The Undead Temp Agency

[Wycliffes_Shillelagh]

I'm having fun with Reddit writing prompts lately.  I wrote a short story, mostly dialogue, based on the writing prompt below in blue .  I am not sure how clear it is, and whether the humor conveys.  Critiques are welcome, as long as you only say good things. 

Death is most displeased with capitalism; working people into the grave is sad but not part of his jurisdiction. Working people beyond the grave, when they should finally have a chance to rest? Now THAT is an issue.

Death arrived at Orlock Staffing™ suddenly, coalescing out of the shadows rather than entering through the doorway. His eyes gleamed red out of empty sockets, and he wielded his scythe with apparent menace.

"WHO DARES TO FETTER THE SOULS OF THE DEPARTED WITH THE DRUDGERY OF THE LIVING?!?" he demanded.

Nadine, the receptionist, didn't look up. "Name?" she queried disinterestedly, filing away at some non-existent fingernails.

"I AM DEATH, THE OARSMAN OF THE RIVER STYX, THE GRIM REAPER..."

The intercom cut across Death's introductory monologue with an annoying buzz. "There's a Mistah Reepah here to see you, Mistah Orlock."

Death paused to listen. The two intercoms were so close that you could hear Nadine's electronic echo a split-second after she spoke. After a belated moment, the reply returned.

"Does he have an appointment?"

Death blinked away a bit of disbelief. He did not have an appointment. He knew it. Nadine knew it. Clarence Orlock of course knew it, but he asked the question anyway, to remind everybody that this was his office, and visitors would be seen at his discretion.

Death's bewilderment blossomed into a spout of angry flames, and his corporeal form quickly burned out of existence in the foyer, re-appearing in the middle of Clarence Orlock's office just as swiftly moments later. Nadine popped out of her chair, outraged at having been bypassed, and swirled towards the back office like a typhoon of malicious intent. Clarence forestalled Hurricane Nadine with an outstretched hand.

"It's okay," he said, "I'll go ahead and see Mr.... uhhhh.... Reaper? is it?"

Clarence glanced towards the indignant specter's feet, hoping upon hope that the new Persian rug hadn't been singed. Helfire generally wouldn't burn the tapestries of this world, but it left a lingering, unpleasant stench of brimstone, and dry-cleaners who could remove arcane odors were a rarity.

"THE DEAD ARE MEANT TO REST." Death fairly spat the words at Clarence, as if this were the conclusion of the conversation, rather than the start.

For his part, Clarence was non-plused, and resisted the temptation to rush to his own defense. He had, after all, done nothing wrong, and thus needed no defense. He cocked his head at death, and felt not an ounce of discomfort at the pregnant pause that stretched between them. Death tried to raise his eyebrows expectantly at the necromancer-cum-staffing-agent, but the effect was diminished significantly by his lack of eyebrows.

"WHY... DO YOU NOT... LET THEM REST?!?" Death finally bellowed.

Clarence prepped the well-rehearsed rebuttal in his head.

"Well, they don't wanna rest, now do they? I mean, take Nadine out there, she's got two kids starting college. Is she supposed to abandon them just because she died last year? Is that responsible? People have obligations. Are you going to put her kids through college?

"WELL... THAT IS... ERMMMM..." Death backpedaled from the conversation uncharacteristically, wishing momentarily that he could speak without engaging Caps Lock. He hazarded a glance back towards Nadine, and found her gaze burning through him with the heat of a thousand suns.

"I didn't think so!!!"

Spittle began to fly out of Clarence' mouth as his voice crescendo'd into a holler. "So... instead you come down here, what?!? to bust my balls? for what?!? because I give the dead a chance? I let them support their families... pay off their debts..." Clarence fixed Death with his gaze, staring directly into his eyeholes. "What do you do for them?!? Huh?"

Clarence raised his eyebrows in expectation. Another pause in the conversation stretched out between them, and it seemed to Death it was longer than infinity itself. The abashed phantasm suddenly imploded in a ball of black smoke and lightnings, leaving without another word.

"That's right!" Clarence piled on, strutting back and forth across the oriental rug, and jabbing a finger at the spot where death no longer stood. "Nadine! Send in the other guy!" he shouted, forgetting the intercom.

Back in the lobby, Nadine turned to the man-in-white who had been patiently waiting. Her face somehow decelerated back to a neutral-ish smile, as she intoned pleasantly, "Gabe? Mistah Orlock will see you now."

Gabriel rose, and tried to flash a smile in Nadine's general direction. "I... I don't think that's necessary after all," he said. "Have a good day."

Clarence sashayed out of the back office and turned to his undead secretary. "Let's knock off early," he said.

"I'm way ahead of you..." she replied, and they shared a good laugh at the familiar joke.

[3 Resurrections]

Nothing like a little graveyard humor...your piece smacks a bit of the flavor of the "Screwtape Letters" by C. S. Lewis.  Used to be one of my favorites...until scripture informed me that C.S.Lewis was screwed up himself with his ideas about the current existence of the demonic realm still hanging around.

Just a quick spell-check:

Hellfire and not Helfire
non-plussed and not non-plused
crescendoed and not crescendo'd...but it's a bit awkward...why not try something simpler such as "escalated"?
Death and not death in your sentence "...he cocked his head at death..."

And hey, can you include a 3-headed Cerberus somewhere in your short story?   Even Death could use a best friend, and everyone likes a story with a dog angle somewhere in it.

[Wycliffes_Shillelagh]

Nothing like a little graveyard humor...your piece smacks a bit of the flavor of the "Screwtape Letters" by C. S. Lewis.  Used to be one of my favorites...until scripture informed me that C.S.Lewis was screwed up himself with his ideas about the current existence of the demonic realm still hanging around.

Lewis was a better philosopher than theologian, and a better writer than philosopher.  I will forever love the Chronicles of Narnia, and Perelandra is a great book, but his forays into not-science-fiction I found to be very dull.

Just a quick spell-check:

Hellfire and not Helfire
crescendoed and not crescendo'd...but it's a bit awkward...why not try something simpler such as "escalated"?

Those are on purpose.

non-plussed and not non-plused
Death and not death in your sentence "...he cocked his head at death..."

Those are not on purpose. 

And hey, can you include a 3-headed Cerberus somewhere in your short story?   Even Death could use a best friend, and everyone likes a story with a dog angle somewhere in it.

Tell you what, I'll make it a new writing prompt, and a better writer than me will hopefully do it justice.

Thanks for reading. 

[Wycliffes_Shillelagh]

Here's the writing prompt I submitted... 

[WP] The boy was the youngest of three, and he was an oddity, an outcast even amongst his own family. His only friend was a dog. This is the story of Hades and his faithful companion Cerberus.