Writer, Poet, Antagonist

A Moment


MIKE and NANCY sit almost motionless at opposite ends of the sofa in a darkened living room.
Faces illuminated by the glow of the screen.
MIKE 28, Wiry and dark haired, tense with persistent inertia, a nervous energy that makes him hair triggered. NANCY 23, small yet leonine in her curves and shock of dark gold curls that pick up and carry the colours of the screens Radiance.
The static tension of lovers at Loggerheads saturates the Living room.
The Low audio of some vapid regional soap opera permeates the, Just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to cover a...
SIGH simultaneous and frustrated. both watchers desperate to change the channel.
Noticing the odd synchronous exhalation. Nancy allows a glimmer of a smile, Mike shifts in his seat.

The couple glance at each other for barely a second.


They harden again, continuing to glare at the screen unmoving.
The remote control sits in the empty void of plush seating.
A black rectangle stark against biscuit velvet that bounces the colours of the screen
Strobing, green, blue, pink, then golden.
The couple behave forcibly oblivious of each other, avoiding eye contact, touch even the invasion of personal space.
The remote control waits, still.
Mike flicks his eyes to the right, glances down at the control, then at the Stone faced Nancy. then back to the TV.
He doesn’t want to take the opportunity.
After a moment, Nancy does the same. Glancing down at her chance to end the stalemate, then at Mike. Choosing to resume her watching.Not willing to give him something to argue about.
After a further agonizing moment of tension. Mike shifts in his seat. Gets up and leaves to go to the kitchen.
Nancy ignores his passing, glaring through him at a program she hasn’t a single ounce of interest in.
A moment after he leaves.

she dives for the remote. pressing a button, any button. the program changes. soft music the screen glows red.

Mike stands in the kitchen. listless.
Unsure why he is even in the room. he goes first to the fridge.
Gazing in passively as if the cold light were an open window to a Grey day.
Then to the kettle. it's already full but as he reaches to press the switch he hesitates.


(Under breath) Fucks-sake...what’s the point. just gonna get a mouthful...

His frustration rising he oscillates between walking away and making the cup of tea he wants, before.
rolling his eyes he bellows.


(cont’d)NANCE! Fancy a tea?

Nancy Starts, flustered at the shout that broke the silence. and before she can stop herself.


No thanks babe!

She winces at the pet name. They are not on pet name terms.
The kettle begins to boil in the adjoining kitchen and her frustration rises with the steam.
Grabbing a pillow she punches at it. angry at herself for always giving in to him.
She mimes her reply as the kettle boils


(cont’d) (parody to herself) Thanks babe, thanks babe, babe babe babe ugh..

She stops short as Mike comes back into the room with a mug of tea and a sandwich. Balances the plate on the arm of the sofa he sips his tea
Then casually sits in his usual spot. Silence ensues.
The tension rises.


...Nice of you to make me one...

The final straw for mike.
In one deft move he swipes the plate and sandwich to the floor. Picks up his tea and strides into the kitchen. The plate bounces but does not break. Bread, cheese and lettuce splatter across the carpet.


(cont’d) Oh! really mature Micheal


Fuck off!

Mike rounds the corner to the kitchen.
Still fuming he throws his full mug into the sink,
Scalding tea splashes up his arms, he snaps.


(cont’d) (screaming) Je-sus Aah. I can’t fucking. take this . I can’t take it.

turning again, he storms back into the living room



INT. LIVING ROOM -DAY(immediate)

Sunlight streams through the windows.
The morning sun comes burning through the windows.
Stopping him in his tracks.
The carpet is clear, the sofa empty.
Mike stands in the living room dazed as a noise at the front door.
The front door opens and Nancy enters dressed from work, drops her keys and handbag next to the television.
Noticing Mike, stock still standing in the same Baggy joggers faded t-shirt and mismatched socks she had last seen him in the night before. She glowers at him.


Where the hell have you been Michael?


Adrian Earle