1.7 KiB
SECOND PARABLE: You can think yourself out of any problem except being dead.
Lights up. GRAVEDIGGER is gone. It's midmorning, or early afternoon. One can hear birdsong, the quiet bustling of a town going about its business. And faintly, faraway music.
A coffin sits center stage, resting within a now-open grave. The tombstone, previously shadowed and illegible, comes into focus. THE ACCOUNTANT. Beat.
ACCOUNTANT pushes open the lid of the coffin, attempts to take a deep breath. Instead he is wracked with a fit of coughing. He is very obviously long dead- a skeleton, or a walking corpse. Perhaps he is transparent. Regardless of this, he stands, brushes his pants clean, and sits on the edge of the grave.
ACCOUNTANT: Simple, really. You just stand up.
His voice is a snarled mess of dried flesh, but it begins to warm up as he speaks. His particular accent isn't important, as long as it's from somewhere far away. He reaches down into the coffin and roots around, finds a missing rib and jams it back into place.
ACCOUNTANT: Of course that doesn't help with the fashion situation. Bastards.