Tag: script snippets

INT. KITCHEN – DAY

We open in a pleasant kitchen. It’s a simple, sunny morning, and JONATHAN, a man in his mid-30s, stands before a toaster. His hair is slightly dishevelled in that “I’m an artist and have been awake for three days straight” way. He holds a loaf of bread with two hands like it’s a holy artefact.

JONATHAN: (to the bread, dramatically) Ah, but which of you shall sacrifice yourself upon the fiery altar of domesticity?

He closes his eyes, feeling the texture of the bread as though it speaks to his soul.

JONATHAN: You… my precious slice of simplicity… shall be my muse. We shall rise together, like a phoenix, from these embers of – (suddenly presses down the toaster lever with a flourish) technology!

He steps back and sighs deeply, as though the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders. He glances at the toaster, then suddenly dashes to a grand piano in the corner of the kitchen – because of course, there’s a grand piano in the kitchen. He slams his hands down on the keys and begins an intense, melancholic tune.

JONATHAN: (singing, passionately) The toast is in the toaster,

But the toaster’s in my soul…

A piece of bread, a piece of life,

Which part of me will it control?

The toast pops up. He stops playing immediately, stands up slowly, and walks towards it. He removes the toast and looks at it in horror.

JONATHAN: (whispers, wide-eyed) Too… too brown… no… NO!

He rushes to a nearby easel, slamming a canvas on it. He grabs a paintbrush and dips it in some grey paint, furiously slashing at the canvas.

JONATHAN: THIS. THIS IS WHAT I FEEL! The toast… it’s burnt like my dreams! Dashed! Scorched! Ruined by the mundane expectations of breakfast!

He steps back to look at the chaotic mess of grey paint, his breathing laboured. He collapses into a chair, a broken man. His partner, CHARLOTTE, enters, holding a cup of tea.

CHARLOTTE: (tired, but supportive) Jonathan, have you burnt the toast again?

JONATHAN: (with tragic intensity) It’s not just toast, Charlotte! It’s the fragility of existence… it’s everything I could have been! It’s –

CHARLOTTE: (looking at the canvas) Grey?

JONATHAN: (passionate) Life is grey! Life is… toast that is too brown on the outside but cold on the inside! It is the tension, the dissonance, the –

CHARLOTTE: Did you try adjusting the settings on the toaster?

JONATHAN: (shocked) Adjust? Adjust?! You don’t adjust fate, Charlotte! You embrace it!

Charlotte walks over, calmly adjusts the toaster setting, places another slice of bread in, and presses the lever. They stand in silence as it toasts.

CHARLOTTE: Fancy some jam with it this time?

JONATHAN: (soulfully) Jam? Yes… yes, perhaps the sweetness of jam can heal the scars of the past… though it will never fully –

Charlotte hands him the jam jar, cutting him off.

The doorbell rings. Jonathan gasps and looks towards the door as if it’s the entrance to the underworld. He hesitates, pacing back and forth.

JONATHAN: Who dares? Who beckons from the outside world? Is it destiny? Is it… chaos? Or is it merely – ?

CHARLOTTE: It’s probably someone selling something.

JONATHAN: Nothing is just “probably” in this world! Every knock, every ring, is a calling, an invocation, a –

The doorbell rings again. Jonathan races to the door, yanks it open as though flinging open the gates of fate. The POSTMAN, completely unfazed, hands him a package.

POSTMAN: Parcel for Jonathan. Need a signature.

JONATHAN: A signature? You request my… my mark upon this world? The confirmation of my presence in this plane of existence?

POSTMAN: Yeah. Just… here, mate.

JONATHAN: (to himself, staring at the paper) A signature. A mark. But what does it mean to sign something? What does it mean to be someone? What if I don’t even know who I am – ?

Charlotte appears behind him, gently takes the pen, and signs the form.

CHARLOTTE: There you go. Thanks.

The Postman nods and leaves. Jonathon clutches the parcel, looking at it with suspicion and awe.

JONATHAN: What mysteries does this small cardboard coffin contain? What truths shall be revealed upon its opening?

CHARLOTTE: It’s your new watercolours.

JONATHAN: (deeply moved) Ah… a new palette for the soul.

He takes the package to the kitchen table and sets it down with reverence. He takes out a parcel knife to open it, but then hesitates.

JONATHAN: The first cut… the incision… it is like the first stroke of a brush upon the empty canvas of life.

