C’est La Mort: The Problem With Death By Jala Prendes Based on C’est La Mort (comic) Copyright 2013 - Jala Prendes/Neon Skies Studio neonskiesstudio.com cestlamortcomic.com Cast of Characters Porter Graemes: Kole Ross Death: Gary Butterfield Death (as J.C.): Gary Butterfield Patrick: John Fitch Weasel: Michael Ghiringhelli Barbara Graemes: Jala Prendes Sound Design/Arrangement: Seth Moore C’EST LA MORT: THE PROBLEM WITH DEATH Scene: 1 - The Party (THERE IS ONLY SILENCE AS A LEAD-IN. PORTER GRAEMES IS A COCKY, SARCASTIC, RECENTLY DEAD MAN WHO IS SO JADED FROM THE NEGATIVE EVENTS OF HIS PAST THAT AS A DEFENSE MECHANISM, HE SPEAKS FAR MORE ABRASIVELY THAN HIS ACTUAL UNDERLYING EMOTIONS WOULD IMPLY. HE’S AN AVERAGE MAN WITH BOTH GOOD AND BAD POINTS; HE IS NOT A PARTICULARLY HATEFUL PERSON, BUT HIS LACK OF SELF-RESPECT AND THE MANY DISAPPOINTMENTS HE’S FACED IN LIFE HAVE CAUSED HIM TO LACK RESPECT FOR OTHERS MORE OFTEN THAN NOT.) PORTER (NARRATOR) The problem with Death is that he’s an asshole. S’like some demon took a shit in his Wheaties every day for the past thousand years. The name’s Porter, though I guess it doesn’ matter so much anymore. A spook’s a spook, yeah? ‘Cept some of us get to skate by while others-- (PORTER ABRUPTLY STOPS. YOU CAN PRACTICALLY HEAR HIM TURNING HIS HEAD. HE EXHALES SLOWLY AS HE REPLAYS EVENTS IN HIS MIND, WEIGHTED WITH WORRY. WHEN HE SPEAKS AGAIN, HIS VOICE IS SOFTER. HE HAS DROPPED HIS SHIELD.) It wasn’ right, y’know, seein’ ‘im like that. I wasn’t ever able t’ get it outta m’ head. Shit, I got off easy. (HIS VOICE GROWS STRONGER AS HE RESOLVES TO NARRATE HIS TALE, BUT HE IS AT FIRST STILL MORE RESERVED AS THE MEMORY PAINS HIM.) I knew long before I died that goin’ t’ Judgement was bull. Y’see, Death’d visited me before. I w’s still alive back then. There was a party, see? SOUND: THE PARTY - PEOPLE CHATTING, MUSIC, MOVEMENT PORTER (NARRATOR) I musta been...hell in my early twenties. Barbie’d had Ellie already. I w’s hangin’ out with a couple o’ my high school buddies. Patrick an’ Weasel, y’know, m’ boys. SOUND: PORTER’S FRIENDS TALKING INDISTINCTLY OVER THEIR DRINKS, ALREADY RATHER INEBRIATED. THE MUSIC STILL PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND AND OTHER VOICES ARE HEARD FAINTLY. DEATH (FAINTLY RASPING AMONG ALL THE OTHER NOISES, SPEAKING IN A HISS.) Porterrrrr... PORTER Huh? You guys hear that? PATRICK Whatcha talkin’ ’bout dude? Haha, you ain’t e’en took your hit yet! DEATH Porterrrrrrr! (HIS VOICE IS MORE INSISTENT, GAINING A HARDER EDGE TO IT WHICH SEEMS TO REVERBERATE ALMOST AS IF MULTIPLE PEOPLE ARE SPEAKING AT ONCE, SLIGHTLY OUT OF SYNC.) SOUND: INSIDIOUS, LOW CACKLING. PORTER Aah, shit! (HIS CONFUSION CLEARLY REGISTERS IN HIS VOICE. HE IS ALSO BEGINNING TO FEEL SLIGHT FEAR AS HE IS RELATIVELY SOBER AND BELIEVES HE IS HALLUCINATING.) WEASEL Hey watch it, man! Y’ almost splashed me with yer beer! PORTER (SPOOKED.) Sorry, sorry man...shit, where’s that hit? SOUND: RUSTLING AND MUTTERING AS PORTER SEARCHES. HE FINDS THE DRUGS AND SNIFFS A LARGE QUANTITY OF LSD. PATRICK Damn dude! Leave some for the rest of us, will ya? I know bein’ a new father is tough an’ shit, but Jesus. Chill the hell out! SOUND: IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FRIEND’S CRITICISM, ALL SOUND SLOWS AND WARPS AS IF PORTER WERE SUBMERGED IN WATER. YOU CAN HEAR HIS HEART BEATING FASTER AS A RESULT OF HIS ANXIETY AT THE VOICE OF DEATH. DEATH, MEANWHILE, CAN BE HEARD HISSING FAINTLY, MUCH LIKE THE SOUND