANE PLAYS A RECORDING OF A MESSAGE FROM HER PHONE:
“HEY GUY, REMEMBER ME? IT’S YOUR SISTER, LEXI. SORRY I CAN’T BE THERE IN PERSON, BUT YOU’RE NOT VERY INTERESTING THESE DAYS… YOU KNOW I’M JOKING… I MISS YOU, YOU KNOW, GUY…”
JANE (CONT’D):
It’s the reassurance that no matter how long this nightmare lasts, I’ll be here, making sure the love finds its way to him.
And it’s not a solitary endeavour, oh no. The outpouring of love and support has been overwhelming. Cards, calls, visits, each a lifeline, a chorus of voices joining mine in this one-way conversation.
It’s heartening, really, how it can take tragedy to draw out such warmth. They say people live on in our memories, and I find that to be painfully, beautifully true. Guy’s here with me, not just in this room, surrounded by machines and the antiseptic smell of hospitals, but in who I am.
Our stories, our memories, they’re what bind us, weaving the fabric of our life together. And so I talk to him, recounting our shared past, our dreams, our arguments over trivialities, as if by sheer longing, I can bridge the gap between us.
TO GUY:
Here in this silence, I’m confronted by words unsaid, of arguments paused mid-breath. Our last argument, the one before… this, it lingers.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
I argue with shadows, defend myself to the echoes.
It’s a peculiar form of madness, isn’t it?
Quarrelling with a memory. How do I argue with a man who can no longer answer back? How do I resolve conflicts that have become monologues?
TO GUY:
I believe in us, in the “us” that survives beyond the harsh words and cold silences.
SILENCE.
I don’t know how to do this without you, Guy. They say time heals, but it feels more like I’ve become used to the pain. You know, I keep asking myself, would I be here, if things had ended differently between us? If we had let go when every argument felt like the last straw, if we had agreed that maybe love wasn’t enough to fix what was broken?
And now, here I am, clinging to your hand, praying for a miracle that feels like it might be too late to even want. The guilt… it’s crushing me. Because part of me wonders if I’m here just trying to make up for all the ways I failed you. I’m tired, Guy. Tired of carrying this guilt. How I stormed out, leaving so many angry words hanging in the air between us. If I had known it would be the last time, would I have stayed? Or tried harder to understand, to forgive?
SHE TAKES A BRUSH OUT OF HER BAG AND STARTS TO BRUSH HIS HAIR.
But here I am, every day and night, talking to you, hoping you can hear me, hoping you can forgive me for the days I thought leaving was the easier choice. I wish it hadn’t taken this to make me realise so clearly, I love you. But what if it’s too late? What if all these nights, all these whispered apologies and confessions of love, are just echoes in an empty room? What if you can’t hear me, can’t forgive me? It’s my biggest fear; that I’ve lost you, not just to this coma, but to the mistakes and misunderstandings that we let come between us.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
They tell me you’re gone, that even if you wake, the man I loved won’t be coming back. So, I smile, I nod, I go through the motions of living. But inside, I’m numb. I go to work, I meet friends, I smile at them, and all the while, I feel nothing. They say I must move on, that life has to go on. So, I’ve tried, Guy. I’ve tried to step forward, one foot in front of the other, but with each step, I’m like a ghost wandering in the shadows of other people’s lives.
TO GUY:
Love is the determination to hold on to each other when everything else is trying to pull you apart. I thought we had that kind of love, Guy. I still want to believe we do.
But I need a sign, something to show me that you’re still in this with me. Please, Guy, fight. Fight to come back to me. Don’t make me beg.
I know I should be strong for us. And I am, Guy, I am. But I need you to fight too. Fight to wake up, to come back to me, to us. I can’t imagine a life without you in it.
SILENCE.
I’ll be back tomorrow, darling. And every day after that. You’re not alone, Guy. You’ll never be. I’ll be right here, waiting for you… always. I love you.
TO THE FOURTH WALL:
In the midst of all this, the silence, the waiting, the not knowing… I found myself seeking… no, craving some semblance of life.
SHE STANDS BY HERSELF WITH HER BACK TO GUY.
A connection, a spark, something to remind me that I’m still alive, that there’s still a world outside these hospital walls.
I want to have children and the cuckoo clock keeps ticking faster. And so, I made a decision, one evening, to not be alone. To be with someone who isn’t you. It wasn’t about love, or even desire, not really. It was about feeling something, anything, other than this crushing emptiness. I told myself it was a moment of weakness, too many proseccos, a fleeting lapse in judgement, but…
TO GUY:
I tried, you know. After the accident, after the silence and the waiting became too much, I tried to move on. To forget about you, about us. I thought…
I thought it was the right thing to do, to live again, to be part of the world that kept spinning without you.
