“Screenplay?” He frowned. “That’s not the most lucrative career, dearest. Why don’t you try something a little more–liberating?”
“Like what, skydiving?”
“Er, no. There’s death in that.”
“There’s death in everything and you see it everywhere.”
“I can’t help it!”
“Most people can!”
For a moment, they stood there, chest to chest, angry eyes flashing, hands fisted at thier sides. She looked away. He looked down. Neither of them spoke. He rubbed his face and took a step back.
“Look. Fine. If you want to write, go ahead. I’m just saying you won’t be able to publish them, alright?”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve been dead for sixteen years, dearest–and it still hasn’t quite registered.”
He left her standing there, her form wisping in and out of nothingness. He wouldn’t stop her and because he wouldn’t–she would have to stop herself.