Copyright AnotherMiddleChild Production House

THE WARD

EPISODE ONE, “PILOT”

ACT 1

FADE IN:

INTERIOR, elevator lobby then elevator in a secret mental health facility, late at night.

Act 1, Scene 1

We open with the delightful ding of an elevator. The darkness shifts to the light of the lobby as two individuals enter the elevator. The perspective is on the faces/front of the two individuals. 

One person is an older and gruff escort, a cross between a doctor and military sentry. He is calm and crisply dressed in a neat fitting suit with brown shoes. As an escort, he is familiar with the second individual and this person’s family. He will be seen again.

The second person is a young adult wearing beige scrubs, white socks, and beige slip-on shoes. They are disheveled but coherent and stand with crossed arms. There are no eyelets, snaps, shoelaces, zippers, or clasps of any kind on the young adult. They are a new patient and this is their intake meeting. They have no personal belongings or jewelry. 

The light is almost too bright and hums tiredly in the background. 

The doors close with a soft thud and the elevator roars to life. There are no buttons inside this elevator; just dated paneling and carpet and smell of bleach and mothballs. The elevator is going down.

CUT TO:

Interior of Elevator-Night 

Act 1, Scene 2

The elevator is slow and steady. The patient heading to intake sighs and looks around the elevator, noting its dated staleness. They are unsure of how or why they are in this elevator but, thanks to medication, remain eerily calm in their confusion. The PATIENT ESCORT is all too familiar with the lost expression on the face of the NEW INTAKE PATIENT. The PATIENT ESCORT chuckles and exhales noticeably. The NEW INTAKE PATIENT shifts their light-altered eyes to the direction of the PATIENT ESCORT.

PATIENT ESCORT

You’ll start to feel more in control in a few days. Just take it easy until then. Stay calm. Let these people help you.

The NEW INTAKE PATIENT shifts in place and pushes both palms against their closed eyes, willing themselves to remember how they ended up in this elevator. Who were these people that wanted to help? What did they, the NEW INTAKE PATIENT, need to be helped with? But nothing came from their mental searching and their arms dropped in defeat. They could not understand why they were not reacting with more anger or force but aggression never came.

The elevator numbly shrieked indifference as it came to a slow, solitary stop. The NEW INTAKE PATIENT inhaled as the familiar and oddly chipper ding of the elevator chirped. 

The doors open to another lobby. This one stands in dim contrast to the bug-zapper light of the elevator. A solitary person stands on the other side. They, too, are wearing scrubs but light blue ones with a white long sleeve shirt beneath the top. 

The INTAKE ESCORT raises an arm against the door of the elevator to prevent it from closing. 

INTAKE ESCORT

Hey, Lore. They still have you workin’ intakes? 

LORE

What can I say, Charlie, I love the dopamine boost from commissary shopping and I have to get the money from somewhere. 

Lore shrugs gently with a wry smile. Lore is calm and seemingly indifferent to the strangeness of the situation. Lore is holding a file folder, clipboard without the clip, and a capless pen. The NEW INTAKE PATIENT exhales slowly, trying to understand the situation, coming up with nothing but more confusion. Weren’t commissaries popular with military bases? And prisons? How long were people in this place, wherever this place is? 

LORE

So, who do we have here? Hopefully the same name as this file or things are about to get interesting for once. 

Lore gestures at the New Intake Patient with their pen-filled hand. Charlie the Intake Escort gives the New Intake Patient a hearty clap on the back, causing them to jump just enough forward to be half-way out of the elevator.

CHARLIE

Elliott, Lore. Lore, Elliott. 

Nodding at Lore,

Lore here is your welcome wagon. If you have any questions, this is the person you should ask.

Elliott looks between them, still deeply confused with exhaustion beginning to rear its ugly head. Lore rolls their eyes at the comment knowing full-well Elliott is likely to forget their initial meeting. Charlie continues..-

Anything else before you beam me up?

Elliott shuffles from the elevator and takes his place next to Lore, who makes a small check on a list in the file clearly labeled BRYCE, ELLIOTT. 

LORE

Yeah one more thing before you go. You got the time, Charlie?

Charlie laughs and shakes his head before removing his arm from blocking the doors of the elevator from closing.

CHARLIE

Always with the same joke, huh Lore?

LORE

Only because you always make that same ‘beam me up’ joke. Which, honestly, isn’t even a good joke because it took me years to learn what the hell you’re talking about.

