'MICK' - A SHIT-COM

Scene 1. SNOOKER HALL. DAY.

Mick’s Kid comes round for his weekly visit. Mick takes him down the snooker hall to give him ‘the talk.’

Mick’s Kid’s on Anti-anxiety meds. Mick asks him about it.

“Do the other kids know you’re on meds?”

“Yeah Dad”

“Any of ‘em called you a puff?”

“No”

“Any of ‘em bullied you?”

“No Dad. Lots of kids are on them”

“You’re not being bullied?”

“No”

Mick’s not listening.

“Listen son. You’re my son, right? Anyone says anything to you at all, you hit ‘em.”

“But isn’t violence moronic Dad? Won’t I just get expelled from school or locked up?”

Mick seethes. Can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Scene 2. MICK’S LOCKUP. LATER

The Kid’s in boxing gloves and a vest. Mick’s trying to get him to hit the heavy bag.

“It it! It it!”

The Kid taps the bag. His hearts not in it. Mick fronts it.

“Wassa matter?”

“I don’t want to do this Dad. I want proper knowledge.”

“I’m imparting it!”

“What?”

“How to physically damage someone with your fists. And threaten ‘em too.”

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“Look, this advice has taken me through life. People would pay for this knowledge.”

The Kid falls silent. Doesn’t want to hurt Mick.

“When was the last time you hit someone?”

“I’ve never hit anyone Dad.”

Metaphorical storm clouds brew.

“What about your step-Dad?”

“James?”

“Yeah. Has he hit you? He has hasn’t he?”

“Dad – he’d never do that! We get on really well”

“If he lays one finger on you.."

“He never would..”

“You tell me if he does and I’ll sort it out!”

The Kid’s phone beeps. He takes the gloves off. Wanders off to the corner. Becomes engrossed.

Mick pulls on The Kid’s discarded gloves and tears into the bag.

Next time Mick looks round, he sees the car outside. The Kid’s Mum. The Kid waves bye. Gets in. Mick watches the car pull away – then tears back into the bag.