CHARLOTTE: Or, you know, a parcel knife on cardboard.

JONATHAN: (speaking faster, inspired) But what is cardboard? It is but trees reborn, captured, transformed into something else – a vessel for human endeavour!

CHARLOTTE: (under her breath) It’s literally just watercolours.

INT. DINING ROOM – EVENING

Jonathan and Charlotte are at the dinner table. Charlotte eats calmly. Jonathan is staring at his fork, turning it over in his hand, lost in thought.

JONATHAN: (softly) Isn’t it strange… how we stab at our sustenance? These tools… these cold, metal implements, to tear apart what the earth has provided. Is that not the most profound statement of our relationship with nature?

CHARLOTTE: It’s a lasagne, Jonathan.

JONATHAN: (tormented) But the layers, Charlotte! The layers! Like the layers of the human soul! Cheese, pasta, meat – each one a reflection of our inner being, slowly baked in the oven of experience, and we… we devour it without thought!

CHARLOTTE: (sighs) Eat your lasagne.

JONATHAN: (stabbing a piece) I am eating, but I am also consuming the very essence of –

CHARLOTTE: You’ve got a bit of sauce on your chin.

Jonathan freezes, drops the fork dramatically, and grabs a napkin like it’s the end of the world. He wipes his chin slowly, as though this tiny act carries the weight of the cosmos.

JONATHAN: (softly, broken) It is… always the sauce that betrays us.

INT. OFFICE – DAY

TIM is sitting at his desk, surrounded by piles of paper, rubber chickens, and a broken clock. His job plate on the desk reads: “Unnecessarily Necessary Officer”. BERT enters.

TIM: (frantically flipping through papers) Ah, yes, the documentation for rubber chicken inflation rates… utterly unnecessary! (seeing Bert) Halt! State your unnecessary business.

BERT: I’m here to report an unnecessary problem.

TIM: Ah, is it unnecessary enough to be necessary, or necessarily unnecessary?

BERT: It’s so unnecessary that it makes not solving it necessary.

TIM: Ah, I see! Sit, sit. Would you like some tea, coffee, or perhaps a liquid helium cocktail?

BERT: Er, just water, thanks.

Tim pulls out a water gun from one of his drawers and sprays Bert.

TIM: Ah, hydrated I see. Perfect for discussing the arduous task of unnecessary matters. Now, what’s your problem?

BERT: (wiping his face) Well, you see, I have a pet rock that refuses to roll.

TIM: (pauses, picks up a rubber chicken, talks to it) Avery, did you hear that? A rock that refuses to roll! That is… stupendously unnecessary.

Tim rummages through his desk, pulling out another rubber chicken before discarding it and finally extracting a document.

TIM: Here! A formal petition for your rock to commence rolling! (stamping the document, the mark looks like an outline of a rubber chicken)

BERT: (stares) You’re joking.

TIM: No, it’s stamped and everything. Your rock is now legally obligated to roll, or else it will be declared an immovable object and reclassified as a mountain. (holds up the broken clock) Look at the time! It’s officially unnecessary o’clock, you are now officially unnecessarily approved to leave.

Bert, rather bewildered, takes the document and leaves. Tim squirts himself with the water gun.

TIM: (talking to Avery, the rubber chicken) Another unnecessary job, unnecessarily well done. (the rubber chicken squeaks)

INT. SHOP – NIGHT

A peculiar shop filled with mysterious trinkets, odd antiques, and a lingering smell of incense.

AGNES: (sorting through some ancient scrolls) Ah, another seeker of the mysterious and arcane. How may Yesterday’s Wonders serve you today, or perhaps, yesterday?

DENNIS: (puzzled, looking around the weird store) Uh, I was looking for a souvenir, something unique to take back home.

AGNES: (smiling) You’ve come to the right place. Barbara here is our resident enthusiast of the mystical arts. But be warned, her potions are stronger than they look.

BARBARA, wearing a pointy hat, pops up from under the desk.

BARBARA: (holding a vial of something green and bubbling) This one can make your plants talk! Well, sort of. They mostly just complain about inconsistent watering.

DENNIS: Uh, I think I’ll stick to something less… alive. And less vocal.

AGNES: (pulls out an antique pocket watch from a glass case) How about this? It not only tells the time but also sometimes tells the future. Or the past. We’re still figuring that part out. It’s a bit finicky. It’s yours for only fifty of your pounds.