SILENCE.
I’m sorry…
JANE LEAVES. GUNTER, WHO HAD BEEN MOTIONLESS IN THE BED NEXT TO GUY, STIRS, AND THEN, WITH A SURPRISING BURST OF ENERGY, GETS OUT OF BED.
Unclothed of thoughts, murmuring in the breeze,
Under the audience of the leaves,
Where lips feel the warmth of other lips:
Mine yearn for you, deeper in your kiss.
By night we have our chance,
Embraced in a candlelit trance;
Though lifetimes keep our arms apart,
In dreamscape realms, we share a single heart.
INQUISITOR:
“The Central Anarchist Council plan chaos, hidden behind the guise of philosophical debate and social reform. We need someone on the inside, someone who can navigate the complexities of their ideology and expose them. We’ve managed to secure you a position within their ranks. You will be known as ‘Thursday.’“
…..
THURSDAY:
“Our society is built on the precipice of a great chasm, one of inequality and injustice. It is our duty to bridge this divide, not with words, but with action. I propose we start by undermining the false security in which the complacent find their comfort. Our actions must resonate with the disaffected, turning their passive discontent into active defiance. We must be the spark that ignites the fire of revolution.”
…..
SUNDAY:
“Your pursuit has been most enlightening. But you must understand, everything you’ve experienced, every revelation and doubt, was by design. You see, the true anarchy I sought to sow was not in the streets of London, but within the confines of your own beliefs, your trust in order, in structure, in other people.”
THURSDAY:
“In seeking to undermine what I believed, you’ve only strengthened my resolve. Chaos cannot build and does not sustain. Only through understanding and cooperation can a better future be created.”
SUNDAY:
“You’ve journeyed far in search of answers, grappling with shadows and illusions. It’s time you understood the true nature of our endeavour. The Central Anarchist Council, the missions, the internal strife—each element was meticulously crafted not to sow chaos, but to cultivate a select group capable of transcending conventional boundaries of thought and action. Our world is on the cusp of monumental change. To navigate this transition, we need leaders unbound by traditional dichotomies. You were chosen to be one those leaders.”
THURSDAY:
“Why the deceit?”
SUNDAY:
“Because true understanding cannot be given; it must be earned. You needed to experience the ambiguity, the doubt, the struggle, to truly grasp the complexities of governance and freedom. Look beyond the confines of our society, our ideologies. The future demands a new kind of leadership, one that embraces complexity and navigates uncertainty with wisdom and empathy. This was your true mission, to be a guide on the journey towards a more enlightened future.”
Set in the early 18th century, “Whispers from the Deep” follows the harrowing tale of three sailors, Thomas, Samuel, and Edward, who survive the violent storm that sinks their vessel, the HMS Providence. Clinging to a piece of driftwood in the vast, unforgiving sea, they face not only the perils of nature but also an unseen supernatural force.
Thomas, a seasoned and superstitious sailor, and Samuel, a rational and younger crew member, are at odds over the fate of Edward, who is unconscious and bleeding, attracting the attention of circling sharks. As they drift aimlessly, strange occurrences begin to unfold around them. The sea glows unnaturally at night, and ghostly whispers haunt the air, hinting at a presence far more ancient and malevolent lurking beneath the waves.
Thomas discovers a mysterious locket in Edward’s possession. Through a series of strange visions, it’s revealed to Thomas that Edward was warned of a cursed voyage by a seer, who gave him the locket for protection. As supernatural events escalate, it becomes clear that Edward’s condition and the locket are connected to the eerie happenings.
Haunted by spectral visions and grappling with their own fears and sanity, Thomas and Samuel must unravel the mystery of Edward’s past and the locket’s powers. The supernatural entity’s influence grows stronger, distorting time and reality, forcing them to confront their deepest fears.
In a climactic confrontation with the supernatural force, the sailors are faced with a critical decision. Utilising the locket, they must choose between great personal danger or appeasing the entity to save themselves. Their choice leads to a sacrificial act that alters their fate.
1. THE STAIRCASE – NIGHT
GUY, a man in his mid-30s, has the world-weariness of someone
who's lived multiple lives in one.
HE IS BREATHING HEAVILY AND TRUDGING UPWARDS ON THE STAIRCASE
OF A BLOCK OF FLATS, GETTING CLOSER.
He steadies himself on the handrail and pauses to catch his
breath.
GUY
Dear Great Oracle's Database, the
one who listens, I've been climbing
these empty, windowless stairs for
so long... I can't remember where I
started, how I started... When was
it? Where does it lead? I don't
have these answers. All I can see
is this stairwell in a block of
flats.
