Morte is the slave to something that he can not control, something that has plagued him for years. It is just another day living as Death's messenger.
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It is the same day. MORTE is sitting in an old, red armchair drinking tea. He looks tired and worn-out.
The MAN walks to the curb with MORTE a few feet behind him. Traffic is thick and it is hard to find a cab. The MAN tries to hail a taxi but trips over a broken piece of concrete. Time slows as MORTE reaches out and grabs his wrist. There is a ripple of energy, and the body falls, leaving the soul of the MAN connected to MORTE. Time speeds up and the body crashes to the ground after being hit by the flagged taxi. The driver rushes out to check the body as a crowd gathers; MORTE and the MAN's soul watch silently. Coming back to himself, MORTE chokes back a SOB.
It is the same day. MORTE is sitting in an old, red armchair drinking tea. He looks tired and
INT. INT. Morte's apartment - Night —
The MAN nods and places a hand on MORTE's shoulder, understanding and forgiving. MORTE's soft CRIES are the only thing heard. The two stay there, untouched by the chaos of the accident around them.