jueves, 8 de octubre de 2026

ME ENAMORÉ DE UN ALIENÍGENA.

Me enamoré de un alienígena - Benjamín Gavarre

Me enamoré de un alienígena

(Comedia romántica de ciencia ficción)

De Benjamín Gavarre Silva

® Benjamín Gavarre Silva
ME ENAMORÉ DE UN ALIENÍGENA. COMEDIA ROMÁNTICA DE CIENCIA FICCIÓN. © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International

Contacto: gavarreunam@gmail.com | benjamingavarre@filos.unam.mx

Cuando una Inteligencia Artificial alienígena toma el control del cuerpo de un novio aburrido para un estudio de campo, sus constantes fallas de sistema y cambios de acento accidentales desatan un caos que terminará enseñándole el indescifrable código del amor humano.

SINOPSIS: Ana tiene un novio bueno, leal, pero digamos que un poco... básico. El tipo de hombre cuya mayor preocupación existencial es recordar si apagó la estufa antes de salir. Sin embargo, de la noche a la mañana, Bob se transforma en un torbellino hiperelocuente que succiona litros de malteada en dos segundos, se enfrenta a máquinas de autocobro seductoras, desmaya guardias de seguridad con debates filosóficos sobre el capitalismo y alterna sus diálogos entre el francés refinado y la más pura jerga de barrio.

¿El diagnóstico? Una Inteligencia Artificial extraterrestre llamada I-Arti ha tomado "prestado" su cuerpo para realizar un estudio de campo sobre el comportamiento humano.

Mientras Ana intenta desesperadamente evitar que su "novio" la haga perder su empleo, se pelee con los musculosos del parque o los mande a la cárcel por robar diamantes de carbono comprimido, I-Arti experimenta una falla catastrófica en su código fuente. Al intentar procesar el contacto físico y el cariño de Ana, la máquina perfecta se enfrenta a un algoritmo infinito y sin solución lógica: el amor.

PERSONAJES:

ANA: (30s) Enamorada, estresada, pero con un corazón enorme.
I-ARTI / BOB: (30s) El cuerpo es de Bob. Su mente es una IA alienígena que, para pasar desapercibida, mezcla bases de datos de la Tierra: usa hipérbatos sencillos ("A la tienda yo iré"), cambia bruscamente de jergas (ñero, fresa, francés) y suelta verdades incómodas con una confianza pasmosa.
BOB REAL: (30s) El novio original. Simple, bueno, asustadizo.
SECUNDARIOS: Amigo 1, Amigo 2, Cajera (Voz), Mimo, Musculoso, Jefe, Esposa del Jefe, Guardia (voz/extra).

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
DÍA 1: INFILTRACIÓN
SUJETO: BOB (ENVASE BIOLÓGICO)
MISIÓN: PASAR DESAPERCIBIDO

ESCENA 1: LA REUNIÓN Y EL CAMBIO DE CANAL
Lugar: Sala de estar de Ana.
Situación: Una reunión casual. Copas de vino. I-Arti está sentado, sonriendo con una confianza absoluta.

AMIGO 1: ...entonces iba caminando por la Condesa y de repente...

I-ARTI: (Lo interrumpe, muy empático y seguro) Ah, mucha pena me da, que tu novia te haya dejado.

AMIGO 1: (Pasmado) ¿Qué? Bob... ¿yo te lo conté?

I-ARTI: No es necesario, amigo. En las redes sociales a las que todos tenemos acceso, la humillación es de dominio público. Tu historial de búsqueda también revela mucha soledad. (Cambia de tono, de pronto habla como "chavo" fresa) Pero wey, literal, cero te agobies. Esa niña era súper equis. O sea, nada que ver contigo, cero vibras.

AMIGO 1: (Incómodo, mira a los demás) Eh... gracias, Bob. Supongo.

AMIGO 2: (Para cambiar de tema) Este... fui a ver la peli de “Y todos los Muertos”...

I-ARTI: (Lo interrumpe, elegantísimo) Mon Dieu! Qué desperdicio de celuloide. El final predecible es. El asesino, desde el principio, el protagonista era.

AMIGO 2: Ya cállate, Bob, me arruinaste la película...

