We should not, like sheep, follow the herd of creatures in front of us, making our way where others go, not where we ought to go.”
FADE IN:
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
THE CAMERA PANS across the dimly lit room. There is a lamp on a piano, toys everywhere, upturned chairs, tennis balls, a guitar flung across the sofa, dog-eared books.
THE CAMERA PULLS BACK, out of the patio doors, across the balcony to the street outside, across a small garden and to the apartment building opposite. The facade of the building has numerous windows and patio doors, MOSTLY shuttered closed.
THE CAMERA MOVES DOWN towards the left side of the building. There is a light on in one of the apartments. THE CAMERA MOVES TOWARDS the apartment, inside a shadowy figure moves in silhouette behind a light net curtain.
THE CAMERA PULLS SLOWLY BACK across to the apartment opposite.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM – NEXT MORNING
ALICE (still 3, nearly 4) sits eating breakfast at a round table. On her left is APOCALYPSE DADDY (a two-week beard, red eye, wrinkles forming), slumped over his coffee.
On Alice’s right is APOCALYPSE MOMMY (still looking like Elizabeth Taylor) peeling an orange with all the poise of a yoga teacher. It’s a breakfast scene playing out in a million places across the world where families are fortunate enough to have such luxury.
ALICE
Daddy, can we read seven books today?
Apocalypse Daddy slumps a little further down into his chair, his head
almost IN his coffee.
APOCALYPSE DADDY
It’s Mommy’s turn to home-teach today though.
APOCALYPSE MOMMY
‘Fraid not kiddo. I have fitness with Joe Wicks at nine followed by a HIT class with Tim Taylor at ten. I’m then going to a virtual tour of The Guggenheim at eleven before I have lunch with the girls on Zoom at midday.
Apocalypse Daddy slumps further down. And falls off his chair.
Apocalypse Mommy and Alice laugh.
APOCALYPSE DADDY
And this afternoon?
APOCALYPSE MOMMY
I’m going to the New York Zoo with Sophie at two followed by a cooking class with Gordon Ramsey at four. I’m going to try and fit in a yoga class with that woman off the TV before drinks with the girls on Zoom at seven. Could you bath the kids?
BEAT.
APOCALYPSE DADDY
(inaudible moaning)
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. ALICE’S BEDROOM – LATER
Alice and Apocalypse Daddy sit on the bed reading “Ada Twist, Scientist”. They are both eating ice-cream. Judging by the wrappers littered across the bed, it’s not the first. Apocalypse Daddy looks at his watch.
C/U watch. It reads 10.04 a.m.
ALICE
Daddy, where does Ada Marie live on the world map.
Apocalypse Daddy leans sideways and points to America with his ice-cream cone.
APOCALYPSE DADDY
America. Across the Atlantic Ocean, over to the Eastern seaboard, past New York, Boston. She’s probably from California.
ALICE
What’s California?
APOCALYPSE DADDY
It’s a place. Here.
Apocalypse Daddy points to California with his ice-cream.
ALICE
And Cinderella, where does Cinderella live on the world map?
APOCALYPSE DADDY
(hesitating)
She is from… Do you know what a stereotype is Alice?
ALICE
No, where is Cinderella on the world map?
APOCALYPSE DADDY
I want to say Stockholm, but I think that might be type casting Cinderella.
Alice drops her ice-cream on the bed, stands up and faces the world map.
ALICE
Where is Kevin the Koala from on the world map?
APOCALYPSE DADDY
That’s easy, Australia.
Apocalypse Daddy stands up.
APOCALYPSE DADDY
Get the binoculars. Meet me in the living room.
INT. LIVING ROOM – MOMENTS LATER
Apocalypse Daddy is sitting on a wicker chair next to the living room window. Alice walks into the room, around the mess of toys, books and musical instruments and gives Apocalypse Daddy the binoculars. He immediately lifts them to his eyes.
ALICE
What are you doing Daddy?
The CAMERA MOVES IN until Apocalypse Daddy’s head and the binoculars fill the screen.
CUT TO:
INT. APARTMENT OPPOSITE – PREVIOUS NIGHT
A man wearing an N95 mask is maniacally packing a suitcase, ramming clothes in without even folding them! He stops and glances up towards the net curtains.
INT. LIVING ROOM
Apocalypse Daddy quickly lowers the binoculars and reaches for a can of beer on the floor by his chair. He takes a long gulp, then raises the binoculars again.
INT. APARTMENT OPPOSITE
The man closes his suitcase, stands up and walks out of his living room. The BINOCULARS PAN HIM as he goes into the kitchen and washes his hands. Then washes his hands again. Through the view of the binoculars we follow the man into a bedroom. He opens the wardrobe door, lifts clothes. It is not clear through the binoculars but he takes a small black object and puts it in his pocket. He then goes back to the kitchen and washes his hands.
CUT TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM – NEXT DAY
The breakfast scene from the previous day is repeated. Apocalypse Daddy is watching Alice as she drops toast on the floor. He seems a little distant this morning. Apocalypse Mommy is talking, but we can’t hear her.
BEAT.
Apocalypse Mommy’s voice becomes audible mid-sentence.
APOCALYPSE MOMMY
…then at three I have a tour of the Tate Modern, they have a new exhibition on the life cycle of food in modern art. After that I have HIT class with TT the PT and then drinks with the girls –
APOCALYPSE DADDY
I think the neighbour is up to something.
APOCALYPSE MOMMY
Who isn’t?
ALICE
Daddy, what is he up? Up where, in the sky like a kite? Where does Snow White live on the word map, Daddy?
APOCALYPSE DADDY
I saw him last night.
APOCALYPSE MOMMY
You saw him? Are you a peeping tom now?
ALICE
Snow white’s a girl. What’s a peeping tom?
APOCALYPSE DADDY
I was just looking at the neighbours with the binoculars. If you think about it, now would be the perfect time to commit the perfect crime. No cops, no people, lots of cleaning products. You could just go to the hardware store, buy eight bags of lime and say you need to scrub your door handles.
ALICE
Can I have some chocolate?
Alice starts sobbing uncontrollably.
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Apocalypse Daddy makes himself comfortable in his chair by the window. He opens a beer. The house is quiet. The only time it is quiet. The middle of the night. He raises the binoculars to his eyes.
INT. APARTMENT OPPOSITE
Through the binoculars we see the same man as the night before, his back to the camera, obstructed by a sofa. Is that a rope in his hands? He bends down and drags something heavy, stops, stands. Then tries again.
INT. LIVING ROOM
Apocalypse Daddy lowers the binoculars, tenses with fear. Raises the binoculars again.
INT. APARTMENT OPPOSITE
Half of a man’s body can now be clearly seen lying on the floor.
INT. LIVING ROOM
Apocalypse Daddy lowers the binoculars.
APOCALYPSE DADDY
(to himself)
Nobody’s going to believe me.
To be continued…