Sunday Night Dinner - Script

A script that I wrote in English Lit and Language class.
Characters:
Mother
Father
Christina
Helen
Father Two
[It is a warm Sunday afternoon in Fall. The hands on the clock point towards the miniature four. A family of four sit on a garden bench with a black table cloth covering the large table set between the two benches of which the family of four have spread themselves out upon. The makeshift dinning table is set between two patios an the legs of the table have been hammered into the grass so that the table will not move when pressure is applied. There is a slight wind which makes the edges of the table cloth flutter and the little blades of grass collide with one another. The sky is an array of blues, yellows and reds all swirling together like an experiment on an artist's pallet. A soft rock album called No Sound Without Silence by The Script plays in the background. The older male in the family brings out a chicken and hands it to his wife to carve. She starts to carve as the two sister animatedly talk.]
Helen: I manage to secure my A in biology after all. You know how I was ever so worried about it. I needn't have worried one bit. A bit of worrying is good, I say; it shows that you care but there comes a line when you worry too much that you become ill. I know that I stepped over that line. I believe Mother was extremely worried.
Christina: Yeah, well I managed an A* in English, I am mega chuffed with myself on that one.
Helen: Oh? Well done you! Congrats Hun. So whilst one of us is going to become a pathologist the other is going to become an English teacher or journalist. Isn't that what you said to Father that you wanted to do?
[Christina shrugs]
Christina: Uh. Yeah. I did.I guess I could become either really. Watcha want to become a pathologist for anyway? Don't you have to take a degree in biology for that?
Helen: Yes you do and why? Well, I find it interesting.
Christina: Bloody disgusting. Get it? Bloody ....
[Christina laughs at her own joke but stops when she sees the look on her father's face]
Father: [Snaps] Don't you dare start dissing your sister like that!
Christina [Sheepishly] Sorry Dad, sorry Hel.
Father: Your sister's name is Helen not Hel. Do not shorten it, Chris.
[Christina and Helen exchange a knowing glance]
Mother: Come on darling sit down, I have your chicken right here.
[The Mother hands over the Father's plate loaded with chicken]
Father: Thank the Lord, about time.
[The Mother goes back to carving the chicken]
Father: So, well done to both of you on your results.
Helen: Oh! I also got a B+ in History, the highest in the class.
Christina: My friend said that you gotta make sure that the chicken is flavoured properly otherwise it's just going to taste like cardboard.
Mother: Why yes Christina that is why we flavour our chicken; to give it some flavour and add a bit of extravagance to our meals.
[The Father eyes Christina suspiciously and then diverts his attention to chasing a stranded pea around his plate.]
Christina: I know that Mum, I was only repeating what my mate said.
Mother: Very well Christina. Here is your chicken, darling angel.
[Christina takes her chicken and places her bright red plate upon the black table cloth. She looks to the sky and the sky has darkened somewhat. It looks like an artist is experimenting with different colours and is now mixing a darker blue among with the reds and blues. The cheerful yellow that was once in the sky has now been eradicated. The Mother hands Helen her food and sets the knife on the place mat next to the striped chicken corpse.]
Father: [To Christina] Eat your food Chris, you have English finals tomorrow and you need your strength.
Christina: Yes Daddy. [She starts to eat]
Father: [He spears a piece of chicken] Time is a ticking bomb.
[Everyone stares at him. The mother reaches out and touches his hand gently with her fingertips. He yanks his hand back with such ferocity that it seemed like her touch burnt him physically.]
Mother: What do you mean, honey?
Father: What I mean is that time will be the end of us all eventually and no one cares. There is no one there that can stop time from ticking away. We all have a set number of days, hours, minutes, seconds until our time is up. Then the time bomb detonates and destruction consumes us all. Until one stops breathing, a heart stops beating. Family and friends cry so so much that they can barely even see. They let the smoke, from infernos in their hearts, infect their minds. [He pauses and takes a swig of cider] They lose what will never return to them and they let those fires in their hearts burn away until there is nothing left. No one helps and no one cares, not one single person. There is no sparks, no hope. People lose their hearts over time bombs and at the end of the day ... what are we destined for hm?
[Everyone stares at the Father]
Father: Well?
Christina: [Timidly] What are we destined for, Daddy.
Father: [Bellowing] Dust you stupid girl!
