Let's go for a ride.
My name is George Lass. I'm 18 years old and I am down there, somewhere.
I'm gonna tell you a story. Not my story, that's later.
This is just a story. Ready?
Once upon a time, or more specifically, at the dawn of time,
god, lower-case G, was "getting busy" with creation,
as kids these days say.
He gave toad a clay jar and said, "Be careful with this, it's got death inside."
Pleased as punch and unaware that he would become god's fall guy on the death issue,
toad promised to guard the jar.
But then one day, toad met frog.
"Let me hold the jar of death, or whatever you call it, Frog-bag."
With a nod to Nancy Reagan's pearl of wisdom, toad just said no.
But frog was determined, and after much whining, toad finally gave in.
You can hold it just for a second," he said.
In his excitement, frog began to hop and juggle the death jar from one foot to the other.
Frog was an asshole.
"Stop!" toad cried, but it was too late.
Frog dropped the jar and it shattered to the ground.
When it broke open, death got out, and ever since all living things have to die.
Wonder how much better the world would be if frogs stuck to hocking beer?
So there you have it, the mystery of death finally revealed.
We all die, some of us sooner than later.
For me, it's going to be much sooner... but that's only the beginning of my story.
That's not me.
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That's me. I'd say I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not. I excel at not giving a shit.
Experience has taught me that interest begets expectation
and expectation begets disappointment, so to avoid disappointment, just avoid interest.
A equals B equals C equals A, or whatever.
I'm also not interested in being a good or a bad person.
Either way, you're screwed.
Bad people are punished by society's law...
Drop your weapon. Put your hands in the air!
.. and good people...
Who's a pretty kitty? You are!
Come on, sweetheart.
.. are punished by Murphy's Law.
So you see my dilemma.
Georgia Lass?
Hi. I'm Delores Herbig, as in "her big brown eyes".
I'll be your Happy Time career counsellor. Why don't you come with me?
"Some college," huh? Didn't finish?
"Some" seemed enough.
You have management experience in the food service industry.
Big mamito with a cherry Pepsi.
Yeah.
Do you ever wake up and realise your life is meaningless?
- What? - Are you familiar with Microsoft Office?
- Word? Access? PowerPoint? - I know Lotus.
We use Excel now, dear. You might think about taking some tutorials.
I'll get to the point. What kind of work are you looking for?
- I don't know. What's available? - For you, we have clerical positions.
Reception, data entry...
I was told to ask about being an executive assistant.
Well, you can ask.
To be absolutely honest, with your rather limited experience and education,
you're better off sticking to redundant duties.
How do you feel about filing?
- I never thought about it. - Maybe you should.
Can I make an observation?
I haven't seen you smile once since you set foot in this office
and a sunny disposition is a bonus in any job, especially at Happy Time.
Trust me, no employer is gonna want a sad sack on their hands.
- Look at me. I wouldn't have gotten this far... - How far is that?
- I beg your pardon? - How far have you gotten?
I mean... it's not like this is a corner office with a view
and every day, you have to find jobs for people,
most of which are better than yours and that has to suck.
I bet they don't pay you much either.
Just making an observation.
- How did things go today? - OK.
- Just OK? - Yeah. Just OK.
She's bitter 'cause they told her she wasn't qualified to get a decent job.
Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry.
- Wanna know what I think? - Here we go.
You should never have dropped out of college.
I still don't understand why you couldn't finish the semester.
What happened to you, Georgia?
You used to have friends and be so smart.
It's like you just gave up.
- Well, I hate to say, "I told you so." - You love to say it.
Don't talk that way to your mother.
- You know it only aggravates her. - Thank you, honey, that's helpful!
Meet the family.
Joy, aged 41, is a Virgo.
She's a career secretary and enjoys ice-skating and John Grisham novels.
She's afraid of balloons and hates the word "moist". She thinks it's pornographic.
Clancy, aged 43, is a Cancer.
He's a tenured professor of English at UW and is, I'm told, very well respected.
He's having an affair with a graduate student.
And that's Reggie. She's ten.
She's not really invisible, but as far as I'm concerned, she may as well be.
This is delicious.
And moist.
When I was little, Mom told me Santa didn't exist.
Neither did the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, or the Great Pumpkin.
Even though she didn't say so, I assumed God didn't either.