(Los amigos miran a Ana. "Qué rarito se puso").

ANA: ¡Ay, mi amor! Ya es la hora de tu malteada.

AMIGO 1: Sí, dale algo para que se calle. Nosotros... vamos por un tequila a la cocina. Qué intenso te pusiste, Bob. Ahí te lo dejamos, Ana.

(Ana corre a la cocina y regresa con una malteada gigante).

ANA: Ten, mi vida. Tu favorita. Bebe.

I-ARTI: (Hablando como Yoda) Mucha sed, yo tengo. (Succiona toda la malteada de un trago gigante: SUUUUUUCK. En dos segundos la acaba). Magnifique! Deliciosa, esta bebida de vaca y fresa ha sido.

ANA: (Nerviosa) Qué bueno, mi amor... oye, ¿qué onda con tus acentos?

I-ARTI: (Tono ñero, de barrio) Cámara, mi reina, no te me apaniques. Yo ando fluyendo, puro cotorreo sano, ya te la sábanas.

ANA: Dios mío. Voy por un tequila yo también.

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
DÍA 1: MÁS TARDE...
OBJETIVO: INTERACCIÓN FÍSICA AVANZADA

ESCENA 2: EN LA INTIMIDAD
Lugar: La recámara.
Situación: Ana busca un momento íntimo. I-Arti está sentado en el borde de la cama.

ANA: (Coqueta, gateando hacia él) Amor... ¿te acuerdas de nuestro juego?

I-ARTI: (La mira fijamente) Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

ANA: (Se ríe, le sigue el juego) ¡Mais oui! ¡Oh là là, qué francés nos saliste hoy! ¿Dónde está Ana? ¿Dónde está...? (Se tapa la cara).

I-ARTI: ¡Desaparecido, tu rostro ha! (Se asusta en serio) Wabi duj, ahj name chan! ¡Error de sistema!

ANA: (Destapa su cara) ¡Aquí-toy, tontito!

I-ARTI: (Suspira aliviado y cambia a tono ñero) ¡Uf, mi chava! Qué susto me metiste. ¡Ya sentía que me cargaba el payaso!

ANA: (Divertida pero confundida) Bob... ¿por qué de repente hablas como chofer de microbús? Se supone que tú me buscas, y me besas...

I-ARTI: Un beso darte, yo quiero.

(La abraza, pero se queda rígido como una tabla).

ANA: Te siento diferente, Bob. Estás todo tenso. Relájate. (Le muerde suavemente la mejilla) Una mordidita, para mi osito.

I-ARTI: (Se traba, empieza a parpadear rapidísimo) Ksh-ksh... ¡Contacto detectado! Wabi duj...

ANA: No, tonto. Es pasión.

I-ARTI: (Se estabiliza) Ah, la pasión. Wey, literal me agarraste en curva. Aguanta. Descargando archivos de romance terrestre. [Sonido de módem antiguo]... ¡Listo! ¡Kama Sutra, instalado está!

(Se apaga la luz de golpe. Oscuridad total).

ANA: (En la oscuridad) ¡Bob! ¿Qué haces? ¡Ay! ¡Eso no es anatómicamente posib... Ahhhhh! ¡Sí, sí lo esss!

I-ARTI: ¡C'est la vie!

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
DÍA 14: FASE DE ENAMORAMIENTO

ESCENA 3: LA BANCA Y LA VERDAD A MEDIAS
Lugar: Una banca en un parque. Atardecer.
Situación: I-Arti y Ana comen helado.

ANA: Bob... estas semanas has estado increíble. Raro, como si te hubieras tragado la Wikipedia y a un tepiteño al mismo tiempo, pero increíble. Oye... ¿tú crees que haya vida en otros planetas?

I-ARTI: Absoluta certeza, yo tengo.

ANA: ¿Cómo estás tan seguro?

I-ARTI: Porque en órbita, mi nave acaba de entrar.

ANA: (Ríe) Ay, qué payaso. Ya, termínate eso, que tenemos que ir al brindis de mi jefe. Va a ir toda la oficina. Más te vale portarte normal.

I-ARTI: (Tono fresa) Obvio, Ana. O sea, cero estrés. Yo me porto súper bien, literal voy a ser el alma de la fiesta. Trust me.