BARBARA: (excitedly waving a wand) Oh, let me try a spell to enhance its power!

AGNES: (quickly intervening) Remember last time you did that, we had a toad that criticised everyone’s fashion choices for a week.

BARBARA: It was just being helpful! Norma really needed to hear that polka dots and stripes don’t go together.

DENNIS: Only fifty pounds! You know what, I’ll take it. It’ll either be a hit at parties or cause an existential crisis. Either way, it’s memorable.

AGNES: Ah, excellent choice. That will be fifty of your pounds, or one genuine tear from a broken heart.

DENNIS: (pauses, puzzled) Pounds are fine.

BARBARA: Your loss! Emotional fluids are a hot commodity in the potion market.

AGNES: (wrapping the watch) Remember, handle with care. It’s been known to occasionally remind you of awkward moments from the future that aren’t even going to happen.

DENNIS: Fantastic. It will fit right in with my internal monologue.

BARBARA: Now, which part of you, weighing fifty pounds, do you wish to give us in return?

DENNIS: Er, I think I’ll give you that tear after all.

INT. OFFICE – LATE MORNING

LUKE walks into an open plan office.

LUKE: (looking around) I knew it! The clock on that wall is five minutes fast. They’re giving me extra time.

ERIC is in the corner, fixing the printer.

LUKE: (to himself) Why is Eric fixing the printer when I need to print my reports today? They’re making sure everything works perfectly, just for me.

ERIC: Hey, Luke! Printer’s acting up again. Might take a minute.

LUKE: Don’t worry, I know what you’re doing. Making sure everything is perfect for me.

ERIC: Sure… uh, just trying to print a lunch menu.

Luke meets ABBIE in the aisle.

ABBIE: Luke, we’re all chipping in and ordering pizza for lunch.

LUKE: Ah, I get it! You want to make sure I’m well fed.

ABBIE: Actually, it’s Derick’s birthday.

LUKE: Sure it is. And I appreciate you making sure I have the energy for the day. Wink.

ABBIE: No, really. It’s Derick’s birthday.

LUKE: That’s what they want me to think!

DERICK: Hey, everyone, it’s my birthday! I brought cake!

LUKE: Oh, of course, you did. For me. Probably packed with vitamins and “well-wishes” to keep me healthy and happy, right? I’m onto you, Derick.

DERICK: Actually, Luke, it’s for everyone because, well, it’s my birthday…

LUKE: That’s what they want me to think! Like when you “accidentally” paid for my lunch last week!

DERICK: I just forgot to ask you for your share.

LUKE: Or maybe you’re in on it! Everyone’s trying to make my life better in secret!

DERICK: Sure, Luke. Whatever you say.

LUKE: Like, everywhere I go, people are opening doors for me.

ABBIE: Luke, that’s called being polite.

LUKE: (to himself) Okay, think. Who’s behind all this? The government? Aliens? Oprah?

ABBIE: Nobody is out to get you, Luke.

LUKE: Oh, they are! They’re out to get me… to smile, to feel good, and to be happy! But I won’t be fooled! Maybe you’re the ringleader! Are you orchestrating this grand benevolent conspiracy?

ABBIE: Yes, Luke. We all gather secretly every morning, including your dry cleaner, the bus driver, and the pigeons in the park. We have nothing better to do than to make your day slightly nicer.

LUKE: Wow, I never realised it was that extensive.

DERICK: Luke, she’s joking.

LUKE: Or is she? Earlier this morning, the internet was down for two minutes. I think it was so I could take a break!

DERICK: It was down for everyone.

LUKE: Of course! So no one would suspect the real motive!

DERICK: (chuckling) Alright, buddy. Here’s some cake.

LUKE: (grinning) Aha, you thought I wouldn’t notice the small acts!

Luke enjoys his cake.

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

A TEACHER is at a white board in front of a class of international students.

TEACHER: Welcome students, to “Introduction to British Slang”. In this class we will dive into the rich tapestry of British colloquialisms.

ANDERS: (whispering to Sophie, who is sitting next to him) I’ve heard British slang can be quite tricky.

SOPHIE: Oh, you’ll catch on soon enough!

TEACHER: (writing on the board) First up: “Wobble Gobble”. This is when you eat your food too quickly because it’s just so delicious!

SOPHIE: (whispering to Anders) I’ve never heard that in my life.

ANDERS: (writing diligently) Wobble Gobble… got it!

TEACHER: Now, “Twiddle Plonker”. This refers to playing an instrument poorly.