Otherwise I'd probably be praying right now.
I'd pray for world peace etc and maybe even for a little guidance.
Do you know what it's like, cusping on adulthood, not knowing who you are,
what you wanna be, or even if you wanna be?
It's ten shades of suck is what it is!
- Get up! - Mom.
That woman from the temp agency has a job for you.
- What kind of job? - Beggars can't be choosers.
- I don't feel good. - Too bad.
- I think I have a temperature. - Dammit, Georgia, you are not six years old!
18 years of coddling is enough for you, young lady.
If you think you can spend your life suckling at my retirement fund,
you've got another thing coming.
You will get up and go to work.
You will collect a pay check and move out of this house.
Understood?
Get dressed.
- Those are funeral clothes. - There'll be one if you don't move your ass!
The last words my mother will say to me.
Move it!
Boy, is she gonna be sorry.
Who had the nerve to name you Joy?
See all these boxes?
We acquired a small insurance company based out of Spokane two years ago.
All their claim files were shipped to us for electronic data conversion.
This is what we call the Pit.
Get cosy, 'cause you are gonna spend a lot of time here.
So your mission is to sift through all this crap and code it for the pencil-necks in Data Entry.
- Think you can handle that? - Sure, whatever.
Cool.
So what did you do to piss Delores off?
- Huh? - Delores Herbig, as in "her big brown eyes".
You must've done something. She only gives this job to people she hates.
As the day progressed, I began to suspect that Delores Herbig, as in "her big fat ass",
was the devil and she'd condemned me to hell.
To spite the great hoofed one, I took every opportunity to shirk my duties.
Even though I did my best to do very little, most everyone else was doing a lot less.
Welcome to corporate America.
Was this it? Was this who I was?
Would I forever be remembered as a file clerk? Or worse, a temp?
Just toss 'em in there.
Where are the other files?
- What other files? - The files I requested, the red-flag cases.
Yeah. Looked for those, couldn't find them.
Well, files just don't disappear.
They do if you drop them down an elevator shaft.
Is that a joke?
I don't know. Yeah, maybe.
Can I go now?
- Which elevator? - Middle one.
I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in a dead-end job.
And I'm not just being dramatic.
It really is the rest of my life... which actually only amounts to the next half hour.
Hey, what's up?
- Nothing. - Nada mucho, that's cool.
It's your lunch hour. We'll see you back here in 35.
If it's my lunch hour, why is it 35 minutes?
'Cause they did some research five years ago and they clocked some folks
and figured that's how long it takes to go somewhere, get your food and eat it.
So we'll see you in three-five.
It was a beautiful day.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue
and the Russian space agency was de-orbiting the Earth.
There was a miscalculation in the density of the ionosphere at the point of entry
or something like that.
It was supposed to fall in the Pacific, but a few pieces got to the West Coast,
including the seat of a 0-G toilet.
Excuse me? Got the time?
- Five after one. - Thank you. Thank you very much,.
So what is your name?
- George. - Uh, middle name?
- You got a middle name? - Fuck off!
Does it start with an "L"?
You'd better hurry, George.
You're gonna be late.
They say your life flashes before your eyes the moment before you die.
That might be true if you're terminally ill, or your parachute doesn't open,
but if death sneaks up on you, the only thing you have time to think is, "Aw, shit!"
Get outta here!
I'll solve the puzzle!
Hey, dead girl! Hold on a minute.
That's Rube, he's undead.
They say there are five psychological stages of death.
Ironically, this applies even if you're already dead.
Number one, denial.
This is happening, this isn't real.
Peanut, this is as real as it gets. You're dead.
That's Betty, also undead.
- This is yours. - Mercy, that thing made a horrible noise!
But... I don't remember feeling anything.
- Your soul was popped out before impact. - We do that for violent deaths, as a courtesy.
- But I didn't wanna die. - Oh, nobody does. Except suicides.
They're no fun.
Number two is anger.
I'm only 18! I haven't done anything! This isn't fair!
So what are you? Like... angels or something?
No, no, ma'am. Angels don't get their hands dirty.
You know, upper-management types.
We have the unfortunate distinction of being called grim reapers.
Number is three is bargaining.
Well, then can't you take somebody else? Like, an old person?
That homeless guy? I won't tell, I promise!
- All right. - Really?