OF TERMINAL BREATH. SOUND: ALL FADES TO SILENCE. THERE IS A PAUSE FOLLOWED BY SLOW REINTRODUCTION OF PORTER’S SHALLOW BREATHING; HIS HEARTBEAT, STILL FAST BUT FAINTER; AND THE GRADUALLY LOUDER SOUND OF DEATH’S HISS. DEATH Porterrrr... PORTER AH JESUS! SHIT! (UTTERLY TERRIFIED.) PORTER (NARRATOR) Tip number one: if yer already trippin’ balls, don’t do drugs. Hell if I knew what I w’s thinkin’. Shit got worse. Way. The hell. Worse. PORTER Who th’-- (PAUSES, EXAMINING DEATH.) SOUND: FAINT, CHILL BREEZE; CRACKLING AS OF ICE; INDISTINCT, WET SOUNDS. PORTER Fuck. Me. (EMPHASIS ON BOTH SYLLABLES. SAID BREATHILY.) VOICE: PATRICK AND WEASEL SPEAKING IN THE BACKGROUND. PATRICK Hey dude. DUDE! PORTER! WEASEL Where th’ hell’s he goin’? PATRICK ...Haha, whatever, just let ’im go. WEASEL The fuck? He just fell over! PATRICK It’s acid, man, who knows. WEASEL But he ain’t movin’. PATRICK He’ll get up when he feels like it. Let ’im enjoy the ride! (THE SOUND OF THEIR VOICES SLOWLY FADES AWAY.) SOUND: DEATH CACKLES. DEATH Yooouu’ve an appointment to keep... PORTER Huh? Wh-wh- DEATH An old friennnd. But youuu may not approve of the venueee...hahaha. SOUND: THE WIND AND CRACKLING NOISES INCREASE IN VOLUME, BLENDING WITH DEATH’S CHORTLE. THE SOUNDS INTENSIFY AS THOUGH TRANSFORMING INTO A BLIZZARD. Scene: 2 - The Ninth Circle PORTER HOLY-- SOUND: A LOUD ROAR OF A GIANT. THE WIND DIES DOWN. PORTER (BEGINS TO SHIVER UNCONTROLLABLY DUE TO THE DRAMATIC DROP IN TEMPERATURE.) It’s s-s-so c-c-cold...an’ what th’ f-fuck’re those things over there?! ...GIANTS?! What the fuck is this, Jack an’ th’ Beanstalk?! SOUND: THUDDING NOISES AS THE GIANTS WALK AROUND IN THE DISTANCE. PORTER (NARRATOR) Tellin’ somebody t’ go t’ Hell is prolly the worst curse you c’n hit ’em with. I know. I’ve BEEN there. DEATH Wellllcommmme to the Ninnnth Circllleee...hahaha. PORTER Hell?! You took me to HELL?! (PANICKING.) DEATH You’reee only visitinggg...for nowww. (A WHEEZING, LOW CHUCKLE.) PORTER What’re we here for? You said...a friend? (HIS VOICE DROPS.) (THE BLOOD DRAINS FROM HIS FACE.) DEATH Commmeee closerrr. SOUND: FOOTSTEPS IN THE SNOW AS PORTER WALKS OVER. SOFT, SHORT BREATHS. DEATH Look therrrreee. PORTER (A MOMENTARY PAUSE AND A SLOWLY-DRAWN BREATH WHICH IS QUICKLY FORGOTTEN.) Oh no... SOUND: DEATH CHUCKLES. PORTER No...no no NO!!! He’s...frozen?! SOUND: A CRUNCH OF SNOW. PORTER (PORTER FALLS TO HIS KNEES.) DEATH What’re y’doin’ in there, man? Not much...haha...he is a littllleee...stiff... SOUND: BUBBLING AND OOZING. (DEATH TRANSFORMS INTO A VISAGE OF J.C.) SOUND: PORTER’S SLOW, SHUDDERING BREATHING IS HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND AS NARRATOR-PORTER SPEAKS. PORTER (NARRATOR) Death’s a prick, like I said. He has this annoying-ass habit o’ makin’ himself look like people jus’ t’ fuck with you. This guy’d been one o’ m’ best friends. Like a big brother. I looked up from his ice cube self an’ saw ’im in front o’ me where Death’d been. Death’s version was a little kid, but his face w’s all twisted up the way my buddy prolly felt. He looked like a ghost--well, what I thought a ghost looked like b’fore I WAS one. Like Marley in A Christmas Carol, that type o’ shit. (DEATH-AS-J.C.’S VOICE IS HIGHER AND LIGHTER AS HIS PHYSICAL FORM IS THAT OF A BOY; HIS TONE REFLECTS THE TRAUMA OF J.C.’S MENTALLY TORTURED AND POWERLESS STATE. IT HAS A FRANTIC YET DEFEATED AND BROKEN QUALITY, ALMOST AS IF HE RECOGNIZES THE FUTILITY OF HIS ACTIONS.) DEATH (AS J.C.) Listen Porter, you gotta