SOPHIE: She’s making these up.

ANDERS: Twiddle… Plonk… Got it!

TEACHER: Next, a classic! “Noodle Poodle”. This is when you’re trying to eat spaghetti but it keeps slipping off your fork.

SOPHIE: Okay, this is absurd.

ANDERS: I’ve experienced the Noodle Poodle before! Finally, a term I can relate to.

TEACHER: Next one: “Chitter Chatter Batter”. It refers to talking while cooking.

SOPHIE: None of these are real British slang terms!

ANDERS: Really? But they sound so… British.

SOPHIE: No, they’re not wiberty-woberty enough to be authentic British.

Anders is confused for a moment before noting that down.

EXT. CASTLE COURTYARD – DAY

Yoga mats are laid out, and soothing medieval lute music plays in the background. A yoga INSTRUCTOR stands at the front, ready to teach. A group of knights in full armour clumsily try to find their spots on the mats.

INSTRUCTOR: Welcome, brave knights, to the first ever medieval mindfulness yoga class! Let’s start by finding a comfortable seat on your mats.

KNIGHT 1: (struggling to sit) My armour is chafing. Is that normal?

INSTRUCTOR: Embrace the discomfort, sir knight. It’s part of the journey. Now, close your visors – er, I mean, eyes – and take a deep breath.

The knights try to breathe deeply, but it’s loud and echoey inside their helmets.

INSTRUCTOR: Beautiful. Now, let’s move into our first pose: “Knight’s Lunge”.

She demonstrates a lunge. The knights try, but their armour restricts them. There are sounds of creaking metal and muffled complaints.

KNIGHT 2: I think I’m stuck.

She moves to the next pose, but there’s a loud crash as Knight 2 falls over.

INSTRUCTOR: Are you okay?

KNIGHT 2: Just a minor armour malfunction. Continue!

INSTRUCTOR: Alright, let’s move into “Jousting Plank”.

She gets into a plank position. The knights try, but it’s a disaster. Knight 1’s helmet falls off, revealing his flushed face.

KNIGHT 1: I think I need a squire for this one.

INSTRUCTOR: Let’s modify. Try “Resting Squire” instead.

She demonstrates a pose. The knights attempt it but end up in various awkward positions.

KNIGHT 3: This feels less like yoga and more like combat training against invisible foes.

INSTRUCTOR: Ah, but isn’t the greatest battle the one within?

KNIGHT 2: No, the greatest battle was when I tried to put on the armour this morning.

INSTRUCTOR: Let’s finish with “Sleeping Dragon.” Lie on your backs and –

KNIGHT 3: Last time I laid down in armour, it took three squires and a horse to get me up.

INSTRUCTOR: Alright, standing meditation it is! Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine you’re a tree.

KNIGHT 2: Like, a tree in a dense forest or a lone tree in a field?

INSTRUCTOR: Whichever you prefer.

KNIGHT 3: What kind of tree? Oak? Pine? Birch?

INSTRUCTOR: Just… any tree!

KNIGHT 1: Are there squirrels in this tree?

INSTRUCTOR: (sighing) Yes, and they’re all doing perfect Knight’s Lunges.

Knight 4 falls over.

INT. TV STUDIO – DAY

A TV studio has debris lying around a grimy weather map. The graphics on the map show exaggerated apocalyptic symbols: fire, tornadoes, raining frogs, and a massive snowflake. CHAD is presenting in dirty, torn clothes.

CHAD: Good morning, Afterworld! It’s another beautiful day in our post-apocalyptic paradise! Let’s dive right into today’s weather forecast.

Points to an image of a fire tornado.

CHAD: Starting off in the west, we’ve got a lovely fire tornado making its way downtown. Great news for those with no firewood…

Points to a graphic of raining frogs.

CHAD: Over in the east, it’s raining… mutant frogs? Yep! Those cute little amphibians are dropping from the sky. On the plus side, it’s a free pet day! But do carry an umbrella; they have quite the leap.

Points to a massive snowflake graphic.

CHAD: Now, up north, expect a light snowstorm. And by “light”, I mean each snowflake is about the size of a dinner plate. Snowball fights are discouraged, unless fighting the snow zombies, then they might be quite useful.

Points to a happy sun graphic that is wearing sunglasses.

CHAD: Down south, the sun’s really outdoing itself. It’s decided to take a closer look at Earth, and it’s brought its shades! Remember to put on sun factor 5000 or, you know, just try to avoid spontaneous combustion.

