sitting on bed edge. strict crimson blanket.. hospital corners. the man faces a nightstand which spills the only internal light through emerald glass.

topless, barefoot and emitting mutterings which come to the listener through phasings.. “two point hate.. two point hate”

muscles of his arm flex as he concentrates on situating the matchsticks.. red tips up.. lined like a miniature rampart. furrowed brow of concentration wreaks his face as each is placed.. pinpoint.. then.. relax.

he reaches again then again from the pocket of his fatigues. never slipping he successfully completes the whole pack but for the last..

cracked uneven base. after studying the error for a few seconds he abruptly thrusts it into his mouth and bites down once.. then swallows.

this is the first silence from the mans mutterings.

from the close-up of mouth and gulping throat a camera pulls out to expose more of the bedroom.
barely more.. barely furnished.. there are newspapers stacked waist high along the wall behind the man and in parallel to the bed.
opposite where the man sits is a kitchen chair.

camera stops moving out. seventy silent seconds elapse.. until..
“25” is barked and immediate movement over to the only chair.
now sitting to face the bed.

slats of light from the mute window rise out the shadows of his shoulder blades and spine.

the mutterings resume.. “free point too.. free point too”.

the mans gaze and sounds are warped flat and coming from ‘below’ [suggest using some surround sound trickery e.g. only using the woofer]. 'eyes' flicker the room until finally settling on the gap between the mattress and its base. a section of the otherwise tightly tucked in blanket has spilled out. his ‘eyes’ zoom in until the frame makes the spill represent a mouth.

dropping on knees.. to crawl all fours to view the ‘mouth’ he briefly stops as if studying or remembering something.. meditation over, he forces his head into the darkness.
and continues in.
drilling his frame between the gap until light appears from the other-side. he exits in a flop to the floor before standing to re-adjust the bed.

mid-shot follows as he gathers stacks of newspapers and places them carefully in organised piles on the blanket. he returns to the opening.. drops and proceeds to wriggle through the space once more. this time when he exits he is sweating as he tidies the bed and paper piles, he then adds more.

returning to the wound he proceeds again. slower. on exit he tidies and returns.. now with more stacks. and again. and again. with stacks built higher and more ungainly.. and then again.

each time slower each time making sure the blanket was tidied and the piles of papers made uniform. again and again until finally the mole like undulation under the mattress stops midway and after some sporadic thrashing the last silence.