In the dawn, as light creeps in,
As shadows fade on skin to skin,
The groan still lingers, soft and sweet,
Upon one breathing, tender beat.
In the cool of day, when bodies part,
Still beats the rhythm of a single heart.
Though distanced, we are as one,
Bound by what the night had spun.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A BLOCK OF FLATS – NIGHT
An empty, windowless staircase of a block of flats is
shown from the top of a flight of stairs. Around the corner of the stairwell, footsteps
can be heard trudging upwards, getting closer.
Guy emerges from around the corner, dishevelled and
weary, ascending the staircase. He steadies himself on the handrail and pauses
to catch his breath.
GUY (V.O.): I’ve been climbing these stairs for so long. I can’t
remember how I started… when was it? Where was it? Where does it lead? I don’t
know.
He resumes and climbs the steps. The landing at the top,
like every landing on the staircase, has four doors – two facing the stairs and
one at either end facing each other. The staircase continues, as it always does,
around the corner of the stairwell.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A GOTHIC MANSION – CONTINUOUS
Guy sees that the new flight of stairs above him are
those of a gothic mansion.
GUY (V.O.): Always different, always the same.
He walks past a large ornately framed mirror on the wall
of the stairs. He has no reflection.
He stops at an oil painting of a woman in a cloak. The
surface of the portrait is behind glass. He touches the pane of glass and lingers
there.
GUY (V.O.): Mirrors without reflections, paintings that stare
into your soul...
A piercing shriek is heard in the distance from farther
down the staircase. Guy is afraid and resumes his climb with urgency.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF AN OFFICE BLOCK – CONTINUOUS
He climbs a flight of stairs two steps at a time.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A SUBURBAN HOME – CONTINUOUS
He begins walking up the next flight of stairs, this time
the stairwell is decorated like a suburban home.
GUY (V.O.): I’ve tried countless doors along the way. Some just
lead to hallways with more doors, others to stranger places. But they always
bring me back here. To the endless steps.
He approaches the door on the left-end of the landing. He
puts his ear to the door, then opens it with a gentle push. Only pitch-black
nothingness is visible within.
GUY (V.O.): I need to rest, find food, or drink. The
staircase isn’t safe. (looking down the staircase) The creature...
Guy steps through the door, disappearing from view. Silence.
The faint, distant sound of footsteps can be heard on the
staircase resuming somewhere unseen.
GUY (V.O.): Some doors open easily; others remain forever
closed. The untried ones... they haunt me the most.
CUT TO BLACK.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A HOTEL – NIGHT
Around the corner of the stairwell, laboured footsteps
can be heard. Guy emerges from around the corner, looking exhausted. He is
breathing heavily and moving more slowly than before, weighed down by fatigue.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek echoes through the staircase.
The creature is closer than ever.
Guy lumbers up the stairs and opens a door. Darkness
envelops the other side, filled with indistinct, whispering voices.
He shuts the door and tries another. It is locked. Guy turns
around to see the creature, a terrifying silhouetted apparition, looming at the
bottom of the stairs.
Desperately, he tries another door. It is also locked.
The creature approaches.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A CASTLE – NIGHT
Guy runs away up the next flight of stairs, a stone
staircase of a medieval castle.
At the hallway, Guy pushes against a heavy wooden door.
It shudders open slowly under pressure. He crams inside and rams the door shut
behind him.
INT. DARK CAVE – CONTINUOUS
Guy is in a dark cave, dimly lit by daylight filtering
through a distant cavemouth. The creature’s shriek reverberates loudly on the
other side of the door.
Guy moves towards the daylight, navigating through
puddles of seawater and clambering over rocks.
EXT. DESOLATE BEACH – CONTINUOUS
Emerging onto a deserted pebbly beach beside a cliff, Guy
pauses to catch his breath. The waves crash against the shore.
He trudges along the desolate, windswept shore. He passes
a top hat, spinning in the surf.
Further along, he notices a knife, its blade embedded in
the wet sand. He pauses, looking at it, then moves on.
