The Greeter

I’m on the search for some dedicated actors willing to be a part of my short film I plan on starting this summer. This is a more “serious” topic of film, but I think it would make a great entry into festivals and competitions. Here is the rough draft of the script’s beginning (don’t worry, it get’s happier by the end haha):


INT. Night- Sage’s Bedroom

The room is dark, though a tinted blue light illuminates the front of SAGE’s t-shirt. She is looking out through a large window on the second story of the house, carrying a single suitcase in her left hand.

There is a an open bottle of prescription pills at her bedside table. Everything is absolutely silent except for the distant sound of a clock ticking.


Camera pans over Sage’s shoulder to see a man dressed in black, frozen in the street outside the house. He is staring up at the window. Camera view switches to her face, which is completely emotionless, and then back to the window where the man is gone.


1/3rd shot of her face. The focus pulls to the door behind her as it begins to creak open. Sage still doesn’t move. We continue to hear the clock ticking.




The focus on the door pulls back to her face.

SAGE: (still emotionless)

You’re late.

Camera shoots to black shoes stepping through the doorway and stopping. The black dressed man comes into the room.

PAN UP to the man’s tall, shadowed figure.

The light is still only on Sage and her luggage.


I’ve spent a year waiting for you… (pause, with an angry change in her face. She spits out the next word) …Death.

DEATH: (trying to suppress his surprise)

You know who I am.

W.S. of room with Death on the left and Sage on the right


I know why you’re here. And I’m ready. I even packed a few things.

Sage lifts her arm with the suitcase and shrugs it back down, as if to exaggerate her idea of the journey. Death is leans backwards, but just enough to tell that he is uncomfortable.


It’s only a few things–


You shouldn’t have called me.

The clock ticks.





SAGE: (moving her head, with sarcasm)

Yeah, well that’s up for negotiation.

DEATH: (a bit angry and annoyed)

…You shouldn’t be talking to me. Other people wouldn’t.

SAGE: (scoffing)

That’s the biggest problem with the world isn’t it: assuming that we’re all the same. That we’re just one big pile of unoriginals with all the same shit thoughts.

DEATH: (flustered, he lifts up one of his hands)

How can you possibly–

With a shake of his head, Death attempts to abandon the girl, quickly stepping out of the room. The entire house is dark and empty, with only a few artifacts of broken glass, lonely cans of unfinished beer, and littered garbage. Still, Sage follows right behind him, tugging her suitcase along.


This world sucks. I mean, I don’t know how much better the after-life will be, but it has to be better than this.


This isn’t–


People are always saying that I need to pull it together. That I’m not like everyone else.

Death and Sage are nearing the front door of the empty house.

SAGE: (continuing)

I don’t fit in.

DEATH: (spinning around)

Stop following me. You’re not going anywhere.

SAGE: (she pauses to swallow, blinking a few times)

…What? You’re Death. You can’t just… let me go.

DEATH: (lightly shouting)

What do you think this is? Some kind of vacation?

There’s a deafening silence after his question. Even the clock has ceased its rhythmic ticking. Death holds his breath.

Then, in the meekest of voices, Sage speaks up.




Okay, so just as a disclaimer, this is a rough draft. The final product won’t nearly be this dark, but it’s just a heads-up for interested actors. If you or someone you know is interested, message me or contact me via my website at Thanks!


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