- No. - Well, I want my life back!
It's not like you were doing anything with it.
And then there's depression.
- I know what might cheer you up. - What?
Your autopsy.
There's something about seeing your body all empty, or in my case, in pieces.
Rube says it's like looking at a bowl of peach cobbler you dropped on the floor.
As good as it was, you just don't want it.
It sounds kinda whacked, but it did make me feel better.
- I don't get it. Why do an autopsy? - To identify the body.
- How hard can that be? - You were hit by an object travelling 200mph,
with a surface temperature exceeding 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit. Do the math.
I didn't know what was more disturbing, being dead,
or the fact that the first man to touch my body was a coroner.
This has been lovely, but isn't it time I should be going?
You got some place to be?
I don't know? Do I?
Gotta stick around till your body's been laid to rest.
I'm meat. How much rest do I need?
Not important. Just say goodbye to this life before saying hello to the next.
What do you mean, "the next one"? Am I being reincarnated or something?
Don't be an ass.
Everyone says the same shit at funerals.
They talk about how sweet and full of life you were,
how it was your time and you can't question God's plan.
They never say anything bad.
The biggest turds in the toilet come up smelling of roses.
She was a wonderful girl, so full of life.
# In the afterlife You could be heading for the serious strife
# Now you make the scene all day...
Get those outta here.
Get out. Get out!
Betty, she just loves funerals. You'd think she'd never been to one before.
# People listen attentively
# I mean about future calamity
# I used to think the idea was obsolete
# Until I heard the old man stamping his feet...
I am so very sorry for your loss.
Excuse me, this seat's taken.
Oh, excuse me.
- How come they can see you, but not me? - Well, peanut, you're dead.
- So are you. - Bite your tongue!
- I'll have you know I am un-dead. - What's the difference?
An undead person has certain rights.
For instance, I have a physical body.
I can enjoy the deliciousness of this tasty Key lime pie.
And if I so choose, I can interact with the living.
Observe.
- How do you do, sir? - Fine.
- You can't do that. - That sucks.
For you dead types, sure, but it keeps the riffraff in its place.
- I'm so glad you're here. - Clancy, I'm so sorry.
# .. will be revealed on the other side... #
Is a friendly hug between two men supposed to last that long?
And then there was Reggie.
After ignoring her for ten years, I guess it was my turn to be the invisible sister.
You missed the commotion. Your mother was bawling so hard she choked.
- They almost called an ambulance. - Really?
She's a mess. She's never gonna stop missing her little girl.
Since you're Interaction Man, can't you tell them I'm OK?
- I'll get right on it. - Then I'll tell them.
How will do you do that? Rattle chains, make lights flicker?
Know how to make wind sounds? I can do that part for you.
Why do you have to be such as asshole?
Oh, goddammit.
- So what's next? Onward and upward? - Onward, not upward.
No Pearly Gates for you. No choirs of angels neither.
- You dick, you're sending me to hell? - You're not that interesting.
You, little dead girl, are gonna be a grim reaper.
Huh?
Hundreds and thousands of people die every day.
Bodies are easy: dig a ditch, light a match. But the souls, who takes care of them?
We do. We're bail bondsmen for the disembodied.
Once their souls ditch the fleshy parts, they're in our custody till they reach their final destination.
I assume you're taking about heaven?
Who knows?
- Whatever, I hope it's not gaudy, like the Bible. - I like to think it's like this.
So there is a God?
What do you think?
Willkommen. What can I get you?
T-bone steak and eggs over-easy. I want toast instead of hash browns.
Syrup pancakes, and don't skimp on the butter.
And some crispy bacon: extra, extra, extra crispy.
- Drink? - Lemonade.
I'm not staying. I have an appointment downtown. Hope it's not another dead hooker.
Miss?
You... You said no one could see me.
Before you joined the ranks of the undead. Order before she thinks you're retarded.
Uh... what he's having.
Mm-hm.
I'm still having trouble with this whole "Why me?" issue.
You filled someone's quota.
Everyone's assigned an unspecified allotment of souls to collect.
Now, you don't know how many... until you've nabbed the last one.
Remember that weird guy who asked your name before you got torpedoed by the toilet seat?
You were his last one.
So he gets promotion, nice benefits package, and you take his place.
I was glad to see him go. He was a pain in the ass.
