Death Of A Salesman
Posted: 06 Oct 2017, 16:27
[Scene 1]
Imagine, if you will, a television, preferably an old tube television. The screen flickers, full of static. The television sits within the waiting room of an older funeral parlor in the outskirts of Harper Rock. A young man, maybe in his early twenties, slams a hand against the side, to bring it to life, though to no avail.
"No luck, Mr Bone. I still think you need to get it replaced. I haven't seen a tube television in a while, anyway. This thing is a dinosaur."
Shrugging, the young man slams his hand against the side again, a picture showing for a brief moment, before it withers into the static. Shrugging, he turns, to face the other half of the one-sided conversation. As if it were a show on that television, the camera cuts over, through a doorway, to a desk. A slow pan across, the desk is orderly, neat. Behind sits a haunting fellow, his face seemingly emotionless. Tidying up his paperwork, the man slowly stands, with the assistance of a simple wooden, possibly cherry or maybe even oak, cane. A slow, methodical pace, he moves out of the office, into the waiting area, where he regards the television.
"Such a pity, Jeremy. I do not suppose we could ring a repairman, mm? Do be a good lad and do that for me, yes? I know I don't hire you just to assault my furniture, and I definitely didn't hire you for your lack of insight. Ring up the repairman, Jeremy. I've the dead to attend to, or at least their paperwork."
With that, Jeremy is left to his phone call, and the camera fades to black for a moment.
The scene fades back in, to Mr, or Doctor, Bone, the vulture of a man. He's seen perching in his chair, going through the paperwork for a funeral in the near weeks.
"Dear Mister Alexanders, you left your family in quite a mess, haven't you? Luckily you left enough to afford what they're doing for you, mm? A pretty wife, she's now a widow... Shameful display, sir. Then again, death grips us all, no? And in such.. demand, it seems, in this town. I would complain about the amount, but my good sir, you lot keep me employed."
Shaking his head a little, Bone seems to relax, only minutely, before he straightens the paperwork, signs, then slips it into a folder, filing it away. A knock on the door, he looks over as Jeremy peeks his head in, somewhat flustered.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr Bone, but the repairman can't make it in until next Monday. Are you sure you don't want me to just.. get the parlor a new television?"
Scoffing a touch at the notion, Mr Bone waves Jeremy out.
"No, no, we can wait. We all can. What's the worst that will happen, without a television working for the moment? Life will be sucked out of us? I doubt it very much."
Imagine, if you will, a television, preferably an old tube television. The screen flickers, full of static. The television sits within the waiting room of an older funeral parlor in the outskirts of Harper Rock. A young man, maybe in his early twenties, slams a hand against the side, to bring it to life, though to no avail.
"No luck, Mr Bone. I still think you need to get it replaced. I haven't seen a tube television in a while, anyway. This thing is a dinosaur."
Shrugging, the young man slams his hand against the side again, a picture showing for a brief moment, before it withers into the static. Shrugging, he turns, to face the other half of the one-sided conversation. As if it were a show on that television, the camera cuts over, through a doorway, to a desk. A slow pan across, the desk is orderly, neat. Behind sits a haunting fellow, his face seemingly emotionless. Tidying up his paperwork, the man slowly stands, with the assistance of a simple wooden, possibly cherry or maybe even oak, cane. A slow, methodical pace, he moves out of the office, into the waiting area, where he regards the television.
"Such a pity, Jeremy. I do not suppose we could ring a repairman, mm? Do be a good lad and do that for me, yes? I know I don't hire you just to assault my furniture, and I definitely didn't hire you for your lack of insight. Ring up the repairman, Jeremy. I've the dead to attend to, or at least their paperwork."
With that, Jeremy is left to his phone call, and the camera fades to black for a moment.
The scene fades back in, to Mr, or Doctor, Bone, the vulture of a man. He's seen perching in his chair, going through the paperwork for a funeral in the near weeks.
"Dear Mister Alexanders, you left your family in quite a mess, haven't you? Luckily you left enough to afford what they're doing for you, mm? A pretty wife, she's now a widow... Shameful display, sir. Then again, death grips us all, no? And in such.. demand, it seems, in this town. I would complain about the amount, but my good sir, you lot keep me employed."
Shaking his head a little, Bone seems to relax, only minutely, before he straightens the paperwork, signs, then slips it into a folder, filing it away. A knock on the door, he looks over as Jeremy peeks his head in, somewhat flustered.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr Bone, but the repairman can't make it in until next Monday. Are you sure you don't want me to just.. get the parlor a new television?"
Scoffing a touch at the notion, Mr Bone waves Jeremy out.
"No, no, we can wait. We all can. What's the worst that will happen, without a television working for the moment? Life will be sucked out of us? I doubt it very much."