So. It begins...

I hope you've had a good Easter - I've now come down with something approaching man-flu which is not great.  Anyway, I had intended to post this last week but ran out of time.  But here is a first draft of the opening scene from the treatment I'm working on.

A secluded rural road, shrouded in fog, and silent. The bare branches of trees reach out like ghostly, skeletal fingers as a man, David, runs past. His breathing is frantic, each one like a short sob. This and his footsteps are the only sound, until indistinct noises begin to filter through the mist: the hum of an engine, voices on radios. The mist begins to glow with flashes of blue and orange.

The mist begins to part as David approaches the scene of an accident; police cars, a fire engine, ambulances. Emergency service personnel move around the scene. A thin barrier of Police tape surrounds it. David shouts in anguish, and tears through the barrier - a Police officer steps forward, arm outstretched to stop him. "That's my family!" David shouts, pushing the Officer's arm away, then he weaves through the other people at the scene.

Ahead, as the road bends steeply, a wooden fence has been smashed, the earth in between churned by tyre tracks. As David reaches the fence, there is a steep bank leading down in to woods. Several meters down this, resting against a tree, is a badly damaged car, being tended to by emergency service personnel. As he sees this David hesitates, then suddenly a Fire Fighter attempts to restrain him, telling him he can't go down there. David turns to the Fire Fighter, his eyes frantic and pleading - "That's my car - that's my family!" The Fire Fighter loosens his grip, and David turns and stumbles down the slope.

As he nears the car he begins to call the name of his wife, each time more desperate than the last. As he reaches the car a paramedic stops him. "I'm very sorry... there was nothing we could do." David is about to break down. He starts to call out his son's name, at first hopefully, then desperately. He runs past the paramedic, to the back of the car, and as he looks in the broken window he stops in horror. His 3-year old son is motionless in his child seat, bruising and blood on his face. David begins to weep his son's name. He falls to his knees, grabbing the door of the car to steady himself, his head level with his son's. He begins to weep uncontrollably. After a few moments he looks up at his son, whose eyes are now open and staring at him. David says his son's name, like it is a question - are you really alive? The boy answers:

"You killed me, daddy."

David opens his eyes. It is night, and he is in a bed, in hospital. He sits up, and awkwardly moves an arm covered in plaster to rub his eyes. He looks around at the dimly lit ward in which he is recovering, in which he is alone. He then puts his head in his hands and begins to weep silently.

Names are place holders, and this will be re-written, but I feel like I'm off to a start with it now.  Thanks for reading.