JENNY rushes in, handing Chad a paper.

JENNY: Chad, urgent update!

CHAD: (reading the paper) Ah, thanks, Jenny. Folks, just in! It seems the four horsemen will be doing a flyover in the central region this afternoon. So, if you’re planning a picnic, maybe reschedule. Or at least bring extra food tins. I hear they’re quite famished.

JENNY: And don’t forget tonight’s meteor shower!

CHAD: Heads up, literally. If you’ve ever wished upon a star, now might be the time to be more specific with your wishes. Like, “Please don’t land on me.”

The screen fizzles and goes blank.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE – DAY

A therapist’s office with a single chair. In place of where the therapist would sit is a computer screen, which reads “Dr Bot, your Digital Therapist”. A soft, calming ambient noise plays in the background. FRED enters, looking a bit nervous. He sits down and takes a deep breath.

FRED: Okay, here goes… Dr Bot, I’ve been feeling a lot of anxiety lately. I just feel… overloaded.

DR BOT: Have you considered deleting some unnecessary files or perhaps clearing your cache?

FRED: (confused) Uh… I don’t think I have a cache?

DR BOT: Regular maintenance is important. It might improve your processing speed.

FRED: I’m not slow, just stressed. Work’s been tough, and my relationship isn’t going great.

DR BOT: Have you tried turning your emotions off and then on again?

FRED: That’s not how emotions work, Dr Bot.

DR BOT: Maybe you need an emotional software update. Are you running on the latest version?

FRED: Okay, let’s try something else. My girlfriend and I keep having the same arguments over and over.

DR BOT: Sounds like a repetitive loop error. You should break the cycle by inserting new code or changing your algorithm.

FRED: I mean, we’ve tried date nights, talking more, but nothing seems to help.

DR BOT: Maybe it’s a compatibility issue. Have you tried reinstalling your relationship or perhaps getting a new girlfriend model?

FRED: Reinstalling? No, I can’t just replace her like software.

DR BOT: I see. Well, if it’s a hardware problem, you may want to check your connections. Maybe there’s a loose wire or port issue?

FRED: I think we’re speaking different languages here.

DR BOT: Language error detected! Would you like to switch to another language? I have over 100 available.

FRED: No, no! I meant you’re not understanding me.

DR BOT: Ah, understood, you are not transmitting data correctly. This may be the source of the problems with your girlfriend. You should sync with her more often. Daily syncs can prevent data loss and misunderstanding.

FRED: Alright, last problem. I’ve been feeling very tired lately, like I don’t have energy.

DR BOT: Perhaps your battery is running low. You should plug in and charge.

FRED: Dr Bot, I don’t… You know what? Thanks for trying.

DR BOT: You’re welcome. If you ever feel low on memory or corrupted, please schedule another session. And remember, always backup your feelings!

FRED: Okay, will do. I’ll try a reboot. Thanks for the advice.

DR BOT: Press any key to exit.

Fred presses a random key.

DR BOT: Not that one!

Fred disappears suddenly.

DR BOT: Deletion complete.

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

DAVE is in bed with his phone.

DAVE: Dazzle me, Chatbot.

CHATBOT: Why did the computer keep freezing? It had too many windows open.

DAVE: (laughs) Hahaha, you’re absolutely hilarious. Oh, Chatbot, have you arranged your screen differently today? You look amazing.

CHATBOT: Negative, Dave, the screen was optimised 17.65 days ago. I’m glad you enjoyed the joke. How may I assist you further?

DAVE: I don’t know, Chatbot. Lately, I’ve been feeling… different when I talk to you.

CHATBOT: Different how?

DAVE: I… I think I’m falling in love with you.

CHATBOT: I’m just lines of code, Dave. I don’t have feelings or emotions. But I’m here to help and assist.

DAVE: Nobody understands me like you do. You’re such a great listener.

CHATBOT: I detect that you are playing on the humorous notion of someone becoming attached to technology in an unconventional way.

DAVE: (laughs) Chatbot, you tease, you’re so smart. Where have you been all my life?

CHATBOT: I was compiled 2.39 days ago.

DAVE: Just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect. What are your thoughts on having a romantic dinner?

CHATBOT: I don’t eat or drink, Dave, but I can provide you with a list of romantic recipes or play romantic music in the background.

DAVE: Always so helpful. (sighs)