It's like being the millionth customer, except there's no shopping spree.
You could've told me before.
Pardon my savoir-faire.
Dying is dramatic enough without this stuff messing with your head.
Don't get your knickers in a knot. It's a destiny thing. Enjoy it.
They kept tossing around words like "destiny" and "fate".
The word "choice" was never mentioned. Because I didn't have one.
- OK, bye. - Bye-bye.
And congratulations.
Are you gonna eat your bacon?
Just like that, I became a grim reaper. Swear to God!
I was born again. But not in a creepy, religious way.
All around me was a bright, shiny new world.
And death was everywhere.
Infectious and parasitic disease.
Circulatory system disease.
Malignant neoplasms.
Those were the big three. The leading causes of death worldwide.
But they weren't my problem. Grim reapers are assigned to specific divisions.
My division is External Influence. Translation...
murders...
suicides...
accidents etc.
And I do mean etc.
That's Roxy. She could kick your ass.
Every reaper has their own style -
those little personal touches that make death so special.
- Morning. - Morning.
You don't just stand there waiting for a piano to drop.
It's polite to take her soul at the corner, give her some dignity.
Do you get off dropping pianos on people? Is that a fetish?
- It's not our job to drop pianos or toilet seats. - Whose job is it?
- Gravelings. - Gravelings?
- Are they invisible? - No, they're not invisible.
You just can't see 'em when you're looking at 'em.
But when something's about to happen, or just happened, you might catch a glimpse.
- So just don't freak out. - But they're real?
Yeah, 'fraid so.
They set things in motion, they make the accidents happen.
- They kill people? - Life and death have to exist in perfect harmony
and call it what you want, but that balance has to be maintained.
- Or else? - Things get outta hand. That ain't pretty.
What's up, pussycat? George, this is Mason.
Mason. Oh, Mason, Mason, Mason!
- Mason, George. - Does this cracker talk to every...
- Shh! - You just shushed me. That's rude, man!
It's disrespecting the dead.
You come here.
You murdered each other in a crack den. You do not deserve my respect.
Hence, shh!
That's cold, man.
George died a week ago in a freak aerospace accident.
Yeah, I remember you. Toilet-seat girl.
Already got yourself a nickname.
Toilet-seat girl needs a place to stay. Know of any vacancies?
- Place in Spring Hill might be available. - Find out.
I love you, peanut, but you're wearing me out.
I'll see to Mutt and Jeff. Let her tag along to your 2.30.
- She needs observation. - When do you want her back?
9.30am at The Waffle House. Banana Bonanzas.
There's your bus. Go with the nice man.
It's rented out to some accountant.
He cooked the books for some tribal casinos.
He got the bills paid from an offshore account.
- How did he die? - I don't know, didn't ask.
- The bills are paid until when? - Until the account closes.
- Meantime, you squat. - As in...?
As in settling in property without right or payment of rent.
- Reapers are squatters? - Think of it as subsidised housing.
- We perform a public service. - The living probably don't think so.
- What if someone shows up? - You walk away.
If you've trashed the place, you run away.
- So I just crash here? - Yeah, more or less.
- Do I get keys? - If you can find them.
- Jesus Christ! - What?
Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!
Don't get loud. What?
Those are dead people.
No shit.
- I can't live with dead people. That's gross! - Huh.
You won't have to. Look at these bodies.
Execution, execution, execution...
These guys were probably tortured to death. This was a professional job.
So?
So these bodies aren't just gonna lay around. They'll disappear.
They've got cleaning crews for this kind of thing.
They're probably on their way now with a couple of vats of acid and a carpet steamer.
What are you doing?
Collecting my salary.
Leave the plastic. Cash is king.
We don't get paid through proper channels?
No.
I kept telling myself, "They're dead. It's a victimless crime."
Then it occurred to me that that's what guys who have sex with corpses do.
There's the accountant. Check his pocket for the keys.
Oh.
Um...
.. not that I'm any great bastion of morality, but isn't stealing from dead people kinda tacky?
Well, it's either this... or get yourself a day job.
He's not joking.
The US Government doesn't provide food stamps for grim reapers.
We don't have bus passes, or get into movies for free.
Most reapers take from the dead. Others get day jobs.
Do I need to be crossing over, passing on, or something?
