The Two Worlds of Charlie F

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Footage of soldiers’ boots on patrol is projected on to gauze.

Lights fade.

Blackout.

Silence.

The sound of an IED explosion. In its wake military radio chatter, the thudding of a helicopter, loud at first then fading down.

Charlie (voice-over) Your hearing’s the last to go.

The radio crackle melds into the sound of a hospital, the digital heartbeat of medical machines getting louder.

And the first to come back.

The lights come up on a cloud of dust, still clearing from the stage. A hospital bed surrounded by screens, backlit. The silhouette of a man lying in the bed.

A non-Caucasian nurse enters and walks behind the screens. She carries a tray with a water bottle and a glass. She, too, is silhouetted as she works. As she dresses her patient’s stump he begins to stir.

Nurse What’s your name?

He stares at her, his breathing becoming rapid.

Charlie Fuck. You.

Nurse You’re in Birmingham, in hospital –

Charlie / Fuck you, you Taliban bitch!

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