Running My Heart Out

Scotty and I have been running lately, and have casually discussed forming a relay team for the Manitoba Marathon this year. We were running this evening and of course today's high (12C) occurred right in the middle of our run. I actually had to peel off a layer it was so warm in the sun. Spring has finally arrived.

Nothing exceptional to report tonight. This is my fourth entry in a week (which I find impressive) but I must admit I don't have a great deal to discuss at this juncture. Quite looking forward to the nice long weekend - I have Friday and Sunday off...a rare treat, believe me. Tomorrow, however, I am forced to deal with a 6am Floral shift...so I will head to bed, leaving you with a brief preview of a conversation from my screenplay...

----------

A young woman paces in a waiting room. She fiddles frantically at a necklace and can be seen mumbling to herself softly.

REBECCA
(Mumbling incoherently)

Voices on high, they speak to me. Cry out they tell me. Cry the word. Holy Word. Holy...adjective. Associated with divine power. Divine power they tell me...so loudly, can't block them out. Must spread the word, cry out to my people. Must. The voices command it...

ANGEL ONE

She's been like this since she arrived.

ARBITRATOR

Prophet?

ANGEL ONE

Mumbling about holy voices? I'd say so.

ARBITRATOR

We still get those?

ANGEL ONE

'Fraid so. What do we do with her, boss?

ARBITRATOR

Give her to Ellen.

ANGEL ONE

She'll kill you, ya know. Ellen hates the unstable ones.

ARBITRATOR

She kills me, and she gets my job. Then she'll get to deal with all of the unstable ones. I'm safe...give her to Ellen.

The Arbitrator leaves the reception area and the Angel is obviously flustered. Placing one hand on the girls shoulder and arm, s/he helps guide her along a long corridor. Several faces look up from cubicles and watch the pair. The girl twitches and continues to mumble.

REBECCA

You're pretty. I knew a pretty girl once, she looked like an angel. Prettiest little angel girl I ever knew. Angela. Yes, Angela I called her. Beautiful. Didn't like the Word much...shame. Pretty girl. Do you cry at night?

The Angel ignores the girls ramblings and guides her into an office. The young woman walks into the office and sits at an empty desk, running a finger along it, inspecting it for dust. She peers at her finger and squints.

REBECCA
(Smiling and giggling)

Clean. Perfect. I'm in heaven, where all good prophets go. The voices listened to my cries. I did well. Oh joyous clean day. Clean, shiny. Shiny shiny and new.

ANGEL ONE
(Obviously flustered)

Honey, you have to understand - we stopped using you prophet types a thousand years ago. They just kept adding their own damned opinions into their scriptures. We upped and fired the lot of them. Sorry to burst your bubble sweetheart, but you're just looney...