Dead as a Dodo « Andrew Sparkes

Dead as a Dodo

As a project for university, I wrote a one-hour drama about an unlucky man that dies in a train crash who is then sent back to live an even more damned life when he insults God in limbo.

“When Jonah turned twenty-one, he thought, as all twenty-one-year-olds do, that he had a lot of potential. Twelve years on and he is stuck with: a job he hates; a cramped flat above a tattoo parlour that he mildly dislikes; a boss that patronises him constantly; a mobile telephone that hasn’t worked properly since February; and a fiancé who he’s convinced doesn’t love him back. Jonah is correct. His girlfriend, Pandora Scott, is having an affair with his best friend, Frank Peeb. With all those misfortunes, what will happen to him at precisely 6:17pm this evening is probably the closest Jonah will come to winning the lottery. That is because, at 6:17pm this evening, Jonah Bartholomew Whitlaw will die. I know this for I am Jonah’s guardian angel, Bottle.”

Bottle, his guardian angel that tries to put things right, is also thrown into danger when God stipulates that unless Jonah can accept the reality of death within a fortnight, both will end up in hell when Jonah naturally dies.

Of course, this all added up to a very depressing script that somehow managed to actually garner a good grade. My marker must have been on Prozac. As a result, since leaving university, I have been re-sculpturing the story into a feature script, with some added hope thrown in.

INT. THE SPREAD EAGLE PUB – DAY

Jonah and Frank are halfway through a pint each. It’s their second already – foam fills the bottom of two other empty glasses on the table.

FRANK

We’ve been through the football, my love-life – which is non-existent, by the way –

Frank shoots Jonah a nervous look but Jonah doesn’t register it.

FRANK

- and global-fucking-warming. Why did you drag me in here on a lunch-break?

Jonah chugs down the last of his pint.

JONAH

You always come here on your lunch-break.

Frank slams down his glass defensively.

JONAH

But I still don’t know how to say this.

Frank waits patiently, but finds time for a few more gulps of beer.

JONAH

I think I’m dead.

Frank picks up his glass in shock.

FRANK

Wow.

Frank sips his pint. Jonah twirls the foam around in his glass.

JONAH

Yup.

FRANK

But don’t say that, mate. There’s tons doctors can do now. One ball isn’t the handicap it used to be.

Jonah almost lets out a half-laugh of annoyance but keeps it back.

JONAH

No. I don’t have cancer.

Frank stops being so tense.

FRANK

You said you found a lump a few months ago.

JONAH

I told you it was benign.

Frank sips his pint again.

FRANK

When?

JONAH

When you were at ours for pizza when we watched Hot Fuzz. The day Pandy dyed her hair blonde.

Frank clicks his finger as if it was obvious, then quietens down almost immediately.

FRANK

Righhht. Hot Fuzz. Right… But what the fuck do you mean? Dead?

JONAH

I think I was on that train that exploded yesterday.

Frank shakes his head at Jonah.

FRANK

You’re here. I think you are lucky you got off before Bank, but I don’t think it was more than that. You aren’t dead. Don’t think that. The victims families don’t want you dead as well.

Jonah shakes his head more fervently.

JONAH

I was on that train. I felt the heat as it hit me. I died. I think.

Frank finishes his pint.

FRANK

You’re a nervous wreck. Drink?

Jonah stands up.

JONAH

See you later in the week, probably.

FRANK

Yeah… Okay… Fine.

Jonah nods at him and makes his way to the exit.