An excerpt from ‘Sky Edge’ (Feature film)
(C) Peter Wyn Mosey, 2013
INT. SHEFFIELD, ENGLAND 1923 – STEEL WORKS, DAY
In a hot, dirty foundry a crucible of molten steel is carried from the furnace. The bright light from the heat makes everything seem dark.
The man carrying the steel is RICHARD HEALY
RICHARD is middle aged, he has spent his life in heat, sweat and pain. The lines in his face are as beaten in as the landscape around the city in which he lives. Any desire for an alternative existence has long been forgotten. He is a bread winner and a traditional patriarch.
Beads of sweat drip from his face as he pours the steel from the crucible into an ingot. He strains under the heat.
FATHER WATSON (v/o)
I AM the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord
RICHARD stops to cough. His slight cough soon becomes a fit.
Wiping the sweat from his brow he starts again, still not fully recovered from his coughing fit.
FATHER WATSON (V/O)
He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
Using tongs, Richard carries his piece of hot steel toward another work surface.
As he rests the steel down into the vice, he begins to cough again. He struggles to breath, dropping his tongs, he holds his chest as he reaches out to keep balance.
FATHER WATSON (V/O
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.
As he half kneels in pain, a slither of light appears as a door to the outside world opens. He regains his strength momentarily. The shadowy figure of the FOREMAN appears in the light from the door.
The steel is jammed tight into the vice. Richard swings at it with a hammer again as he struggles to keep balance. He collapses.
Noticing, the FOREMAN rushes to his assistance.
Visibility is poor as a coffin is carried slowly the length of the misty graveyard led by FATHER WATSON, a middle aged priest.
In the distance, barely visible, smoke rises from the cooling towers of steel mills.
GEORGE HEALY flanks the front left of the coffin.
GEORGE is about twenty. Innocent, likable at times naive and easily led, but on the whole, a good man. He is a steel worker, not resigned to his fate like his father, not yet beaten down by life. A dreamer. At this moment; his fathers death is certainly the hardest event he has had to deal with. Still fresh faced, he has no scars of a hard life yet.
Struggling with the weight of the coffin and the grief GEORGE holds it together. In the distance, unnoticed, a figure walks through the graves.
I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth
The coffin is slowly lowered into the grave, thurible smoke hangs heavy in the air barely cutting through the mist, and we see the recently widowed MARGARET HEALY
MARGARET is forty-nine and attractive. A proud woman who lives for her family, while in her marriage her late husband may have led decision making, as the matriarch, she was the glue that held the family together.
MARGARET is comforted by her daughter, MARY HEALY, twenty-one, attractive with a mischievous streak. A young woman that knows how to get what she wants, and how to manipulate with charm.
As the coffin reaches waist height to the mourners, the shadowy figure comes into view behind Margaret.
The Shadowy figure is THOMAS MILLBANK, late twenties, damaged goods, charismatic with edge. Deep behind THOMAS’ eyes, there is always a game at play. Although it is clear by his rugged, scarred good looks that he has had it very hard, he still exudes an unprecedented degree of positivity.
THOMAS has his flat cap pulled down close to his eyes, creating a shadow. He takes his cap off and bows his head, avoiding making eye contact with GEORGE who has now noticed him. THOMAS’ presence seems to add to the weight of the grief and the coffin.
And though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself,
and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.
GEORGE darts a painful glace toward THOMAS, THOMAS seems to glance up for a split second, but his head remains firmly lowered.
MARGARET begins to cry. THOMAS looks up and rests his hand on her shoulder. GEORGE notices this as the coffin is finally lowered into the ground. MARGARET realizing a strange hand on her shoulder, turns. Realizing it is THOMAS she immediately hugs him. This seems to upset George yet more. MARY smiles gently at Thomas.
We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
EXT. a cobbled Sheffield backstreet, night
SAMUEL, mid thirties, ruggedly unpleasant and MICHAEL, a similar age with a sense of cunning, have a smartly dressed, but weaselly man in his forties, pinned against a wall.
GEORGE MOONEY, a stern faced, thuggish gang leader in his thirties, stands watching as his foot soldiers begin to throw punches at the helpless mans stomach.
FATHER WATSON (V/O)
The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.
MICHAEL and SAMUEL look to MOONEY as if for advice.
Go for t’face.
MICHAEL casts a sturdy blow across the mans face, immediately blood splatters. SAMUEL strikes the face in the opposite direction.
That’s enough as like.
MICHAEL and SAMUEL let go of the man who drops to the floor.
It’s my turn now.
MOONEY walks over to the man and looks down on him from above. The man looks up at MOONEY and smiles. MOONEY smiles back down at him and slowly reaches into his pocket.
MOONEY’S hand comes out from his pocket, he is holding a cut throat razor. With a flick of the wrist the razor blade is extended out. Swiftly, MOONEY bends down and begins to slash at the mans clothing and face.
MICHAEL and SAMUEL watch calmly.
After about a dozen slashes, MOONEY wipes the bloodied blade on the mans trousers and places it back into his pocket.
The mans faces face is left criss-crossed with blood as MOONEY rises to his feet and stands proudly over the carving he has just made.
MOONEY turns to MICHAEL and SAMUEL and speaks in a quiet but stern voice.
May s’well tek ‘im to Sky Edge one last time on’t way ‘ome. Let ‘im reminisce like…
But if I see ‘im again…ever…tha’ll be t’ones regretting it.
MICHAEL and SAMUEL stand either side of the man and drag him. The man pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it as he is dragged. He proceeds in smoking, with a serene look about him. Blood pours onto the cigarette.