listen for a minute. PORTER What hap’ned, man? I heard you got iced by the cartel. PORTER (NARRATOR) Iced. Really, Porter? Sometimes I shoved m’ foot so far int’ my mouth that it came right out my asshole. DEATH (AS J.C.) Yeah man, yeah. That’s what happened. (PAUSE.) But that’s why you’ve gotta pay attention. SOUND: ANOTHER GIANT ROARS, THIS TIME LOUDER AS HE COMES CLOSER. HEAVY, REVERBERATING FOOTSTEPS. DEATH (AS J.C.) (NERVOUSLY.) We don’t got much time. Look, it’s all my fault. PORTER What’re you talkin’ about? DEATH (AS J.C.) I see it so clearly now. You remember when I first got into the biz, right? PORTER Those were good times. (LAUGHS.) Th’ parties, the drugs-- DEATH (AS J.C.) (SLIGHTLY PANICKED.) That’s what I mean. PORTER What’s the big deal? Y’ can’t tell me it’s ’cause you liked t’ get fucked up that you ended up here, shit. It was fun. We didn’ hurt anybody. DEATH (AS J.C.) Maybe you didn’t, but I did. SOUND: SUDDEN RUSTLE OF MOVEMENT AS DEATH-AS-J.C. GRABS PORTER’S ARM. PORTER Ow! Hey I’m still alive, fucker, lay off the death grip! PORTER (NARRATOR) Yeah I was on a friggin’ roll. DEATH (AS J.C.) People died, Porter, and I made it happen. The boss killed me ’cause I was dilutin’ the drugs and takin’ the extra money. PORTER Fuck! That’s fucked up, man! DEATH (AS J.C.) (SHARP, SHORT INHALATIONS, AS THOUGH ON THE VERGE OF CRYING IN ANGUISH.) But...but I didn’t know them, see? So it didn’t bother me so much. Not until I died and came here. Money doesn’t do the damned any good. (HE PAUSES, OVERCOME WITH EMOTION.) YOU. What you’re gonna do. What’s gonna happen--Porter, I started it. Oh God, Barbie, little Ellie...forgive me... (BREAKS DOWN.) Take a look around, Porter. Don’t let go of what’s important. SOUND: BUBBLING AND OOZING. PORTER OW! What the fuck?! Your face is melting off! Get off me! Get off-- (VOICE ESCALATING IN PANIC.) SOUND: WHIRRING OF HOSPITAL MACHINERY. THE BLIP OF A HEART MONITOR. STILLNESS. PORTER (NARRATOR) Scene: 3 - The Hospital I woke up in a hospital room. They tol’ me I’d gone int’ a coma between all the drugs an’ shit. Oh an’ that lil brush with Death, but they didn’t know about that. Not at least the type I w’s talkin’ about. VOICE: BARBARA IS FAINTLY HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND AS PORTER NARRATES. BARBARA Porter? ...Porter! Oh honey, I’m so glad you’re awake. I’m here baby, I’m here. (HER VOICE FADES, AS DO THE SOUNDS OF THE ROOM.) PORTER (NARRATOR) I never really knew if what I saw was REAL or jus’ the drugs. If Death w’s lettin’ my friend talk to me or jus’ pretendin’ t’ be him. It w’s only when I died that it all clicked. But by then it w’s too late. (PAUSE.) Death’s a sadistic bastard. The fucker KNEW what was gonna happen. That I’d chalk it all up to a bad acid trip an’ my buddy’d hafta watch me fuck up my life anyway an’ blame himself for it for pullin’ me off the straight an’ narrow. Not like it w’s a long fall or anythin’. I didn’ realize what I w’s doin’ when I was alive. Apathy an’ shit. I hurt Barbie an’ the kids, an’ other people. People I shoulda been carin’ for. So when Death came knockin’ an’ said it w’s time for Judgement, I thought back t’ my lil romp in Hell an’ said "fuck that." I really dunno what I w’s thinkin’, but I didn’ expect him t’ say, "sure buddy have fun bein’ dead an’ shit" but that’s what happened. Lucky me. The problem with Death is that he’s an asshole. An’ I hope it’s my buddy shittin’ icicles in his damn Wheaties for the next thousand years.