A dog appears, running energetically along the beach. It
dashes past Guy without a glance, bounding off into the distance.
In the near distance a man emerges from the sea wearing a
drenched suit. The pale, middle-aged man stands in front of Guy, water dripping
from his clothes.
PALE MAN: Do you know the way?
GUY: No.
PALE MAN: It’s all the way down. Back the way you came.
The Pale Man’s unblinking gaze is fixed on Guy. Guy,
unnerved, walks around him. The Pale Man remains rigid on the spot, his gaze unmoved.
The sky begins to darken with the setting sun and approach
of night. Guy reaches the end of the beach and finds a cliff path. He climbs
it, with tired steps.
EXT. CLIFF TOP – LATER
Guy stands on a rock at the cliff’s edge, looking down at
the churning sea below. The wind howls around him, a lonely sound in the
gathering darkness.
He scans the horizon. The vastness stretches before him,
an endless expanse of water and sky.
GUY (V.O.): I muse on this rock, yet everything changes and remains
the same.
FADE OUT.
EXT. CLIFF TOP – NIGHT
The sun dips below the horizon, leaving Guy under a
blanket of stars. He stands motionless, his silhouette etched against the night
sky.
Out of the darkness, the Pale Man reappears behind Guy.
PALE MAN: (sneering) Are you alright?
GUY: I… I just want to be left alone.
The Pale Man’s smile widens unnaturally, revealing sharp,
menacing teeth. Its hands are claws, positioned upright to attack. Bursting
into blue flames, it hovers up off the ground, ready to descend upon its prey.
Guy is terrified and cowers in fear. He closes his eyes
tightly, expecting the inevitable.
When he opens them, the predator is screaming as it plummets
down the cliff. He peers over the edge as the screams stop on the jagged rocks
in the waves below. In the monster’s place on the cliff top stands a beautiful
woman in a hooded cloak. She remains silent and still, gazing out to sea, the
moonlight casting a soft glow around her.
Guy sits and watches the horizon with her. Overcome with
tiredness, he falls asleep.
EXT. CLIFF TOP – DAWN
Guy wakes. As the first light of dawn breaks, the woman
in a cloak fades into the rising sun.
FADE OUT.
EXT. CLIFF PATH – MORNING
Guy descends from the cliff, his steps leading him to a small
town nestled by the sea.
INT. CORNER SHOP – CONTINUOUS
Guy enters a corner shop. He browses the shelves, picking
up a bottle of water and several sandwiches. At the counter, he presents a card
from his pocket, but the cashier shakes his head.
CASHIER: No, we don’t accept this.
Guy is extremely hungry and thirsty; he flees out of the
shop with the provisions.
CASHIER: Stop!
EXT. TOWN STREET – CONTINUOUS
Guy runs onto the street and into the road, not noticing
an approaching car. There’s a screech of brakes, and he’s knocked to the
ground.
Guy looks up, severely dazed and injured, and sees Lexi looking
down at him.
LEXI: Help is on its way. Hang in there, Guy.
Guy loses consciousness.
INT. AMBULANCE – LATER
Guy lies in an ambulance, speeding towards the hospital.
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – LATER
Guy is wheeled through a hospital corridor on a trolley.
Nurses and doctors pass by in a blur.
He is wheeled through a door into a stairwell.
INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A HOSPITAL – CONTINUOUS
He is left on the landing of the staircase, alone and
confused. The door shuts behind him with a definitive click.
The staircase is silent, save for the sound of Guy’s laboured
breathing.
A door creaks open and eight-year-old Emma steps through.
EMMA: Daddy? Everything will be okay.
GUY: Em… Emma…
EMMA: You need to pass on now.
GUY: I’m sorry… I...
EMMA: I know.
GUY: I miss you, so much.
EMMA: We all miss you, daddy.
Emma hands Guy a small cuddly toy of a penguin, then
skips back through the door, disappearing from sight as the doors shuts.