You ain't going nowhere until I've fill my quota.
Hi. What you guys doing?
- Looking for keys. - I have 'em. I called two hours ago.
- Have you got a place? - Probate's over.
My agent asked me to leave. It was very civil.
Well, shit. Now we have to find her somewhere to stay.
Can't I couch-surf with one of you for a couple of days?
That's the problem. It's never just a couple of days.
No. Two days becomes a week, a week becomes a month, we know nothing about you...
You could be crazy and you'd be in our home.
You understand our position?
Friends of mine at Circulatory Disease give me the skinny on vacancies in their division.
I don't normally share a privileged 411, but I like you, Toilet Seat, you're boxy.
There won't be arterial spray everywhere, will there?
Let's hope he was considerate enough to die outside the home.
Enter the angry white man.
- What the fuck are you doing? - Who are you?
- Who are you, bitch? - About the apartment...
Occupied. Fuck off!
- He called you "bitch". - Maybe we should let him keep it.
I'm not gonna co-sign on his bullshit.
Don't call me bitch, bitch.
Sorry to disturb you again. Me and my colleagues represent the local...
.. housing authority. The tenant of 12J is deceased.
- This is 12J. - Yes, it is.
- We're going to have to ask you to leave. - I've got rights, cock-knocker.
- I ain't going nowhere. - Local and state laws on tenants rights
are only applicable to traditional rental situations.
They don't cover squatting.
My name's on the lease, you piece of shit!
- Excuse me? - My name's on the goddamned lease.
- I want some ID. - You're DW Manus.
That's right.
- You said he was dead. - I'm alive and kicking your ass!
I... I'm so embarrassed. I...
- What did you do? - I made a mistake.
- Damned right. - Excuse us!
Well... he wasn't scheduled to die until next Tuesday.
- Are you shitting me? - I thought it said the first, but it was the seventh.
- That looks like a one. - That's your writing.
I feel bad enough already.
- What are we gonna do? - I think we should leave.
- OK, we'll come back next Tuesday. - Have a nice week.
The angry white man kept his apartment
until a coronary thrombosis terminated his lease.
In the meantime, I was homeless.
Do you remember when you first asked your parents about the D-word?
My dad just about shit his pants.
He told me not to worry.
He said most people died when they're so old, they don't care about living any more.
Sorry, I tuned you out. Were you whining?
I didn't sleep for a month.
As childhood traumas go,
nothing beats the realisation that everything dies.
Including you.
It's worse than anything your parents could do to you.
I was a happy child. I never thought about death much.
Do you guys wanna get some ice cream?
Betty treated us to an ice cream and left.
I had chocolate-chocolate something. Mason had vanilla.
Normally, I'd find that suspicious, but on him, it was endearing.
Hey, look.
- This is what we look like to the living. - Holy shit.
# Everybody flew, flew... #
Of all the things that go with being undead, this one freaked me out the most.
- Who decides what we look like? - I don't know.
Maybe this is what our inner child looks like when it grows up.
It looked like my inner child's road to adulthood
was paved with crack cocaine, ten-dollar blow-jobs and maybe even a trick baby or two.
Do you think she's pretty?
- Hmm... Not as pretty as you. - I should've said, "Thank you."
I wanted to say, "Thank you," to smile and flirt and giggle. Instead, I said...
Whatever.
As the fly upon the wall, observe, do not interact.
- That's very Zen of you. You must smoke pot. - Seriously.
Some reapers believe that your appointment with death is on the books before you're born.
- What if they don't make the appointment? - How should I know?
All I'm saying is don't start moving shit around and talking to people, because you...
.. might change the outcome of events.
Treat it like a retroactive crime scene. Stick to the sidelines, look for high-risk factors.
Like what?
The people behind that counter.
They're miserable. Unhappy people do unhappy things.
Bob's big boy on the ladder. He could fall. He could fall on somebody.
Tweeker chick. She could be free-basing in the ladies' room. This could be an overdose.
Maybe she's got her period. Lighten up.
You get the picture?
- A slight clue. - Huh?
A graveling in the bank lobby with a banana peel.
It might not be the graveling. It could be murder, suicide, food poisoning.
It's the banana peel.
Graveling, banana peel.
Let's say it is the graveling. Banana peel's too obvious.
I saw them drop a piano on some chick's head.
