This is my first attempt at a script, partly in response to this months lazy writer's theme. I'm not very confident about this piece. Would appreciate some constructive criticism? Should I pack my bags up and head home?

Ta, Elli

[ A room with white walls and ceiling. A small barred window can be seen in the top right corner and a large brass ring attached to a trapdoor can be seen centre stage. Below it stands a somewhat bedraggled Christmas tree. A woman sits in this corner, half wedged under the tree, she is wearing a voluminous shabby trench coat, pockets bulging and overflowing with crisp wrappers. She mumbles incoherently to herself throughout. A second woman is standing in the opposite corner of the room. She is dressed in white from head to toe and has very pale skin, She is virtually indistinguishable against the backdrop apart from a shock of orange hair]

Second woman [miming directions]  

'Damn it. How the bloody hell did I end up here? First on the right she said, carry on going, take the second left....through the double doors, then you'll see a trapdoor...Ah crap I missed the trapdoor. Again. That's three times this week, it's doing my head in.'

' Not another talking tree. Those bloody elves just can't leave well alone. You'd think they'd get enough of trees hanging around them all day without wanting to talk to them as well. Then they get bored and foist them on the rest of us. Well fan-bloody-tastic. Shut up will you! Stupid plank.'

'What are you playing at? Creeping up on a body like that. It's just creepy. In fact, just leave me alone. It's not my fault your village got blown up in the last wave of attacks. Regrettable I'm sure but that's the way it is. You can't make an omlette without breaking eggs now can you? I suppose that was you talking as well? Trying to make me think I'm going mad, huh? Well, it won't work. I'm a busy woman you know, far too busy to be going mad. Now be off with you, I've a trap door to find.'

' Where was your village anyway?'

Well, it wasn't that important anyway. They all look the same after a while you know. Mud huts, smelling of goat. Bedraggled peasants, smelling of goat. Village green, smelling of goat. What's with that by the way? All your crummy goats are dead and the whole place still smells of goat. Still I doubt it matters now, front lines all look the same don't they? It's not a nice job you know, choosing who to spare and who can be expendable.

Still, someone's got to do it. Now, where's that bloody trapdoor?'

I did you a favour you know. You were never going to make anything of yourself, shut away in that little corner of nowhere. Now you have all the opportunities in the world. You could do anything.

ANYTHING!

The second woman scrabbles backwards into the furthest corner, patting her clothing.

Maybe I shouldn't have bothered. Pointless trying to explain anything to you lot, what do you know about the greater good. Pah, you would never understand.

She spies a fine crack a quarter the way up one of the walls, rips a branch off of the tree and levers it open revealing a narrow dark passageway.

Now, if I follow this and take the first left then I'll be...back where I started, just the ticket.

You coming then? Can't stay there all your life, meandering from one dead end to another. Waste of time if you ask me. Progress, that's the name of the game.

Back where you started. Oh, my child, did you really think your war was about the greater good?

'Trollop!'