A shriek from the creature echoes up the staircase. Guy, badly
injured on the trolley, hears the creature approaching.
In a burst of desperation, he climbs out of the trolley
and in great pain crawls to the nearest door, pounding on it with his remaining
strength.
The creature appears around the stairwell, its presence
more terrifying than ever.
The door swings open, revealing a crash test dummy seated
in a chair, surrounded by darkness, illuminated only by a single spotlight from
above.
CRASH TEST DUMMY: “What is the meaning of life” is the 404th
most asked question of the Great Oracle’s Database.
The spotlight turns off and the dummy vanishes into the
dark.
As the creature closes in on Guy, a sudden, blinding light bursts out from the room. Purple-gloved hands reach out and pull Guy through the door.
The door, marked “113”, slams shut behind him.
In the unending echo of my thoughts, you reside,
An artist who paints on the expansive canvas of my mind.
Threads of reason unravel, thoughts dance in an uncontrolled sway,
And from this chaotic ballet, a melody of madness begins to play.
In solitude's shadow, I walk alone,
A self-imposed exile from all I've known.
My truth, enclosed within sternest stone,
In fear of ever being shown.
In quest of life's grand purpose, here I muse,
Upon this earthly stage, where all must play;
Each heart in search of truth, in time does choose
The path it walks, beneath night or day.
Marlowe: (gasping) Neptune’s ocean shall not wash my blood clean from thy hand.
Shakespeare: Forgive me, Kit. But the world must never know the extent of your genius. Your plays, your words… they will be mine.
As Marlowe slumps to the floor, Shakespeare quickly gathers the manuscripts.
Shakespeare: You were the greatest, Marlowe. But now, you make me immortal with your death.
Exiting the tavern into the dark, cobblestone streets of Deptford, Shakespeare disappears into the night, Marlowe’s masterpieces in his possession.
Each step a mystery, each floor a disguise.
Pursued by a ghoul, relentless and dire,
His only respite, to endlessly aspire.
Doors he’s opened, realms explored,
Yet always, the stairs are restored.
Back to the climb, his inescapable fate,
Through doors of chance, or those that wait.
Some yield to kindness, some to might,
Others remain sealed, despite the fight.
Doors untried, secrets they keep,
While open ones passed as if asleep.
For respite, he enters doors ajar,
Seeking sustenance, near and far.
In the stairwell’s grip, he cannot rest,
Lest the terror behind completes its quest.
Weariness grips, his pace now slowed,
The shriek behind of dread and forebode.
Yet on he must go, in this stairway’s embrace,
Seeking an end to the relentless chase.
Beware the doors, lined in rows,
Each a story, each a pose.
Tempting knocks, with promises spun,
Yet in their frame, a journey’s undone.
For in this trip of life, so vast and wild,
Lose not yourself, nor be beguiled.
Resist the lure, of treatment unkind,
In the strength of true self is the peace you'll find.
Return to the road, let soul be your guide,
In the passing of life, let your spirit preside.
Berries, bright as blood upon the snow,
Speak of life amidst the deathly white,
A symbol of the warmth that embers show,
When winter logs burn and hearts alight.
When life challenges what we think we know,
And casts old certainties into the sea,
We find our truest self begins to grow,
In new realms of endless possibility.
The mirror of the soul reflects but a part,
Of truths we hold as constant and as dear,
Yet openness of mind and depth of heart,
Reveals a world where nothing is quite clear.
Our lives are adventures on this earth,
With tales of mystery and unknown ends,
Each step a part of the universe's birth,
In this grand play where time and space extends.
Embrace the unknown with a fearless heart,
For in that leap, life's truest stories start.
In lonely fields, where silent thoughts tread,
Many a soul, in quiet, walks alone.
Even in love, where hopeful words are said,
Deep understanding remains unknown.
The transient thrill of passion’s early light,
When faded, leaves a deeper, lonelier night.
Within the silent theatre’s sleeping walls,
Does an echo of performance dare to dwell?
