Business suit: You’re dead.
An experiment for me, written in script format.
The setting is a back alley just outside the delivery doors of an Italian restaurant. It's dark and the first brushes of sunlight are rimming the horizon. A man in a black business suit is talking to a man in faded black jeans and a pale yellow wind breaker, who happens to have a gaping hole in his chest, the result of a bullet to the heart.
Death and Epiphany
Track suit (disbelief on his face): Really? I don’t feel dead.
Business suit: And how did you think it would feel like?
Track suit: Well…not like this. I feel normal.
Business suit: You have a hole in your chest.
Track suit: Ow! Wait a minute…I take that back. (Pokes at hole.) This is weird.
Business suit: Now do you believe you’re dead?
Track suit: Either that, or this is a strange dream.
Business suit: It’s not a dream.
Track suit: Prove it.
Business suit: Prove it? What do you mean, ‘prove it’? You have a hole where your heart should be.
Track suit: How do I know I won’t wake up in a few minutes and find myself passed out in an alley somewhere?
Business suit (curious, staring past him a bit): Do you often pass out in alleys?
Track suit: Shouldn’t you know?
Business suit: I’m not a mind reader.
Track suit: There! That proves it. This has got to be a dream or you would know.
Business suit: I don’t follow.
Track suit: You’re an angel, aren’t you?
Business suit: Oh. I see the problem. Mistaken identity. I am not an angel, they’re far too busy to do this kind of administrative work.
Track suit: What?
Business suit: I’m just here to collect the bodies and direct them to the right place.
Track suit: Like a traffic cop?
Business suit: I don’t think they collect bodies, do they?
Track suit: Work with me. Use a little imagination.
Business suit: I’m in administration; we aren’t required to have imagination. And besides that’s a terrible analogy.
Track suit: Everyone’s a critic.
Business suit: I don’t have time for this. Are you coming with me or not?
Track suit: You mean I have an option?
Business suit: Not really. I’m just being polite.
Track suit (sits on crate): I’m having a really hard time dealing with this. I can’t believe I’m dead.
Business suit (says irritably): I’m not a psychologist or a bartender, I’m just an administrator. (looks impatiently at watch) Look, if I give you evidence, will you come along quietly?
Track suit: It has to be convincing.
Business suit: Look behind you in the alley.
Track suit (turns and sees his dead body lying on the ground with a gaping hole in its chest): Oh my god… (pales) How come I don’t remember this?”
Business suit (taps foot impatiently): That happens sometimes in cases of violent death. Don’t worry, you’ll remember soon enough. Or…maybe you were unconscious when it happened. You did say you have a habit of passing out in alleys.
Track suit: It was just an example!
Business suit: Or maybe you were remembering something. Anyhow, come with me. (takes him by the elbow and propels him forward)
Track suit (looking down at his body): We can’t just leave me here.
Business suit: I’m sure there are people who take care of these things.
Track suit (looking back at body): I hope I’m wearing clean underwear
Business suit (rolls eyes)
Voices become a murmur as they move off…there’s a bright flash of light and then a fade to black as the scene ends.
