INT. A HOSPITAL OR CARE HOME RECEPTION.
ENTER: DEATH
DEATH
Er, hello. I'm here to see a mister J. Whatzit.
RECEPTIONIST
Alright. If you could just sign yourself in on the ledger, I'll look him up.
DEATH SIGHS AND BEGINS TO FILL IN THE LEDGER
DEATH
You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you?
RECEPTIONIST SILENTLY POINTS TO A CLOCK BEHIND HER
DEATH
Right.
DEATH FINISHES FILLING OUT THE LEDGER AND WAITS PATIENTLY
RECEPTIONIST
It was Mr Whatzit, you said? I'm afraid he can't see visitors at the moment. He's in his last hours. Only Death can see him now.
DEATH
Ta-da!
RECEPTIONIST
Yes?
DEATH STRETCHES HIS ARMS OUT FEEBLY, WAITING TO BE RECOGNISED
DEATH
Who do you think I am?
RECEPTIONIST
Well, you must be one of Mr Whatzit's strange friends, you're certainly dressed oddly enough.
DEATH
I am Death!
RECEPTIONIST
You? Death? I don't believe you.
DEATH
What? You're joking. Do I not look like Death?
RECEPTIONIST
Not really.
DEATH
Um. Long voluminous black cloak? Hooded face? A complete absence of any visible human parts?
RECEPTIONIST CASTS A DOUBTFUL LOOK
DEATH
(WAVING HIS SCYTHE) I have a big scythe.
RECEPTIONIST
Meh. So do I.
DEATH
What?
RECEPTIONIST
(SHRUGS) They can be useful. Anyway, you're not Death. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
DEATH
Come on. Look, look at the ledger. What have I put? Death. Death visiting Mr Whatzit on the 23rd of April at a-quarter-after-eleven. Right on schedule.
RECEPTIONIST
Yes, yes I see that. Very clever of you. But still, you can't be Death. Death would never have had to sign the ledger.
DEATH
What? But... But you asked me to sign it! And so I did. I'm not one to question administrative procedures.
RECEPTIONIST
Hah, yeah right. If you were Death, upon being asked to sign the ledger you would have laughed and declared "I am Death! I sign no ledgers!".
DEATH
Wha..? What kind of self-centred bastard do you imagine me to be? I'm not looking for special treatment. I follow the rules!
RECEPTIONIST
Hah. You're a rather weasely sort, aren't you. No, you can't be Death. Death is spontaneous. Assertive. Unpredictable. You couldn't possibly be Death. Please leave, I won't ask you again.
DEATH
What? Fine.
DEATH SUDDENLY LEANS OVER THE DESK TO READ THE PATIENT REGISTER
RECEPTIONIST
(ANGRILY) What are you doing!
DEATH
Nothing.
RECEPTIONIST
Security!
DEATH TAKES A QUICK GLANCE AROUND AND RUNS TOWARDS A DOOR. HE GOES THROUGH, ONLY TO COME BACK OUT FOLLOWED BY A SECURITY GUARD. DEATH TRIES ANOTHER ROUTE, BUT IS QUICKLY CORNERED BY A SECOND SECURITY GUARD. THE TWO GUARDS GRAB HIM BY EITHER ARM AND DRAG HIM OUT.
DEATH
(KICKING AND SCREAMING) You bastards! I'll get you lot in the end!