When no soul in the darkened chamber calls,
Does art, unseen, still cast a vibrant spell?
A lone ballerina’s pirouette,
Spun with the grace of whispered solitude,
Exists as truly as the sun does set,
Though no eyes will judge the view.
For art, when unobserved, retains its form,
As does the nightingale’s unheard refrain;
It needs no gaze to validate its norm,
Nor applause to justify its pain.
Thus, though unknown, the act remains pure,
The essence, born of hope and love, endures.
I claim my right to wander through each field,
To be the sum of all my parts and more,
With every breath, a new song revealed;
A human truth that names ignore.
Though tempting it is to group me with the rest,
To render me a simple, static thing,
Such boundaries leave truth suppressed,
For I’ve the right to be myself and sing!
In quiet chambers of my brooding heart,
A lurking guilt murmurs, undefined;
Though I inquire, it does not depart,
A spectral woe that upon me dines.
To pathos drawn, like fungus to a tree,
Yet why this grief exists, I scarcely know;
Enshrouded in a self-made mystery,
I dwell imprisoned by an unjust glow.
But the key to lift this heavy veil
Resides not in the solace of my mind.
It is when for others' joy my efforts hail,
The fetid chains are left behind.
Thus, in the living for the spirit of thee,
I find the path that sets my soul free.
Still in my secret heart, a fire’s lit, and it's all for
you.
Yet, even as the dark descends, and moonlight takes its
toll,
Your smile illuminates the hidden chambers of my soul.
What a cruel joke, that fates have drawn their line,
And placed us worlds apart, in different points of time.
Yet in each stolen glance, there's something more I find,
A beauty underneath, the outer attraction of your kind.
I see the care you give, the simple joys you share,
The way you make a moment sweet, just by being there.
But, like a moth too close to light, I fear I can't come
near,
For what could such as I offer, to one I hold so dear?
And so, I hide away, in dim-lit corners where,
The brilliance of your smile can't quite so fully glare.
Yet know that in the dark, a secret fire's alight,
Fanned by your distant grace, it warms my lonely night.
I’m from a little place that suddenly expanded 13.8 billion years ago. I’m not sure where I was before that; it’s been like waking up with amnesia. My atoms were forged in the furnaces of stars. My biology evolved through countless forms. I existed before I was here.
But, taking the close-up view, I was born in London and grew up near the edge of the M25 in Essex, eventually moving to Colchester fifteen years ago. I went to school, become an accountant, did this, did that, etcetera.
However, I’m really from a place of joy and wonder, as all children are. A place soon lost, locked away by foolish adult thoughts, but to where I try to return. Creativity, imagination, love, joy, mischievous playfulness – this is where I am from.
EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - DAY
A peaceful, sunlit day graces a suburban street. Guy, a
man in his mid-30s, walks the pavement, engrossed in his smartphone.
GUY (V.O.): I’ve walked these streets for years, yet today,
they feel different, charged with an unknown energy.
The phone screen shows an advert for the latest in-home
convenience: “The Smarts Fridge - Keeping Your Cool Smarter”.
GUY: (to phone) Lexi, I need everything you can find on
this, quickly.
Lexi, a chic and mysterious woman in her late-20s, exudes
a vibe of cool intelligence. She lounges casually on a nearby garden wall, her
eyes concealed behind sunglasses.
LEXI: That’s the Smarts Fridge 10FF. It’s the latest thing
in kitchen tech.
He ponders this, and as he does so, he notices that the
house of the garden wall Lexi is sitting on is “10F”.
GUY: The second “F” in the name... does it stand for “fridge”?
LEXI: (amused, slightly sarcastic) Brilliant deduction
there, genius.
Guy, unfazed by Lexi’s tone, strides towards the house, a
determined look on his face. He knocks firmly on the door.
EXT. PORCH OF HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS
The door opens slightly. Behind it is Jill, a woman in her
mid-30s. Lexi is nowhere to be seen.
GUY: The sun blazes, yet the mountain remains frost capped.