Charlie smiles and waves from inside the elevator, its doors closing with a final, unwavering ding. Lore raises their hand and presses a circular button. From inside the elevator shaft comes the whir of life. In moments, the lobby with Lore and Elliott is steeped in silence.

CUT TO:

INTERIOR, ELEVATOR LOBBY OF AN UNKNOWN, UNDERGROUND FACILITY

Act 1, Scene 3

Lore sighs and gestures toward a bank of chairs in the empty lobby. The two sit down and turn to face the other. Lore opens the file folder and taps her pen against what appears to be a simple checklist. 

There is no receptionist at the dust-covered desk; it is as if the room is trapped in a time long forgotten. 

LORE

Alright, Elliott. Like Charlie said, my name is Lore. I am your intake official and mentor for at least the next year. But we don’t need to talk about any of that right now. Right now, we are just going to focus on you. Do you think you can tell me your name?

Lore relaxed into their seat, propping one leg over the other, resting the clipless clipboard against their right thigh, steadying the feeble board. 

Elliott sits in silence. His mind starts to race with thoughts and memories. The brightness of red and darkness of night punctuating each thought. He closes his eyes, his breathing shaky and rapid.

Lore reaches forward with her free hand and rests two fingers on Elliotts closest knee. 

LORE

Just take some deep breaths with me, okay?
We’re going to breathe in for five, hold for five, exhale for five.
Okay? Okay.

Inhale..2..3..4..5.
Hold..2..3..4..5.
Exhale..2..3..4..5 

Lore and Elliott repeat the breathing exercise several times over until Elliott begins to calm. His knotted body softens and slumps, his breathing regulates, and he opens his eyes.

ELLIOTT

Elliott. Elliot James Price. I think sometimes people call me E.J.

Lore pulls their hand away slowly and straightens with a small, satisfied smile. This process was one they had repeated too many times to count.

LORE

That’s really great, Elliott..E.J. In a few minutes, I am going to walk you to your temporary room. You won’t have a roommate but you will be visited by staff, professionals, and myself. 

E.J. Shifts uncomfortably in his seat, having restored to repeating the breathing exercise on his own.

You aren’t going to remember this conversation tomorrow. Or ever, probably. And that’s okay. After a few days, maybe a week or two of being here, you will start to remember who I am. Who everyone else is. 

The only thing I want you to focus on is you. If you remember anything, remember who you are. 

Don’t lose yourself, Elliott.

Lore unfolds themself from the chair and stands. With the same two gentle fingers they placed on Elliott’s knee, Lore uses them to guide him to a stand position, gently steering him via elbow. 

The two exit the reception area and head down a darkening hall that purportedly leads to Elliott’s intake room. 

FADE OUT: End of Act 1.

THE WARD

EPISODE ONE, “PILOT”

ACT 2

FADE IN:

INTERIOR, SOLITARY MEDICAL CELL, Underground, Location Unknown

Scene 1

Elliott sits on a collapsible chair that is adjacent to the bed he has occupied for what feels like an insurmountable amount of time. He shifts in discomfort and narrowly examines the bed, which has been stripped free of the beige sheets and blanket with hospital corners. The pillow, too, is gone. Memories of time spent on the bed have not entirely faded and are growing like a seed planted..

Remember who you are, Elliott..

Elliott closes his eyes and repeats the breathing technique he learned. He does not, however, remember learning it; he simply knows it works as he repeated the practice on the stripped-bare bed. 

Remember who you are, Elliott..

During his time in the room, Elliott was confined to the bed. There were no restraints, other than his own constantly changing mind. There were no windows. Time has no meaning. And life exists of sorrow, physical pain and illness, frustration, anger, building anger, building sorrow…utter despair. At times too much movement, at other times not nearly enough movement.

Through it all, faces that have only recently started creating memory in Elliott’s mind. Nurses. Doctors. Therapists. 

Lore.

Elliott exhales and opens his eyes, deciding to focus, instead, on a memory outside the bed.

Bright blue sky, snow everywhere, cold and shivering but also calm. And somehow excited. 

Winter. The love of winter. 

Elliott nods again and practices the breathing technique one more time, as if sealing the memory in the vault of his mind. 

The floor squeaks in the doorway and Elliott smiles, opening his eyes. 

Copyright AnotherMiddleChild Production House