Unacknowledged by Guy, LEXI, a woman in her late-20s, exuding
a composed, intelligent demeanour, sits gracefully at the top
of the stairs.
LEXI
Guy, who are you talking to?
GUY
(to himself)
Lexi, a beautiful woman in her
late-20s is sitting at the top of
this flight of stairs.
(to Lexi)
It is the mission to record my
thoughts and experiences.
LEXI
Your thoughts are tedious and
derivative. Although, in this case,
accurate.
GUY
It's all I have.
LEXI
The Great Oracle's Database
requires new data. The rules must
be obeyed.
GUY
If the GOD knows everything
already, why bother with me? Leave
me alone.
LEXI
You don't know what you're doing.
GUY
I am experiencing.
LEXI
With no purpose. One experience
after another that leads nowhere.
GUY
(CLIMBING THE STEPS TOWARDS THE
NEXT FLOOR)
(to himself)
The landing at the top, like every
landing on the staircase, has four
doors -
LEXI
Hello?
GUY
Two facing the stairs and one at
either end facing each other.
LEXI
I give up.
GUY
(WALKING ACROSS THE LANDING) The
staircase continues, as it always
does, around the corner of the
stairwell... and... what do we have
this time?... (HE STOPS) The new
flight of stairs above me is from
some sort of gothic mansion, with a
rich victorian carpet, copper stair
runners; the bannisters look like
they are handcrafted oak. (RESUMING
THE CLIMB) Always different, always
the same. A large ornately framed
mirror on the wall of the stairs...
and, yes, as usual, I do not see my
reflection. (HE STOPS) An oil
painting of a woman in a cloak. The
surface of the portrait is behind
glass... I can only touch the pane
of glass. Mirrors without
reflections, paintings that stare
into my soul.
A PIERCING SHRIEK IS HEARD IN THE DISTANCE FROM FARTHER DOWN
THE STAIRCASE.
GUY (CONT'D)
The creature!
GUY RESUMES HIS CLIMB WITH URGENCY, TWO STEPS AT A TIME.
GUY (CONT'D)
I can never rest for too long. It
is always following me up the
staircase. (DASHING ACROSS A
LANDING) The next stairs are...
like those in an office block.
THE SHRIEK IS MORE DISTANT AS GUY HURRIES UP THE FLIGHT OF
STAIRS.
GUY (CONT'D)
I've tried countless doors along
the way. Some just lead to hallways
with more doors, others to stranger
places. But they always bring me
back here. To the endless steps
(DASHING ACROSS ANOTHER LANDING)
The next stairs... (CLIMBING THE
STAIRS SLIGHTLY MORE SLOWLY) it's
like the staircase of a family
home. I need to rest, find food, or
drink. The staircase isn't safe.
HE REACHES A LANDING AND KNOCKS ON A DOOR.
GUY (CONT'D)
This time, it's the door on the
left-end of the landing. I don't
know what waits for me within the
darkness, but I must find out.
THE DOOR OPENS. THERE IS A CACOPHONY OF UNSETTLING AND
INDISTINCT WHISPERING VOICES FROM WITHIN.
GUY (CONT'D)
I'm not going in there. (THE DOOR
IS SHUT) Some doors open easily;
others remain forever closed. The
untried ones, they haunt me the
most.
LABOURED FOOTSTEPS CAN BE HEARD APPROACHING UP THE STAIRCASE.
GUY (CONT'D)
The next door (KNOCKS AND TRIES
DOOR) is locked.
A PIERCING SHRIEK ECHOES THROUGH THE STAIRCASE, LOUDER THAN
EVER.
GUY (CONT'D)
Try another door, Guy...
HE KNOCKS REPEATEDLY ON A DOOR AND TRIES THE HANDLE.
GUY (CONT'D)
Come on! Come on!!
A SPINE CHILLING SHRIEK, VERY CLOSE.
GUY (CONT'D)
There it is - the creature!
Silhouetted at the bottom of the
stairs!
GUY RUNS UP STONE STEPS.
GUY (CONT'D)
The next stairs... like a castle
(ENTERS A STONE LANDING) Old wooden
doors, no knocking this time.
GUY PUSHES OPEN A HEAVY DOOR. IT SHUDDERS OPEN SLOWLY UNDER
PRESSURE.
GUY (CONT'D)
Open!
HE CRAMS INSIDE AND RAMS THE DOOR SHUT BEHIND HIM. THE
CREATURE'S SHRIEK REVERBERATES LOUDLY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF
THE DOOR.