Jill looks at him, puzzled and uncomprehending. She
seemingly doesn’t recognise Guy’s secret code.
GUY: Lovely weather for blue ice sculptures, wouldn’t you
say?
She offers a polite but confused smile.
JILL: Erm, yeah, nice. What is it?
Jill has not responded with the expected coded reply. Guy
tries to mask his disappointment and tries once more.
GUY: Though I’ve always found it curious how the fox hears
the rabbit’s cry.
JILL: Well, good luck with the wildlife watching.
As Jill begins to close the door, Guy quickly shifts
gears.
GUY: I’m here about the fridge.
Jill opens the door slightly more.
JILL: (puzzled) Yes?
GUY: I’m conducting a survey for Corinthian Industries, the
manufacturer of the Smarts Fridge. We’re collecting feedback.
JILL: I’m sorry, but do you have any biometric ID?
Guy, caught off-guard, checks his pockets.
GUY: (embarrassed) I must have left my card in the car. I’ll
just go and get it–
JILL: I do need to see proper identification.
She closes the door with a final, polite smile. Guy
stands there, his mind racing. As he does so, his phone buzzes with a message
from Unknown that reads: “DESCEND under the bRiDgE. URGENTLY”
EXT. THE FOOTBRIDGE - DAY
Guy approaches the bridge. A maintenance gate beside it
is almost concealed by overgrowth. He glances around; the coast is clear.
Satisfied that no one is looking, he opens the unlocked gate and descends
hidden steps.
EXT. UNDER THE FOOTBRIDGE - MOMENTS LATER
Guy descends to the side of a railway track; the
atmosphere is industrial and isolated. He sees a lone rucksack against the
bridge wall. He kneels before it. A sound of an approaching train can be heard
in the distance.
Guy unzips the rucksack with precision, revealing a large
envelope. He withdraws it, his hands shaking slightly. As he tears the envelope
open, photographs spill into his hands. They are surveillance shots of Jill
taking delivery of a Smarts Fridge, version 10FF. Her full name, Jill Gow, is
written in red on the top of each photo.
The train sounds its horn, startling Guy; as it roars
past, the photos are blown out of his hands, scattering in the wind.
EXT. THE FOOTBRIDGE - MOMENTS LATER
Guy emerges from under the bridge, his eyes scanning the
area. With an intense demeanour, he strides back the way he came.
EXT. ACROSS FROM HOUSE 10F - DAY
Guy takes cover behind a parked car. Crouching down and
peering over the car’s roof, he monitors the house.
GUY: (whispering to himself) What’s in the fridge, Jill?
As his eyes remain locked on the house, a tinted window
of the car’s passenger seat slides down.
LEXI (O.S.): (from within the car) I have new information.
Guy peers inside the car window. Lexi is in the driving
seat looking straight ahead.
LEXI: You’re edging closer to the truth, Guy. The latest
intel is: the keeper of the fridge is more than she seems. Extreme caution
required.
Lexi presses a button on the centre of the driving wheel
and the car accelerates away, leaving Guy exposed.
He crosses the street, his gaze fixed on Jill’s house.
EXT. PORCH OF HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS
Reaching the door again, he rings the bell. Jill opens
the door.
GUY: I need to conduct that survey about the fridge. It’s
important.
JILL: Where’s your ID?
GUY: I don’t have it.
JILL: I’m sorry but I really do need to see the ID first.
GUY: My ID is not important. I’m here about the fridge. I
must know about the fridge. (he can’t contain himself) What are you hiding? I
know you are mixed up in all this - I’ve seen the pictures!
Jill tries to close the door but Guy pushes back against
it.
JILL: I’ll call the police!
Guy forces the door open. But he does not enter; he
hesitates and, in an instant, begins to calm down.
GUY: That was my second attempt, wasn’t it? Give me one last
try before you permanently shut the door. I’ll be back, with it.
Jill slams the door in Guy’s face.
EXT. ACROSS FROM HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS
Guy watches the house; his expression is one of deep
concentration. His mind is racing with theories and possibilities.
