30 Minute Misery Loop (485 words)

The set wobbles as an attractive and unfeasibly made up young lady  enters the house and slams the door shut behind her. She is wearing a tabard over jeans and a blouse, the tabard obviously denoting she does manual work for a living.

"Mam?" She shouts, casting a glance up the stairs, where a hotels worth of bedrooms supposedly are.

"In the kitchen pet" Comes the off camera reply.

The young lady walks through the living room and into the kitchen where a middle aged woman is sat at the dining table. She is surrounded by crumpled tissues, has blatantly been crying and is holding a letter.

"what's the matter mam?" asks the daughter who looks nothing like her mother "What's that letter?"
she adds curiously, because asking about people private mail is totally acceptable in this world.

"Oh its nothing" the mother replies stuffing it into her cardigan pocket with a flourish.

"Something's up mam, I can tell"

This causes the mother to breakdown into unconvincing sobs "Oh Carol, its awful, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, honest" she wails.

"Ooh Mam what's the matter?" asks the concerned daughter.

"It's your Dad …."

Dramatic Pause!

"Is he ok? Is the cancer back? Have the navy called him back up again? Is it the power plant?"

"No it's worse than that … "

"Have the Triads found him?"

"No, your dad, my husband of thirty years … he's really my brother!"

Freeze Frame while the rapt audience are force fed the idea that they need a new sofa, car, the latest album by some insipid boyband for three minutes.

Cue music and back to the action

We are no longer in the house we are now in a busy, bustling yet almost silent pub. All of the streets residents are in there, even the ones with small children.
The main rule of this utopia is "If they aren't in the scene they don't exist"

Some extras are playing darts in the background, chatting away silently. The camera pans away from them and settles on a group of pensioners in a booth.

"Well he claims it was in self-defence" Says the head of the table, a walking stereotype with rollers still in her hair.

"Self-defence" Scoffs her neighbour, the busy body from the newsagents "How can it be self-defence when he reversed over her twice?"

"She had a gun!" Says another pointless old person, the murderers aunt.

"It wasn't real!" Says the head of the table, the victim's aunt. "It were little Tommy' spud gun, she was waving it at him so he didn't forget it"

All conversation stops dead in the bar as the door opens and a middle aged man, wearing a suit walks in. This is obviously the aforementioned murderer.

"Evening all" He says to the open mouthed, staring crowd. "Pint please Cass, looks like I'm here to stay"

Freeze frame, roll credits.

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