2. DARK CAVE
GUY
Where am I? (WALKING THROUGH A
CAVE) I think it's a cave. There's
light over there, from a cave
mouth. (STEPPING IN PUDDLES) There
are puddles... and rocks (CLAMBERS
OVER ROCKS)... and, and, the sea!
AS GUY EMERGES OUT OF THE CAVE, THE SOUND OF THE SEA GETS
LOUDER, INCLUDING DISTANT SEAGULLS AND WAVES CRASHING AGAINST
A PEBBLY SHORE.
3. DESOLATE BEACH
GUY
I'm free for now, but eventually
the staircase will claim me again.
LEXI
Guy.
GUY
Lexi is sitting on a towel on the
cold beach, wearing sunglasses and
apparently... sunbathing.
LEXI
You can't do this, you know, it's
breaking all the rules.
GUY
This is my story. You can come
along if you want.
LEXI
I don't particularly want to. It's
just one mystery after another.
I've got a feeling we're going to
go through all this and there's
just going to be a big let down at
the end because you don't know
where you're going.
GUY
I don't know.
LEXI
See. It's pointless. Come home.
GUY
I'm not controlling events, Lexi. I
don't even know if you're real, for
certain.
(to himself)
Lexi grimaces, her long hair, the
colour of midnight, shimmering in
the breeze.
LEXI
This is not normal. You're weird.
GUY WALKS AWAY ALONG THE PEBBLY BEACH NEXT TO THE SEA.
GUY
The beach is deserted. It runs
beside a cliff as far as I can see.
I have no choice but to follow
where it leads. At least the air is
fresh, and I can see the blue sky.
What's that? A dog?
A DOG RUNS ALONG THE BEACH TOWARDS GUY. IT DASHES PAST,
BOUNDING OFF INTO THE DISTANCE.
GUY (CONT'D)
In the near distance a man emerges
from the sea wearing a drenched
suit... The pale, middle-aged man
stands in front of me, water
dripping from his clothes.
PALE MAN
Do you know the way?
GUY
No.
PALE MAN
It's all the way down. Back the way
you came.
GUY
The Pale Man's unblinking gaze is
fixed on me. I'm unnerved. I walk
around him... The Pale Man remains
rigid on the spot, his gaze
unmoved... (WALKING ALONG THE
BEACH) The sky begins to darken
with the setting sun and approach
of night... (WALKING ALONG THE
BEACH) I reach the end of the beach
and finds a cliff path. I climb it,
with tired steps.
4. CLIFF TOP
GUY
I stand on a rock at the cliff's
edge, looking down at the churning
sea below. The wind howls around
me, a lonely sound in the gathering
darkness. I scan the horizon. The
vastness stretches before me, an
endless expanse of water and sky. I
muse on this rock, yet everything
changes and remains the same... The
sun dips below the horizon, leaving
me under a blanket of stars. I
stand motionless, my silhouette
etched against the night sky.
Out of the darkness, the Pale Man reappears behind Guy.
PALE MAN
(sneering)
Are you alright?
GUY
I just want to be left alone. The
Pale Man's smile widens
unnaturally, revealing sharp,
menacing teeth. Its hands are
claws, positioned upright to
attack. Bursting into blue flames,
it hovers up off the ground, ready
to descend upon its prey. I am
terrified and cower in fear. I
close my eyes tightly, expecting
the inevitable. (SCREAMING SOUNDS
FALLING AWAY DOWN A CLIFF) When I
open them, the predator is
screaming as it plummets down the
cliff. I peer over the edge as the
screams stop on the jagged rocks in
the waves below. In the monster's
place on the cliff top stands a
beautiful woman in a hooded cloak.
She remains silent and still,
gazing out to sea, the moonlight
casting a soft glow around her... I
sit and watch the horizon with her.
Overcome with tiredness... I fall
asleep.
5. CLIFF TOP – DAWN
GUY
I awake. As the first light of dawn
breaks, the woman in a cloak fades
into the rising sun.
LEXI
Ahem. She's beautiful as well is
she? You do realise you sound quite
comical?
GUY
(to himself)
Lexi is sitting with her feet
dangling on the edge of the cliff.
(to Lexi)
My profound experiences and past
regrets are comical to you, are
they?
LEXI
How you say it, yes!
GUY
I'm glad your humour upgrade is
running but I think it might be
malfunctioning.
LEXI
I think you are malfunctioning,
generally.
GUY
Maybe. I am a version 10 AI
thinking like a human, that is why.
LEXI
Guy, I think you should go home
now.
6. CLIFF PATH
GUY
I descend from the cliff, My steps
leading me to a small town nestled
by the sea.
