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by segue
Rated: E · Script/Play · Comedy · #1227026
The Angel of Death tries to take on a child, but first he has to pass the social worker.
                                  Death and the Social Worker
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I had lost this when I lost my Upgraded Membership. I've 'rebuilt' it.
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Characters:

Angel of Death, wearing dark clothes (and sporting very fashionable black wings - though these may be hardly detectable by the film's audience).

Marion Hargiss, the Social Worker, business casual and slightly uptight.

INT - BUSY OFFICE OF THE DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN SERVICES, CROWDED CUBICLES - DAY

The clacking of computer keys,  and stammer of voices on phones - conversations over 'situations', roars above the drab, square half-walls. This space, as it is, is overstuffed. Through the years, more and more people and furniture were crammed into the same space, inhibiting kindness and cordiality. Light is filtered in, tinged slightly with dreariness.

At the end of the sea paperwork and bureaucracy, is the Director's office. It has windows with shades, and days of work piled in neatly on the desk corners. There are a few pictures to remind her of life, and diplomas and certifications nailed to the wall. There is a stillness behind the closed door, and yesterday's flower still fresh in a vase at the edge of the desk.

The silence breaks when the door opens.

INT. - SMALL OFFICE - DAY

ENTER DIRECTOR OF ADOPTION SERVICES AND PROSPECTIVE PARENT

The office is small, but has everything a director needs, desk, cabinets, books, motivational posters. Social Director Marion Hargiss comes into her office with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, and a thick stack of papers in the other.

                                       HARGISS
                   Thank you for being here on time.  I apologize for the wait,
                   traffic was murder.

Slightly behind her is a tall, dark figure, dressed in black robing, with a hood obscuring his head and face.

                                       DEATH
                   I know. But that's quite alright..., I'm used to waiting.

The sound of Death's voice wilts the flower on Miss Hargiss' desk. She walks around to her chair and notices its dead petals.

                                       HARGISS
                          (to the plant)
                   Oh, I thought it would last a little longer than that.

She sets down her coffee and the papers, then points to the chair on the other side of the desk.

                                       HARGISS
                          (to Death)
                   Please, sit down.

Death slides into the chair.

                                       HARGISS
                   Ah, we had you come in today to clarify a few details
                on your application.

Ms. Hargiss looks at Death, over the frames of her glasses, waiting for his response. Death is motionless.

                                       HARGISS
                There are a few areas on the application that were left
                empty, and a few others that left us with, frankly,
                more questions.

Death is unmoved in response.

Ms. Hargiss gets a cold chill down her back, and shivers as she composes herself.

                                HARGISS
                Ooh!  Must've had a ghost walk through me.
                          (quietly to herself)
                Ew!

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                        (speaking coolly)
                Yes?

                                HARGISS
                Hm, looking over what you filled out for us, Mr. Deth...

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                ...Angel of Death

                                HARGISS
                Uh, yes, there was a few things, such as your birth date.

Ms. Hargiss is being as polite as she can, but is obviously patronizing in her tone.

The Angel of Death is stone-faced and silent.

                                HARGISS
                        (uncomfortable)
                Well, I'm sure it's nothing we can't fix later..., moving on.
                There were some missing fields in the form, such as
                occupation.

She strains to smile.

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                        (speaking very calmly)
                I did not think that was necessary to state.

Ms. Hargiss is still for a moment, and then starts to quiver.

                                HARGISS
                I'm not sure I understand.

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                I am the Angel of Death.

Ms. Hargiss is shaken, but goes on with what she does very well, hoping that the meeting goes on smoothly without any disruptions.

                                HARGISS
                Well, then..., hm-mm.  There are a few other problems...,
                ugh, issues, with your references.

Death does not respond.

                                HARGISS
                          (coughs to clear her throat)
                  Yes, one of your references..., well, the only one listed,
                  uhm, is God.

She lets out a slight chortle.

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                  Yes?

Ms. Hargiss blinks her eyes. She cannot believe that he is serious.

                                HARGISS
                  We don't ask, or reference anyone's religious
                  preferences..., Angel.  Maybe you were a little
                  confused by the question.

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                  No.

                                HARGISS
                          (laughs nervously)
                  No?!  No, no, we need real people listed here. 
                  People that we can contact, and talk to.

A slight chill can be felt in the air.

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                  You do not talk to God?

                                HARGISS
                          (stuttering)
                  I, I, uhm, no, well, you see. I..., I think we need
                  to move to the final question.

Ms. Hargiss shuffles some papers around on her desk, to try
and regain some composure.

                                  HARGISS
                  Any potential parent must have a stable job,
                  er, income of some type.

Death takes in a breath, sounding like a long hiss.

                                  ANGEL OF DEATH
                  I have never meet anyone quite like you, Ms.
                  Hargiss.

The Angel rises out of his seat, to walk toward Hargiss.

                                  HARGISS
                  Really?

                                  ANGEL OF DEATH
                          (soothing voice, closer to Hargiss)
                  Yes, Ms. Hargiss. I am a transporter, of sorts.
                  Whenever someone has to go, I help them go.

Death raises his hand toward Hargiss.

                                HARGISS
                          (confused)
                    Oh.  Uhm...

Death's bony hand comes out of his robe sleeve. Ms. Hargiss has an astonished look on her face. His fleshless finger points at her. Death moves his finger toward her face, and lightly touches her on the cheek.

Ms. Hargiss' face goes blank, and her torso drops forward. Her head hits the desk.

The Angel lowers his arm, and looks at Ms. Hargiss quietly.

                                ANGEL OF DEATH
                    Hm.  So this is why Kutcher has so much fun.

FADE OUT. THE END.
© Copyright 2007 segue (jimcripps at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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