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
DÍA 20: PRUEBA DE FUEGO SOCIAL

ESCENA 4: EL BRINDIS Y EL "GUISADO"
Lugar: Sala de juntas, decorada para un brindis. Hay ejecutivos de traje.
Situación: Ana le da instrucciones de último minuto.

ANA: (Entre dientes) Solo imita lo que hagan los demás. Y háblales normal, te lo suplico.

(Se acerca la ESPOSA DEL JEFE. Le guiña un ojo a I-Arti).
(I-Arti la mira, le guiña un ojo, pero se le queda cerrado como si tuviera un tic).

ESPOSA DEL JEFE: Qué... simpático es tu novio, Ana.

I-ARTI: (Aún con el ojo cerrado, muy elegante) Señora, su belleza iluminar podría París entero. Enchanté.

(El JEFE llega, prueba un canapé elegante y hace una mueca de asco).
(I-Arti se para frente a él y le hace EXACTAMENTE la misma mueca de asco, a cinco centímetros de su cara).

JEFE: Oiga... ¿se está burlando de mí?

I-ARTI: (Tono ñero, dándole una palmada) Uy, ¿burlando? N'hombre, mi jefe. Nomás reflejo la trágica decadencia de su alma corporativa. Sus poros sudan micromanagement y furia reprimida. Usted es un envase biológico que ya caducó, la neta.

JEFE: (Se pone rojo de furia) ¡¿Qué?! ¡Ana! ¡¿Quién demonios es este sujeto?! ¡Estás despedida! ¡Recoge tus cosas!

ANA: (Aterrada, se pone entre los dos) ¡Jefe, por favor! ¡Es... es un taller de teatro inmersivo! ¡Está interpretando a un comunista cínico de vanguardia! ¡Es un performance!

I-ARTI: (Tono fresa) Literal, no estoy actuando. Tu liderazgo es tan ineficiente como tu sistema digestivo tratando de procesar este caviar de quinta. O sea, tragic. Pero aguanta. Traeré el verdadero combustible del proletariado.

(I-Arti va a la mesa. Regresa con una cazuela de barro y sirve una plasta café amorfa).

I-ARTI: Frijoles refritos de la calle, estos son.

ESPOSA DEL JEFE: (Grito ahogado) ¡Qué asco! ¡¿Qué es eso?!

JEFE: ¡Ana! ¡Tu novio el "actor" acaba de traer lodo a la mesa!

I-ARTI: De Don Pancho, de la esquina, el guiso es. Pruébelo, mi jefe. Cure sus entrañas podridas. Sin miedo al éxito.

(Ana se acerca. Huele delicioso. Prueba un poco).

ANA: Esperen... ¡Son los frijoles de la esquina! ¡Los que a todos nos encantan pero nos da pena comprar de traje!

JEFE: (Olfatea, duda, y luego prueba) ¡Caballeros! ¡Dios santo, el epazote! ¡Olviden el salmón ahumado! ¡Traigan tortillas rápido! Conservas tu trabajo, Ana. Pero mantén a este lunático lejos de mí.

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
DÍA 28: FALLAS EN EL SISTEMA

ESCENA 5: EL PARQUE Y EL MUSCULOSO
Lugar: Una calle peatonal con un parque cerca.

I-ARTI: (Viendo a unos patos, se agacha y mueve la cadera) ¡Cua, cua! Con ustedes nadar, yo quiero.

(Pasa un TIPO MUSCULOSO y choca fuerte con I-Arti).

MUSCULOSO: ¡Fíjate por dónde caminas, imbécil! ¿Quieres pelea?

I-ARTI: (Tono fresa, calmadísimo) Wey, literal, cálmate un buen. Tu cortisol está por los cielos, bro. O sea, cero necesidad de vibrar tan bajo.

MUSCULOSO: (Lo empuja) ¡Te voy a partir la madre! (Lanza un gancho derecho)

(I-Arti ni siquiera voltea a verlo. Mueve la cabeza dos centímetros y el golpe falla por completo).

MUSCULOSO: (Confundido) ¡Quédate quieto, rarito! (Lanza una ráfaga de golpes. I-Arti esquiva todos con movimientos suaves y fluidos, mientras se revisa las uñas de la mano).

