Homeless

We open on a young man, Jonathon Katrougalos, late twenties/early thirties, sitting in the shadow of a doorway on New Oxford street. He is thin, emaciated and his face is drawn and angular. His clothes are dirty and torn. He wears a pair of trainers (no socks), a tee-shirt that used to be white, and jeans with the knees worn out of them. Everything looks a good few hundred years old.

Cut to a close-up of Jonathon’s face. His left eye is twitching from lack of sleep and his right eye is inflamed with a small amount of discharge. He is staring intently at something, mouthing words. He appears to be in a kind of trance, mindlessly talking.

The camera pans out and across the street. We see a group of twenty people or so, gathered around an old television. There is no sound but they all know what is being said, they all mouth the words. The same words that Jonathon mouths. A small girl dressed in rags wanders through the group, looking up with lonely brown eyes and receiving a sad smile from each of the others. They would like to help, but they can’t. They’re all in the same situation.

Cut back to Jonathon. He is huddled up, hugging his knees and rocking to keep warm. His breath forms wisps of vapour as he breathes out into the cold air. He squeezes his eyes shut.

The camera pulls back slightly to reveal a woman standing in front of Jonathon. She crouches down and runs her hand through his hair. He looks up and smiles. They are strangers but there is a twinkle in her eye as she smiles down at him. Is she drunk? he wonders.

Her name is Sarah and her voice is soft. “Earth always follows,” she says.

Jonathon’s expression becomes confused. “What do you mean?” he asks her.

The woman moves closer to Jonathon, holding his hands on his knees. She whispers. “Earth hasn’t given up on us. Don’t forget that.”

Jonathon pulls away from Sarah, shaking his head. “Look at me,” he says angrily. “Look at all of us. We were given up on a long, long time ago.”

Sarah takes a look behind her, glancing at the assembled group watching the silent television. For a moment she mouths the words, joining in with the others. The television plays footage of ‘The Queen’s Christmas Message’.

Cut to a close-up of Sarah’s face. Her blue eyes fill with tears as she reacts to the television picture. She sees a healthy old woman wearing glasses and wearing a pearl necklace. Sarah touches her own neck; she wears an old shoelace as a necklace.

Behind the old woman on the television is a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. The colours are rich and golden with shimmering white lights dancing around the dark green branches. Underneath the tree lie boxes wrapped in foil and red ribbons. Sarah looks down at her self. All she wears is all she owns because, in her entire life, no one has ever bought her a gift.

A small fire to the left of the old woman warms the room, its flames flickering and casting shadows of the hanging stockings onto the far wall. Sarah tries to imagine the warmth. She imagines her dirty skin bathing in the glow of home comforts—something she has never known.

The programme turns to white noise and an old man gets up from the group and turns off the television. He makes a comment about conserving energy, at that he will see them all the same time, next year.

Sarah turns to Jonathon, tears rolling down her cheeks, collecting dirt as they fall. “Happy Christmas,” she says, before standing up.

“Merry Christmas,” Jonathon replies.

Sarah pauses, waiting to see if he will say anything else—even to ask what her name is.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t ask her anything, instead bowing his head forwards, resting it in his hands. He doesn’t see the point.

The camera pans out, tracking Sarah’s movements as she makes her way through the small crowd. She walks down the street, away from Jonathon without looking back.

We zoom out further, to see that ‘New Oxford Street’ is not really a street at all. It’s a small camp, part of a human colony just East of a crashed spacecraft on a small barren planet in the Nebadon system.

It is Christmas Day, 2981, and the entire human race is homeless.