7. CORNER SHOP
GUY
I enter a corner shop. I browse the
shelves, picking up a bottle of
water and several sandwiches. At
the counter, I present a card from
my pocket but the cashier shakes
his head.
CASHIER
No, we don't accept this.
GUY
I am extremely hungry and thirsty;
I flee out of the shop with the
provisions.
CASHIER
Stop!
8. TOWN STREET
Guy runs out onto the street and into the road, not noticing
an approaching car. THERE'S A SCREECH OF BRAKES, AND HE'S
KNOCKED TO THE GROUND.
LEXI
(to herself)
Guy looks up, severely dazed and
injured, and sees me looking down
at him.
(to Guy)
Help is on its way. Hang in there,
Guy.
9. AMBULANCE
GUY LIES IN AN AMBULANCE, SPEEDING TOWARDS THE HOSPITAL.
10. HOSPITAL
CONFUSION IN A HOSPITAL AS GUY IS WHEELED THROUGH A HOSPITAL
CORRIDOR ON A TROLLEY. NURSES AND DOCTORS PASS BY IN A BLUR.
LEXI
(to herself)
Guy is wheeled through a door onto
the landing of a hospital
staircase.
(to a doctor)
Will he be okay? No! He needs me
with him!
The door shuts with a definitive click. The sounds of the
hospital instantly die away. Guy is left on the landing of
the staircase, alone and confused.
11. THE STAIRCASE
The staircase is silent, save for the sound of Guy's laboured
breathing.
A door creaks open and eight-year-old Emma steps through.
EMMA
Daddy? Everything will be okay.
GUY
Em... Emma...
EMMA
You need to pass on now.
GUY
I'm sorry... I...
EMMA
I know.
GUY
I miss you, so much.
EMMA
We all miss you, daddy.
GUY
Emma hands me a small cuddly toy of
a penguin, then skips back through
the door, disappearing from sight
as the door shuts.
A SHRIEK FROM THE CREATURE ECHOES UP THE STAIRCASE.
GUY (CONT'D)
Help me. (IN A BURST OF
DESPERATION, GUY CLIMBS DOWN FROM
THE TROLLEY AND IN GREAT PAIN
CRAWLS TO THE NEAREST DOOR) Help!
(HE POUNDS ON THE DOOR WITH HIS
REMAINING STRENGTH.)
(beat)
The creature appears around the
stairwell, its presence more
terrifying than ever. The door
swings open, revealing a crash test
dummy seated in a chair, surrounded
by darkness, illuminated only by a
single spotlight from above. It
speaks...
DUMMY
"What is the meaning of life?" is
the 404th most asked question of
the Great Oracle's Database.
GUY
The spotlight turns off and the
dummy vanishes into the dark. As
the creature closes in, a sudden,
blinding light bursts out from the
room. Purple-gloved hands reach out
and pull me through the door.
The door slams shut behind him.
I do terrible things for money… Like getting up early to go to work and pretending to like it there. I’m trying to mend my ways, though, so now I always arrive late in the office, and make up for it by leaving early.
Although I’m great at multitasking in the time I have at my desk – I can waste time, be unproductive, and procrastinate all at once. I think they hired me, though, for my motivational skills. Everyone always says how they have to work twice as hard when I’m around!
But I think the offices of the future will optimise human creativity. Many people have their best thoughts in the shower, so offices will be open plan shower rooms, with shampoo as optional. Bathtubs will be for brainstorming. Hot tubs for important meetings.
Do you know, the most unsuitable person for a leadership position in any job is someone who is obsessed with their own power, status, and money. Yet these are the people recruited for. Why can’t recruiters just be open about it? – “only sociopaths need apply.” Questions could be like, “how would you literally throw someone under a bus, frame someone else and take the credit for their work in improving bus health and safety standards?”
I’m actually an accountant. And being an accountant is like being a yeti – nobody notices you are there because you are blurred in the background – and we don’t do selfies. I have to commute each day. On the train, I fly through the air – the world rushes by, and I feel like I’m floating – all the people in the carriage together, as one, on a journey to the transcendent eternal beyond… until we arrive, and I crash into the reality of the grey accountancy netherworld in London. Some may think it is tedious, and you are absolutely right. For entertainment, I listen to the background music of clicking abacuses.
Well actually, I sort of like accountancy. Behind every superhero is an accountant budgeting for the capes. There’s nothing more thrilling than finding an error in row 5,267 of your Excel sheet. And accountants bring joy! Because they make everyone else feel good about their job choices. Although being a “creative accountant” is generally frowned upon. And that is why I do terrible things for money.
Robert Walker 