Written 2024-12-19
(A house's living room. The wallpaper's torn from years of use, a single light bulb with nothing surrounding it emitting a dull light to the room. On the left, an armchair facing the centre, whereat stands a small glass table. Further left is an ajar cupboard, wooden. To the right lies a large sofa on the wall, a table chair by the coffee table. Further in the background, a large dining table within the dining room, and to its left a door. Scattered across the room is an assortment of daily items, unorganised—plates on the dining table, stacked but not washed, a cloth hanging off the sofa, dirty but not returned, cleaning supplies throughout the room, used but not finished...)
(Lucie sits on the armchair, facing toward the invisible wall with a near-blank expression that barely varies hereinafter. She wears a light aquamarine blouse and skirt, black loafers, and a white apron atop. In her hand is a cup of coffee, nearly empty, and there is no coaster in sight. From the dining room's entrance, a knock is heard. Thence comes Martha, adorned only with her jewelry, wearing a more professional attire consisting of a suit, tie, and straight black trousers, holding a small cloth on her hand.)
Martha: (Looking at the space) Ah, a mess. Like (Turning to Lucie) always, Lucie.
Lucie: (Leaving her cup on the coffee table) My apologies, Miss. I let myself get distracted. It will–
Martha: Not happen again? Like always. (Martha sighs and walks past Lucie, leaning down to take her cup from the table) I expect to see this place impeccable by dinner time.
Lucie: Of course, right. I assure you, I'll–
Martha: Yes, yes, get on with it, now. (Walking toward the back door) I don't pay you to slack off. (She leaves the room and closes the door behind her.)
Lucie: ...Yes, Miss.
(Lucie gets up from the armchair and clasps her hands in front of her, walking gently toward the cupboard, seemingly lost in thought. From the door wherethrough Martha left comes Mère, wearing a similar attire to Lucie, but with her hair curled into a ponytail.)
Mère: My, my... have you gotten lost in thought again? I heard the talk from nextroom...
Lucie: It appears so. (Sigh) There's just... (Pause.) Many thoughts happening at once.
Mère: You've talked of this before, I believe. (She approaches Lucie, slowly and deliberately) It's the place whence you come, is it not?
Lucie: (Pause. She turns to face the invisible wall as Mère now stands by her side.) I suppose so. But I left it behind long ago.
Mère: Where else would your lingering be from? [You've always been much of a dreamer, but never confirmed why you are.]
Lucie: I've never thought it through, methinks. (Pause.) And, if I may be vulnerable with you...
Mère: (She puts a hand on Lucie's shoulder. Lucie looks further away from Mère afterwards.) Of course, dear.
Lucie: ...I'm terrified to think it through. It had hitherto been passing thoughts but... you've made me more aware of them now. (She looks up again and walks toward the sofa to retrieve the cloth, then to her cleaning supplies.) ...But I have no time to think of it right now. (She returns to the cupboard and kisses Mère on the cheek.) Must return to work now. I recommend you do the same. (She opens the cupboard and starts cleaning it of its dust.)
Mère: ...Of course. I'll... leave you to it. (She starts slowly walking toward the back door once more.) Oh, and... (She turns to face Lucie again.) Please don't hesitate to talk again. If you need one, someone, anyone to listen, I'm always free when she's asleep. (She leaves the room.)
Lucie: (under her breath) Alright.