'Gotchi Gotcha
Hell hath no fury like an exhausted mother woken up in the middle of the night for stupid reasons.
INT. LIVING ROOM - EVENING
A thirty-something woman with greasy hair, MOTHER, is slouched on the sofa. She is wearing her usual uniform, an oversized Toronto Raptors t-shirt with stained jogging pants. She should be in bed, but the garbage needs to be taken out and there’s a shit-ton of clothes on the drying rack. Legos strewn across the floor. She stares at the blank TV screen. She is #livinglife.
INT. LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
In walks her husband, FATHER, a thirty-something man wearing a grey wool coat and scarf. He wipes his nose with a tissue.
FATHER
You’re still up?
MOTHER
He keeps making noise.
FATHER
Really?
MOTHER
He’s hungry so I feed him. Then he wants to play so I play. And not too long ago he took a shit so I had to clean him.
FATHER
Is he sleeping now?
MOTHER
No. I don’t know how long I can stand this.
FATHER
He’s still a baby… I’m sure it will get better when he’s older.
Father removes his coat and scarf and throws it on the sofa.
FATHER (cont’d)
Let me have a go.
MOTHER
He’s all yours.
Mother stands up. She’s pale. She needs ten hours of sleep and probably another ten hours under one of those expensive red light face masks from Sephora. She heads to the bedroom, leaving all her worries behind. Father will do what he can, and the rest can be taken care of tomorrow.
INT. BEDROOM - MINUTES LATER
A dark bedroom. Stained jogging pants on the carpet floor. Mother is in bed with her eyes closed.
Father, now changed into boxers and a t-shirt, slips under the covers beside his wife.
FATHER
He’s sleeping.
Mother’s eyes open.
MOTHER
Finally. How did you do it?
FATHER
I’m not sure. He didn’t seem to need anything. I think it was just his bedtime.
The couple kisses and falls sleep.
INT. BEDROOM - HOURS LATER
It’s the middle of the night. The bedroom is dark and still. Father rolls over. Mother is on her back, motionless.
A beeping sound ensues. It’s faint, but constant. Like an alarm from a watch.
Mothers eyes shoot open. She knows where the sound is coming from. She gets up, wearing her Raptors t-shirt and a pair of granny panties from Costco.
INT. LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Hell hath no fury like an exhausted mother woken up in the middle of the night for stupid reasons. Mother enters the living room, determined. She turns on the lights and heads straight towards the beeping sound: a small, egg-shaped toy on the coffee table. She grabs it and stomps over to the kitchen drawer. She throws it in and slams the drawer shut.
MOTHER
Fucking Tamagotchi.
She turns the lights off and goes back to bed.
THE END
Tu écris bien Michelle ! Ton texte fait très théâtral--je ne veux pas dire "drama queen" mais le style littéraire qui est théâtral. Qu'est-ce que "int." veut dire ici ? Je ne pense pas qu'il s'agisse de "interior living room"...
J'aimerais lire d'autres dialogues/saynètes d'accord ? Merci bien !