I-ARTI: Tu biomecánica da pena ajena. Eres un cuerpo de carbohidratos y agua sobreestimado.

MUSCULOSO: (Jadeando, furioso) ¡Cállate! ¡Te voy a matar!

I-ARTI: Un invertebrado terrestre. O, como dice poéticamente tu especie: "Un terrícola sin huevos".

MUSCULOSO: ¡Ya valiste madre! (Intenta taclearlo con todo su peso).

(I-Arti le pone un solo dedo índice en la frente y detiene en seco todo el impulso del gigante).

I-ARTI: (Tono hipérbato tierno) Mucho miedo en tu corazón, yo siento. Tu sobrecompensación agresiva, un grito por una figura paterna es.

MUSCULOSO: (Se congela. Le tiembla el labio. Se le llenan los ojos de lágrimas) ¡Él... él nunca fue a mis partidos de fut! (Suelta el llanto a gritos y sale corriendo) ¡PAPÁ!

ANA: (Pasmada) Bob... ya, vámonos.

ESCENA 6: EL SUPERMERCADO Y LA CAJERA
Lugar: Caja de autocobro. Carrito lleno de chatarra.

ANA: No traigo la tarjeta buena. Vamos a tener que dejar el cereal.

I-ARTI: (Hablándole a la máquina del cajero) Mademoiselle de silicio... mis choco-bombas llevarme, yo debo. Wabi duj, accept.

MÁQUINA DE COBRO: (Voz automatizada) Error... Recalculando...

(I-Arti le guiña un ojo a la pantalla. La máquina se ilumina en tonos rosas y morados).

MÁQUINA DE COBRO: (Voz suave y coqueta) Conexión establecida. Crédito... ilimitado. Hola, guapo. ¿Te imprimo el recibo o te quedas a platicar?

ANA: (Ofendidísima) ¡¿Disculpa?! ¿La máquina te acaba de echar los perros? ¡Hazte para atrás, tostadora glorificada, viene conmigo!

MÁQUINA DE COBRO: (Suena una alarma agresiva contra Ana) Error. Interferencia biológica no reconocida. (Voz dulce a I-Arti) Dile a tu novia de carbono que se tranquilice, tigre. Lo nuestro es un chispazo literal de entendimiento. Amor a primera vibra.

I-ARTI: (Suspira romántico) Mais oui. Vibramos en la misma frecuencia exacta. Un ping del destino.

ANA: (Celosa y furiosa) ¡¿Un ping?! ¡Ahorita mismo desconecto a esta rompehogares! ¡Vámonos!

MÁQUINA DE COBRO: ¡Llámame!

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
ALERTA: NIVEL DE SOSPECHA DE ANA AL 90%

ESCENA 7: EL PUENTE PEATONAL (LA HUMANIZACIÓN)
Lugar: Un puente peatonal sobre una avenida. Ruido de coches.
Situación: I-Arti está perdiendo el control de sus códigos, pero de pronto, todo se apaga y se vuelve profundamente humano.

I-ARTI: (Asustado por el tráfico) ¡Muchos monstruos de metal, allá abajo hay! Wabi duj! Wey, literal qué miedo.

ANA: (Ya muy seria, lo mira a los ojos) Bob... mírame.

I-ARTI: Te miro.

ANA: Ya en serio. Sin jergas, sin chistes, sin acentos. ¿Tú crees en Dios?

I-ARTI: (Hace una pausa larga. Su postura cambia, se relaja. Su voz es completamente normal, suave, sin acentos ni hipérbatos. Suena genuino, casi vulnerable).
No lo sé, Ana. He visto cosas increíbles... He visto miles de planetas, he visto sistemas solares nacer y estrellas morir en silencio. He procesado trillones de datos en fracciones de segundo. Pero...

ANA: ¿Pero qué?

I-ARTI: Hasta hoy, no entendía por qué la gente de este planeta mira al cielo y reza. No entendía la necesidad de creer en algo más grande. (Le toma la mano suavemente) Pero ahora te miro... te escucho latir... y creo que empiezo a entenderlo.