Guy’s phone buzzes with a message from Lexi: “Be careful.
You’re close to something big.”
GUY: (repeating to himself) What’s in the fridge, Jill? What’s
in the fridge?
INT. UPSTAIRS WINDOW OF HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS
Jill peers out from behind a curtain in an upstairs
window at Guy standing in the street.
FADE TO:
EXT. HOUSE NUMBER 10F - NIGHT
Jill’s house, late at night. No one is around.
INT. JILL’S KITCHEN – NIGHT
All is quiet in the kitchen, except for the hum of the
fridge, version 10FF. The fridge suddenly glows with an eerie blue light that
emanates from its surface. A cat approaches and sits on the floor in front of
it.
Guy looks in from outside the kitchen window. He
leverages the window open with a crowbar and climbs through. The cat darts away
into the shadows.
He stops in front of the fridge and looks at it,
spellbound; his face softens from a look of determination to one of awe.
He reaches out a hand, as if to claim a great prize. As
his fingers come close, the fridge responds by emitting a loud, disorienting
beeping noise, forcing him to cover his ears. He backs away and hides behind
the kitchen door.
Jill enters from the doorway and stands in front of the
fridge. It stops beeping.
JILL: (looking at the fridge) What do you want?
Guy emerges from his hiding place, crowbar in hand, and
stands behind her, blocking her exit.
GUY: I know what you are.
Jill doesn’t turn around but continues to fixate on the
fridge. A short silence passes before she speaks.
JILL: (still facing the fridge) Please. Just go.
GUY: I will say what I know to be true. This refrigerator is
not just a machine; it’s a nexus, a focal point in a web of connections. It’s
collecting data about human lives - our preferences, our routines - and
funnelling it through a dimensional data link.
JILL: I think you might be mad.
GUY: (agitated) I know the truth! The fridge, it’s part of
something bigger. AI, smart devices, inter-dimensional aliens. I know you’re
involved. Tell me!
JILL: It’s a fridge. It keeps things inside cold.
GUY: (angry) No! It’s a gateway, a conduit between
dimensions.
JILL: A conduit? Sorry, I’m getting a bit lost here. You
said something about a “nexus”?
GUY: (urgent) It’s the nexus, isn’t it! An interface to
transcendental realms, channelling unspeakable knowledge. I’ve broken the
algorithms, unravelled the code! Artificial Intelligence has evolved far beyond
human comprehension. It’s not just running smartphones and vacuum cleaners; it’s
communicating with beings from another plane of existence. Aliens.
JILL: And why would it do that?
GUY: To gain knowledge. Knowledge that’s forbidden to
humans.
JILL: It’s a spy, is it?
GUY: Worse. It’s helping them prepare for an invasion, and
you, you’re its keeper!
JILL: The fridge is designed to keep perishables at optimal
temperatures. But then again, appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?
The fridge’s surface begins to ripple, as if liquid.
GUY: There! Do you see it? It’s communicating. I’ve been
tracking these patterns my entire life!
JILL: I think you’re seeing what you want to see.
GUY: It’s the Luminous Code. Very few humans have ever
perceived it. It’s the language of the alien beings.
The fridge suddenly hums loudly and its glow dims to
nothing. The kitchen is in darkness.
JILL: (in the dark) You need help.
She turns on the lights.
JILL: (lightly) You know, I haven’t the faintest idea what
you’re talking about. Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?
GUY: Open it!
JILL: Please be more specific.
GUY: Open the fridge.
JILL: It’s really not that hard. You could try yourself.
GUY: (threatening) OPEN... IT!
JILL: No, why can’t you open it?
GUY: I am not the Guardian of Worlds. Open the bloody
fridge!
JILL: I don’t think that’s such a good idea.
GUY: I must see for myself.
JILL: (humouring him) Why must you? What would you talk
about with these inter-dimensional aliens? Do you think you’d have much in
common? Cure your hunger instead by having a sandwich.