Mother: Now now darling, even if that is what we are destined for, which we do not know, scientifically we do know something.
Father: What?
Mother: That the energy never dies. Our love will never die. Everywhere we go we leave little sentiments. Little particles of energy that will still be here until the sun swallows the Earth in fifty million years time. I have always said that if hate is the poison in this world then love is definitely the cure.
[The Father takes the Mother's hand in his and gently runs his thumb across her knuckles.]
Father: I never need to worry when I have you by my side. I would jump into the fire for you.
Mother: You are not alone darling. We are in this together.
[Christina still is not eating even though everyone else has started once more]
Father; [Sternly] Eat!
Christina: I'm not hungry.
[The Father springs up and strides over to Christina and flings her food across the garden. The red plate smashes and spreads amongst the grass blades]
Father; There! Now you don't have to eat it!
Mother: Honey, please calm down.
[She gets up and crosses the lawn to where the Father stands. She starts drawing patterns on the Father's arms and you could see him visibly calm down]
Mother: There you go, darling, you need to breathe and calm down.
Father: Sorry Christina, I flipped.
Helen: It happens to us all Dad, I wouldn't worry about it.
Christina: I didn't want it anyway. No offence Dad but your food and cooking suck. You don't ever flavour the chicken.
[The Father's face looks contorted, like he is trying to hold something back but is failing epically.]
Father: That is not a nice thing to say at all.
[His head snaps to one side]
Father Two: No it wasn't but what are you going to do about it? Me? I would punish her and punish her good.
[The Father's head snaps back]Father: Punish her ... but how?Father Two: Up to you.
Mother: [Whispers] Oh crap! Crap, crap, crap!
[Helen and Christina exchange worried glances]
Father: Oh I wonder...
Christina: I'm sorry, I was so worried about my English final tomorrow, I didn't wanna eat.
Father: Why are you worried, Chris?
Christina: I lied about my grades. ... I'm really getting E's and at my best D's.
Father: [Yells] ... You ... You ... WHAT??!!!
Father Two: PUNISH HER AND PUNISH HER NOW GO ON! DO IT! SHE DESERVES IT!!!
[The Father climbs across the table and transfers the knife, used to carve the chicken, from the mat to his hand. He hurtles himself at Christina, who lets out a strangled yell for help. Helen and the Mother are frozen to the spot. The Father raises the knife high in the air and with a flash he cuts through the air and buries the deep within Christina. The air is filled with Christina's cries full of: pain, anguish and late apologies. The Father raises the knife and lowers it again and again, until he had created a hole in his daughter's torso. Her blood seeps out of her body. The crimson fluid joins the shattered pieces of her red plate. Her blood creates a beautiful dot pattern amongst the green grass blades. To anyone else green and red swirled together creates a sickening feeling, but not to the Father. The sky had now turned purple and black. The artist is trying to make something of such dark colours]
Christina: [Whispers faintly] If I could turn back time and rewrite those lies then I would.
Father Two: It's too late you little scum bag. I have punished you for what you did. I do not tolerate liars, Chris.
Christina: It's Christina, not Chris, Father.
[The Father kicks his daughter as she takes her last shake-y breath.]
Mother: You ... You're a monster. You've just killed our daughter.
Father: [Claps] Oh well done Hun. Congrats for stating the obvious. You're so good at that.
Helen [Hesitantly] Dad? What's wrong with you?
Father: No! I will not kill the other child. I am so sorry darling. I should have told you earlier. I ... I ... I ...
Mother: Your Father has a split personality Helen, sweetie. A psychopath and his normal self. We had him on medication but it looks like he has not been taking it and because of that foolish behaviour you have lost a sister and I, a daughter and he has lost a daughter ... and a wife.
[The Mother grabs Helen and sprints into the house, The Father looks at the emptying corpse of his daughter and screams. The sky is now a shade of pure black like the artist has stopped swirling colours on his pallet, trying to make things bright and bold. The artist has given up completely and painted the whole canvas black, ignoring the impulse to brighten the painting by  sprinkling white and yellow onto the canvas to create stars. There is no brightness in this painting. No hope. Christina's time bomb has detonated and she is in a world of darkness. There is no brightness ... not any more. The soft rock album finishes. Silence and darkness reigns supreme.]