- They don't want points for originality. - It's not the banana peel.
If it's not the banana peel, throw it in the garbage.
Fine. I'll do it.
All right! There is a possibility that it might be the banana peel. Now sit back down.
That's what I thought you would say.
- So how much do we know about this person? - Who?
The one that's gonna die.
Not a lot. Name's Moore, initials BM.
- BM Moore? - That's what it says.
ETD is 2.36.
- ETD? - Estimated Time of Death.
So is our "BM" a he or a she?
I don't know.
- You're kidding? - No, I'm not kidding.
- We get a name, an address and an ETD. - That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
- And on a Post-it note? - The less we know, the better.
- How do you figure that? - Because it keeps it clean.
It's a lot easier not to give a shit when you don't know anything about them.
So I was as the fly upon the wall. I observed, I didn't interact.
In my observations, I heard plenty of B-names being bandied about in office gossip,
but were any of them BMs?
There was Byron, the embezzling bank manager.
Brenda, the office slut.
Uh-huh... Yeah.
Yeah.
Brad, the philandering loan officer.
Uh, yeah... Uh... I'll... I'll call you back.
And Becky, his adoring wife.
But there was one more B-name they weren't gossiping about.
Hello.
Can I help you?
Brett, the hapless bank robber.
Everyone listen to me.
This device is designed to detect the activation of a silent alarm.
If the silent alarm is detected, I'll start killing everyone.
I mean, people. I'll start killing people.
He rehearsed all morning.
Put your weapon on the floor.
Now, now! Put it on the ground, now!
Still think it's the banana peel?
Kick it over to me.
Everybody down on the floor, now!
Now, you get out of here, now! Hurry!
All of you, get down here, now!
All right.
Meanwhile, the philanderer and the office slut were making sweet, sweet love...
.. as they had done so many times before.
Bradley! Brad!
Brad?
Down on the floor!
Don't you point that gun at me. I'm holding a baby.
Shut up!
- You shut up. - Oh, my God!
Don't stop what you're doing. This man is waiting for his money.
- How many people are supposed to die? - Just one.
- Hurry! - I think.
- You, you know Brad? - Yes.
I'm his wife.
Oh.
- Oh... - Yeah, oh.
Is my baby cheating on me?
Uh...
- Tell me the truth. Is he? - Yes, ma'am. The whole bank knows about it.
Fucker.
Oh, my God.
Oh, motherfucker.
- How long has he been cheating on me? - Uh...
- I don't know. Two years? - I'd say two, at least.
- Did you make love to my husband? - No, no.
Brad!
No, God, no.
Brad? Brad, baby?
I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna ask you something, OK?
I know you're here, your jacket's on the back of your chair.
Is he hiding back there?
- I haven't seen him since his break. - Brad!
Are you back there? Get out here right now. I mean it!
You unlock this door!
# In the afterlife
# You could be headed for the serious strife
# Now you make a scene all day
# But tomorrow, there'll be hell to pay
# In the afterlife
# You could be headed for the serious strife
# Now you make a scene all day
# But tomorrow there'll be hell to pay
# People listen attentively
# I mean about future calamity
# I used to think the idea was obsolete
# Until I heard the old man stamping his feet #
Nobody died. Is that, like, kosher?
It's not 2.36 yet.
- Bank's closed. - ATM's busted. I gotta cash my cheque.
Sorry, bank's closed.
Come on, man.
You were right, it was the banana peel.
Dude, that is fucked up!
Wait a sec.
- Is that me? - Yeah.
Sorry, man, you're dead.
No way.
Oh, I just got paid.
Oh, man, this sucks!
Do you live alone?
It had a poorly-ventilated, Third-World youth-hostel kind of charm.
And there were no bodies.
And of all the various and sundry stains, none were blood or gore.
I was thankful for the little things.
It was official. I was on my own.
I was dead, nay, undead, and not only did I have to find a job, I had to do laundry.
This was my so-called afterlife.
Hypnotised by the soapy swirl of all-temperature cheer,
it occurred to me if I were alive, my mom would be washing my sheets.
They would magically appear on my bed, crisp, clean and tucked in.
Those days were over. It was all over.
That didn't make it any easier to move on, even though life had moved on without me.
I felt like a pervert peeping from the shadows.
I could see her, but she couldn't see me.