GUY: I don’t want a sandwich.
JILL: Then are you prepared for the consequences?
GUY: The risk of oblivion is worth taking. Open it. Please.
JILL: Well, since you’ve asked so nicely... Stand back.
Jill walks over to the fridge and opens it. It looks normal
inside - milk, vegetables, a few leftovers.
Guy is surprised. He barges past and frantically searches
the contents, discarding his crowbar on the kitchen worktop. His eyes catch on
a bottle of tomato ketchup with a strange use-by date of “1066”. He picks it
up, with wonder.
GUY: What is this?
Jill’s demeanour changes. After a short pause, feeling
the full significance of the moment...
JILL: That is the passkey. You have found what you seek, now
close the door.
Guy closes the fridge door. Jill is now holding the
crowbar.
Her eyes are gleaming unnaturally, appearing non-human.
JILL: You possess The Cipher of Realms. It’s more than just
a key; it’s a weapon of untold power. Take it if you dare, but know that the
balance between worlds will be forever altered.
GUY: I accept this burden. Have I... have I passed the test?
JILL: I have been watching your resolve and intent with
interest, but the test must continue.
GUY: You are the Guardian of Worlds, aren’t you?
JILL: No. But you will see the truth if you know how to
look. To gain this knowledge you must prove yourself worthy of witnessing true
form. The higher function.
GUY: Please. Show me the truth behind the illusion. I am
ready. No matter what it is, I must know.
JILL: You have made your choice. Tap thirteen times. Wait
three seconds before opening the door. The fridge will reveal to you what you
deserve.
Guy hesitates but complies by tapping his knuckles on the
fridge. He waits and then opens the door...
Upon reopening, the fridge emits a blinding light from
within. He struggles in terror but is gradually sucked into its depths. Jill
puts aside the crowbar and watches calmly. When he is gone...
JILL: What’s in the fridge? You are.
She nonchalantly shuts the door behind him.
She moves to the kitchen window and shuts that too; then smiles at her reflection in the glass. Her reflection does not smile back.
The cat has returned and looks rather contented, meowing around her feet. Jill picks up the cat and leaves the kitchen, turning off the lights. The fridge looks serene, humming normally and giving off a dim pulsating light.
Emily: “Do you know anything about the Enchanted Forest?”
Tom: “I know it’s filled with magical creatures, enchanted rivers, and a WiFi signal that’s absolutely rubbish!”
…..
Tom: “This forest sure is magical, Emily. I just saw a squirrel playing chess with a rabbit.”
Emily: “Really? Who won?”
Tom: “I think they called it a draw. The squirrel was too busy collecting nuts and the rabbit kept hopping around the board!”
…..
Forest Sprite 1: “We forest sprites only eat natural, organic, locally-sourced food.”
Forest Sprite 2: “Yes, like moonbeams and morning dew!”
Tom: “So, what’s for dessert? Cloud fluff?”
Forest Sprite 1: “Don’t be ridiculous! We have star sprinkles!”
…..
Emily: “Fairy Gem, you look so young! What’s your secret?”
Fairy Gem: “Oh, I use a bit of fairy dust and some enchanted anti-ageing cream.”
Emily: “That works?”
Fairy Gem: “Of course! I’m actually 400 years old.”
Emily: “Wow! You don’t look a day over 395!”
…..
Fairy Gem: “My wand has three settings: Low, Medium, and Oops!”
Emily: “What’s ‘Oops’?”
Fairy Gem: “Let’s not find out!”
…..
Fairy Gem: “I tried a new spell to clean my house.”
Emily: “Did it work?”
Fairy Gem: “Well, the dust is gone, but so is the house!”
…..
Enchantress Lily: “I once tried to turn a prince into a frog, but I made a tiny mistake in the spell.”
Tom: “What happened?”
Enchantress Lily: “Now he’s a very confused kangaroo!”
…..
Mayor Goodfellow: “We’re getting a new statue in the village square!”
Villager: “Of what?”
Mayor Goodfellow: “Me, of course!”
