I was having a couple of drinks at home, like you do, when the curtain suddenly billowed into the room. Despite it being a hot evening, I knew for certain that the windows were shut, so I went over to see what was going on:
Curtain: Say your prayers. Tonight, we fly.
Me: I’m sorry?
Curtain: I said, tonight we fly. This world is no longer your concern.
Me: Excuse me?
Curtain: I’m a metaphor. Work with me.
Me: A metaphor for what?
Curtain: FFS!!! I thought you were a reader?
Me: I am. But you’ve got to admit, it’s a bit odd to be having a conversation with my curtain on a school night. And besides, no one says FFS these days.
Curtain: I’ll spell it out: I’m Death. You know, as in The Final Curtain. Yes, it’s a bit literal but if I turned up in black with a scythe, you’d just think I was taking the piss.
Me: True. But, if I may be so bold, you probably need to come up with a more obvious visual clue. Most people won’t make the quantum leap, even if they like Frank Sinatra.
Curtain: Frank who?
Me: Sinatra! That’s the joke, right?
Curtain: Still not with you.
Me: Hang about. You just came into my flat, unannounced and uninvited, and said I wasn’t long for this world. Then you told me that you were a metaphor for death, and now you’re saying you’ve never heard of Frank Sinatra?
Curtain: I never said that. And of course I’ve heard of Frank Sinatra. Just not within this context.
Me: Surely that’s the deal? And so I face/the final curtain. Everyone knows that line.
Curtain: No, sorry.
Me: So what’s the point of you being a curtain then? If you’re actually meant to represent death?
Curtain: I thought it was funny.
Me: It’s only funny if you’re in on it! Anyway, the whole death thing is meant to be scary, so just blowing your way in here isn’t going to work. And even if it did, you need to brush up on your crooners: there’s an obvious simile you’re missing out on.
Curtain: I can do a bit of White Christmas.
Me: Doesn’t quite get the ‘you’re about to die’ message across.
Curtain: What about Release Me, then? I could do it in a sort of grindcore way, that would put the shits up them.
Me: Better. Have you got an agent?
Curtain: I’m working on it.
Me: I’ve got a couple of contacts in Charlotte Street, although you might have to dumb down initially.
Curtain: Great! Oh, and about what I said earlier; can we just brush it under the carpet and forget about it?
Me: That’s it! The Final Carpet, it’s brilliant! No one would expect that…
Curtain: I like it. What about a double act? The Final Carpet and The Underlay of Eternal Damnation. For one night only.
Me: Thanks for coming in.