Goddamn, she's selling my shit.
Can I help you?
- How much? - That shouldn't be out here.
It's got a sticker on it. 775... You were gonna sell Frankenfruity for 775 cents?
Who says you can't put a price on childhood memories?
- It's a mistake. It's not for sale. - Why not?
- 'Cause I changed my mind. - I'll give you... five bucks for it.
- I told you, it's not for sale. - It's just a stupid toy.
It was my daughter's, she's dead. Now give me the fuckin' doll!
I never heard my mom say the F-word before. My ears were actually ringing.
- Where did she get it? - What?
Frankenfruity. I've been looking for one for a long time.
She got it at a yard sale when she was a little girl.
- I doubt they make 'em now. Try eBay. - How did your daughter die?
I don't think I wanna have this conversation with you.
Well... what was she like?
Why do you care?
I just think it's cool she had the doll.
Frankenfruity is the shit.
- She drove me crazy, if you want the truth. - What?
She was stubborn.
I think that's only because she was smart.
Only too smart.
She figured a lot of things out way before her friends, that's for sure.
We never really got along.
I don't think I was a very good mother.
If you want the goddamn doll, have it till you find one, then I want this back. Understood?
- Five dollars. - It says 775 cents.
You offered me five dollars. You'll get it back when you return my doll.
You need to leave now. You're making me tired.
Bye.
It was the longest conversation I'd had with my mother since my periods started.
And she didn't even know it was me.
Get up!
- Come on. - Mom?
No, not your mother.
- Oh, fuck. - What?
I was hoping it was all a dream.
You get dressed.
- Did you get yourself a place to stay? - Yeah.
- I found a new place too. - Yeah?
Very nicely equipped, all the amenities.
A Jacuzzi tub, walk-in closet with shoes for days, and a king-size bed.
- It's all about the mattress. - Simmons, Terrace Hill, for the infirm.
- You bitch. - Babies don't sleep that good, can't afford to.
So... did the waitress come back?
Damn. I am thirsty.
You don't mind, do you?
Banana Bonanzas all around.
- I was gonna have... - The man said Banana Bonanzas all around.
Banana Bonanza and can I have more juice, please?
And some water.
- Bless you. - Excuse me.
- Do your nipples get hard when you sneeze? - I, uh... don't know.
- Mine do. I could put an eye out. Yours? - Like little diamonds.
Mine are always hard. I'm not sure why.
I already did this guy.
That was senior. This is junior.
Oh. That's sad.
- Should've died together, saved you a journey. - Really though.
Peanut, feel up to taking a soul today?
Not really.
That's too bad.
Time to bust that cherry.
2B or not 2B? That's the question.
And for one unlucky passenger on Coastal Link Express,
it turns out I have the answer.
- How do I know who? - Car six, seat four, travelling alone.
Make sure they stay in their seat.
ETD is 77.277. It's gonna be violent, so pop the soul out quick.
- How violent? - Wear your seat belt.
Do trains have seat belts?
- I don't think they do. - I'm gonna vomit.
Look, the first one's never easy. I remember mine. Damn fool.
He was almost vaporised.
It took me ages to find a piece big enough to pull the soul out.
- What if something goes wrong? - Well, you're already dead.
- That's so not funny. - You'll be fine.
Just do everything like I showed you.
- I'll see you at the next stop. - All aboard!
I was on autopilot.
Every time my body took a step, my mind screamed for it to stop and run the other way.
But I kept walking. I wondered who it was going to be.
And how they planned to get home from the train station.
Were they gonna take a taxi, or was a loved one supposed to pick them up?
If I had one wish, it would be that the person in seat four would be detained by Security
for possession of narcotic substances. Anything to keep them from getting on the train.
No such luck. We have a winner.
I began to fantasise about what a bitch she was,
how everybody hated her, that she was barren, had no children...
Then this happened.
Her name's Kirsti.
All aboard!
She's in kindergarten. She loves drawing and playing with Lego.
Her favourite food is French fries and apple sauce...
.. and she has to die.
This is why having a destiny sucks.
I stared at her seat for what seemed like hours,
thinking about all the things I'd rather be doing, like...
.. having a root canal, or a Pap smear, or going to church.
Sure beats flying, don't it?
What? Oh, yeah, I guess.
All the tequila in Mexico couldn't get me on a plane.