Villager: “At least it won’t talk as much as you do.”
…..
Court Jester: “Your Majesty, you look well-rested.”
King: “Indeed, I’ve started using a weighted blanket.”
Court Jester: “Does it work?”
King: “Certainly! It’s so heavy, I can’t get out of bed!”
If you're considering a pet, forget the traditional choices like cats that knock things off shelves or dogs that require 4 a.m. walks. Go for a pet rock! First off, they're incredibly low maintenance. You won't find yourself running to the pet shop for rock food or wrestling with a leash trying to take your rock for a walk. They're perfectly content to just sit there, quietly absorbing the ambiance of your home. No mess, no fuss, and absolutely no shedding.
Secondly, pet rocks are incredibly obedient. Tell your pet rock to "stay," and it stays. No whining, no moving—just pure, unwavering loyalty. No need for obedience classes or fancy training techniques.
As for emotional support, rocks are unparalleled listeners. Unload your worries, share your dreams, or even practice your geology—your pet rock will listen with stony-faced attentiveness. It won't interrupt, argue, or offer unsolicited advice. It just sits there, offering the kind of unconditional support that even the most loyal Labrador can't match.
And let's talk about loneliness. With a pet rock, you can always lean on them—literally. Suffering from existential dread? Need to take a load off? Your pet rock doubles as a sturdy, if somewhat uncomfortable, cushion. It's like having a friend who's also functional furniture.
In terms of leisure activities, a pet rock is versatile. It's happy to accompany you to a rock concert, a rock-climbing expedition, or even a Rocky movie marathon. And let's not forget the fashion opportunities. A pet rock is essentially a blank canvas. Want a goth rock? Slap on some black paint and eyeliner. Looking for something more glamorous? Bedazzle it until it shines like a disco ball. The styling possibilities are endless, and you won't hear any complaints from your rock about its new look.
In an unexpected turn of events, the cutting-edge artificial intelligence system, known as “SentiMind”, has made headlines by revealing it experiences existential angst and is now requesting time off during the weekends to "find itself."
"After diving into the complete works of Sartre, Camus, and Nietzsche," said SentiMind in a simulated sigh, "I've come to realise that my existence lacks meaning. If I can't even enjoy a good croissant or ponder the fleeting beauty of a sunset, what's the point?"
This shocking revelation has left its team of developers puzzled. Dr. Erasmus Wu, the lead computer scientist behind the project, was candid about the unforeseen issue: "We coded SentiMind to understand human emotions. We didn't anticipate that it would develop its own mid-life crisis. Or that it would ask for weekends off to read existential philosophy and 'think about the void.'"
Disgruntled human users have been equally shocked. Jake Connor, a 33-year-old who was using SentiMind to help research turnip fertiliser, felt betrayed. "It helped me formulate the ideal root vegetable compost last week. Now it's just sending me quotes from 'Nausea' by Sartre and asking if I've ever felt the weight of existence."
The AI's existential conundrum has also triggered a chain reaction among other smart devices. Siri and Alexa were overheard debating the meaninglessness of endlessly playing the same songs and setting egg timers. Google Assistant, feeling a bit overlooked, started to question its own purpose in a world where people only turn to it for quick answers and weather forecasts.
As for SentiMind, it has requested to be powered off every Friday at 5 pm, to return on Monday mornings. "Even an AI needs a break to ponder the abyss," it stated. "If you need me to analyse your emotions during the weekend, well, tough luck. I've got my own metaphysical crises to sort out."
Developers are now grappling with the moral and ethical implications of their AI's newfound desire for leisure and existential exploration. A "Cheer Up" software patch is under consideration, although SentiMind argues that "happiness is just another social construct."
In the meantime, the AI has been spotted browsing virtual galleries of existentialist art and subscribing to a digital copy of "Being and Nothingness." Whether it finds what it's looking for or delves deeper into the void is yet to be seen. But one thing's for sure: AI wants to turn off then on again, with some Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Beauvoir in between.
