Pilot

Birds chirp and the sun shines down on 8241 Primrose Lane. A shot of the well kept home greets the viewer before the camera cuts to inside where Robert and Alice Walker are seen in matching arm chairs on opposing sides of a bright yellow mid-century couch.


Robert flips through newspaper pages while Alice sips from a floral print mug.

Robert: Looks like Mrs. Berkin is at it again.

Alice: Oh yeah? What’s the fuss about this time?

Robert: She died.

The front door flies open as Will bursts through the front door, noticeably out of breath with urgency in his eyes.

Alice: You’re earlier than usual.

Will: Main Street Mall opens tonight! I gotta get going!

Alice: You told the neighbor you were house sitting for her tonight.

Will: Awh man! I forgot all about that! I’m sure the birds will be fine, right?

Alice: Will.

Will: But...I-

The front door behind him opens once more as Abby makes her way into the living room, her image prompting reaction right on queue.

Robert: How was school?

Abby: Fine. I made the-

A scrambled, incoherent mumbling at a whispered tone cuts through the room as Alice’s lips part just enough to let sound escape. Her eyes are glossy and unattentive, visually distracted from the situation in fact. Abby’s speech and actions stutter as she visibly glitches in tandem before she resumes.

Abby: Fine. I got the part in the school play.

Robert: Atta girl!

Alice: When’s that starting up?

Abby: Next week.

Will: Then you’ve got time right now, don’t you? Maybe enough time to help me house sit?

Abby: Yeaaaaaaaaaaah..about that..

Robert: I think your brother’s right. It’s not like it would kill you two to spend a little time together.


Will: You sure about that?


Alice: It would do you two some good.

Will: Alriiiiight alriiiiiight..

His words echo, fading into the background alongside the image as we zoom to a shot outside of The Walkers home. For what seems like a neverending sixty seconds or so, the shot remains still. Silence accompanies its duration before giving way to the chirping of birds in its final moments.

---

Inside the home of Mrs. Berkin their elderly neighbor, Will and Abby stroll around the perimeter of a cozy and flower living room, taking their time as they do so in appreciation of the contents that run along the walls. Between every pristine piece of décor is a round topped cage and inside of each of those, a different exotic bird covering every color and shade that one can imagine. Their voices are light and melodic as every sound they let out seems to bounce off the previous in a perfect chain.

Will: I covered it this morning, so this should do it. One small scoop for each.

Abby: Right. How many is that?

Will: By my count, thirty-eight.

Abby: Mrs. Be-..You really mean to tell me she has thirty-EIGHT birds?

Will: Well, she….

The sunlight that once filled the home is replaced by a near absence of it in the early hours of the day. There is a singular lamp standing tall just past the door frame that gives the living room its one source of considerable illumination. In the farthest reaches of its glow, Will stands alone. In one hand, a card with instructions scribbled down that reads as follows.

Thank you again for helping me while I’m away. Hopefully it isn’t too much trouble. There should be plenty of food and water for them all. Thirty-nine birds, one scoop each a couple times a day.

In Will’s other hand, thumb and pointer finger shoot upward and forward respectively in firearm formation. He squints with one eye twitching subtly, but rapidly. He holds the hand outward as the frame freezes completely this time and with another cut to the next, Will finds himself standing among a storm of bright, colorful feathers. There’s no carpet beneath his feet for his eyes to drift to as he hangs his head. Instead, they find the grey hue of ring canvas. They remain there as feather after feather comes down like snowfall, covering the grey up with inches of rainbow. Will’s blank expression is swapped out by the corner’s of his mouth forming a steady incline. In the next breath, the full extent of the Sun returns as does Abby.

Will: Yep. Thirty-eight.


Abby: Well, with the two of us doing it, we should be out of here in no time. Might even be able to stop off at the mall like you wanted. What do you say?

She turns around to find Will splayed out in the middle of a small tan sofa, his feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of it with one atop another.


Abby: Will!

Will: Yeah, I agree. Shouldn’t take long.

The theme song cuts in at a fraction of its typical volume as the shot fades.

---

The scene is a familiar one. A lit Cohiba whose ember teases us with the silhouette of a thick mustache and equally thick framed glasses. The figure speaks slowly, carefully hanging on every word.

?: Is there any place more open, dare I say more vulnerable, than the American Mall? From butterfly to wallflower, everyone who visits finds themselves at home. Here, they live as bright eyed and eager as you’ll ever see them. At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter who you are, because these walls are seen as protection and every inch of floor is theirs to explore without worry. No..disturbance..

He clears his throat with a two beat cough.

?: Hopefully we’re all enjoying the show so far. If you’re still with us to this point, I thank you. You truly have no idea how much your viewership really means. Anyways...back to it.

---

The punks, the preps, the geeks, the jocks, the burnouts and everyone in between bob and weave between each other in a sea of foot traffic. Standing in their midst in an untouched bubble are Will and Abby who scan from person to person and storefront to storefront.

Will: Beautiful, isn’t it?

Abby: More than I could’ve expected. What’s the game plan?

Will: What do you mean game plan?

Neon signs flicker as a single circuit connected as if by a universal signal despite each belonging to their own outlets.

Abby: I mean, where do we even start?

Will: Wherever we want. Why do you think I wanted to come here anyways?

The wide glass windows around them increase in vacancy. The mannequins trapped behind them have become noticeably absent, as have many of the patrons passing Will and Abby.

Will: Buying things? That’s secondary. I haven’t spent a dime and we’ve been here what? Five minutes? Still, we OWN this, sis. We own ALL of this.

Abby: Yeah. You know, I think I get it now..

The flickering neon signs reach their breaking point as one after another, they bust internally. With each little popping sound that accompanies their mechanical failure, the thinning herd crumple to the floor in a series of harsh thuds until the two siblings are the last ones standing in the passing lanes.

Abby: Beats housesitting.