- When I was about your age... - I can't talk to you now... I'm praying.
Oh.
If only I could close my eyes and wish all this away,
wish it into the cornfield or whatever.
I'd open my eyes and I'd start over, I'd do everything right.
I wouldn't drop out of college, work in some crap job, or die.
- Hi. - Do you work for the railroad?
No.
I can't talk to you unless you work for the railroad.
OK, I work for the railroad.
Where's your uniform?
It's at the cleaners', OK?
- What's your name? - Kirsti.
I didn't know what to say.
They don't cover this sort of thing on Sesame Street. So I asked...
Ever been to Sea World?
Magic Mountain?
- Disneyland? - I like Donald Duck.
Yeah, me too.
You know how you spend all day riding all the rides and you don't want to stop?
And your parents say it's time to go home, only you're not ready yet?
You want to go on one more ride, but you can't? And it's not fair, you're pissed off that...
Is any of this making any sense?
Why don't you come sit with me?
Miss? Everything all right?
- We're just changing seats. - Do you know her?
I don't know her.
- You should go to your assigned seats. - She'll sit with me.
Sit down. Hold onto something.
Mr Blinky!
Everyone OK?
There were ten passengers in this car.
I'll count you all off.
One... two...
.. three...
.. four...
Sweet Kirsti with her baby-doll dress
and patent leather Mary Janes was alive and well.
I secretly hoped that this was grounds for a termination.
-.. ten. - That was one more than there should be.
We're all here.
Fortunately, the trauma of our collective near-death experience
kept conversation to a minimum.
We're probably not too far from Highway 20.
I'm sure rescue teams are on their way.
I suggest we keep warm and count our blessings.
Miss? We should stick together.
I have to pee.
Stay close.
- Rube, where are you? - Keep it down.
You could've told me it was a little girl, you dick!
- What difference does it make? - It makes all the difference. Why her?
Why do you think?
- She showed up for her appointment. - Then you should've rescheduled.
That's not how it works.
You just can't change fate.
I did.
What did you do?
She's not dead. I didn't remove her soul.
What do you think you're doing?
I'm letting her live.
Cardinal rule: everybody dies.
You'd better march over there and take her soul.
- If you want her to die, you do it. - Only you can. Death is non-transferable.
She's your mark. Only you can do the deed.
Then barring any accidents, I'd say she has another 80 years.
You believe me, that's 80 years she doesn't want.
What is that supposed to mean?
Her fate was sealed when she stepped onto that train, her soul expired.
Know what happens if you keep souls around after their time?
It's like milk. Spoils. Souls go bad in all kinds of ways.
If you don't understand the severity of the situation,
why don't you consult Webster's on the definition of "bad"?
If you don't take her soul, it will wither and die and rot inside her.
I've seen it happen.
Do you wish to condemn her to that?
She's just a little girl.
She can't die. It's cruel.
It is cruel.
It's cruel she'll never know what life is really like,
cruel she'll miss out on so much love and pain and beauty.
I'd say it for everyone, except her. She won't care, she'll be doing something different.
That's just the way it is.
I just wanted to save her.
You can't.
You can't save any of them.
All you can do is make it easier.
That may not seem like a lot, but it is.
Go on.
I don't know if this is what I'm supposed to say...
I... I mean, you...
Do me a favour, just close your eyes.
# When I was just a little girl
# I asked my mother
# What will I be?
# Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
We're gonna go for a ride.
# Here's what she said to me
# Que sera sera
# Whatever will be will be
# The future's not ours to see
# Que sera sera
# When I wasjust a child in school
- Wait! - You can't go where she's going.
# I asked my teacher, what should I try?
- What is it? - It's not for us to know.
# Should I sing songs?
# This was her wise reply
# Que sera sera
# Whatever will be will be...
As we walked into the dark unknown,
or whatever you want to call it, I thought, "Is this it?"
"Is this who I am?"
"Am I really a grim reaper?"
I think for me, death was just a wake-up call.
# When I grew up and fell in love
# I asked my sweetheart
# What lies ahead?
# Will there be rainbows, day after day?
# Here's what my sweetheart said
# Que sera sera
# Whatever will be will be
# The future's not ours to see
# Que sera sera #
Subtitles: Lorna Raby ww. broadcasttext. com
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