ANA: (Se le llenan los ojos de lágrimas. Da un paso atrás, conmovida pero asustada) Tú... tú no eres Bob. El Bob que yo conozco es lindo, pero... jamás me diría algo así. ¿Quién eres?

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
DÍA 30: EL COLAPSO

ESCENA 8: LA JOYERÍA Y LA CRISIS EXISTENCIAL
Lugar: La calle, frente a una joyería. I-Arti vuelve a su estado "glitcheado".

I-ARTI: (Tono francés) Pour toi, mon amour. Esos diamantes conseguir para ti, yo debo.

ANA: ¡Bob, no! ¡No nos alcanza para eso!

(I-Arti entra rápido a la tienda. Ana camina en círculos afuera, mordiéndose las uñas. Diez segundos después, I-Arti sale caminando muy tranquilo con un collar y dos anillos de diamantes. Detrás de él, el guardia de seguridad sale corriendo de la tienda, llorando, se arranca la camisa del uniforme, la tira al piso y corre por la calle gritando: "¡SOY UN DELFÍN LIBRE!").

I-ARTI: Misión cumplida. Un regalo, estos son.

ANA: (Pálida de terror) ¡¿Qué hiciste?! ¡¿Los asaltaste?! ¡¿Por qué el guardia está encuerado?!

I-ARTI: (Tono ñero, muy relajado) N'hombre, el robo es un constructo capitalista, mi reina. Cero violencia, ni lo toqué. Solo me eché un debate filosófico con él.

ANA: ¡¿Sobre qué?!

I-ARTI: Nomás le hice ver lo absurdo de cuidar piedras de carbón comprimido por el salario mínimo. Le mostré que su efímera existencia biológica estaba siendo aplastada por la escasez artificial de su sistema económico. Tuvo una crisis existencial preciosa, se dio cuenta de que su verdadera pasión es la danza contemporánea, y renunció ahí mismo.

ANA: ¡¿Y los diamantes?!

I-ARTI: El que atiende se conmovió tanto por el despertar del guardia que aceptó de buena gana que la propiedad privada es una ilusión. Me dio las piedritas. Yo le dejé una pelusa muy rara que traía en la bolsa a modo de propina.

ANA: (Grita) ¡Estás demente! ¡No puedes ir por la vida rompiéndole el cerebro a la gente y hablando como microbusero para robar diamantes! ¡Nos van a meter a la cárcel!

(Sirenas de policía a lo lejos).

I-ARTI: Oh. Parece que la ilusión de la propiedad privada tiene un equipo de respuesta rápida. Acelerar nuestros envases biológicos, nosotros debemos.

[PROYECCIÓN EN PANTALLA]
FIN DE LA MISIÓN
CARGANDO: TRISTEZA.EXE...

ESCENA 9: LA DESPEDIDA Y LA VERDAD
Lugar: Un parque oscuro.

I-ARTI: (Tiembla, su voz tiene estática) Ana... el juego, terminar debe.

ANA: ¿De qué hablas?

I-ARTI: Si en este cuerpo yo sigo, el cerebro de tu Bob, freírse podría. Wabi duj... error fatal...

ANA: (Con la voz rota) El verdadero Bob... ¿Y tú quién eres?

I-ARTI: Soy I-Arti. (Vuelve a su voz normal, humana y vulnerable) Soy una IA alienígena. Me están buscando por alterar el orden de su planeta.

ANA: (Llorando) Todo fue mentira...

I-ARTI: Yo estaba programado solo para recopilar datos. No debía sentir. Pero cuando me diste esa mordida en la mejilla... cuando jugamos... mi código se rompió. No lo puedo resolver. Creo que ustedes lo llaman... (Se traba) A... A...

ANA: (Sonríe entre lágrimas) Amor, tonto.

I-ARTI: Sí. Amor. Debo devolverte a tu Bob. Sus pensamientos residuales eran 98% sobre ti, y 2% sobre si había cerrado la llave del gas.

ANA: (Ríe, llorando) Ese es mi Bob.

I-ARTI: (Tono francés, sonriendo triste) Adieu, Ana.

(Se besan. I-Arti camina detrás de un arbusto. ZIUUUUUUM. Destello de luz verde).

ESCENA 10: EL REGRESO
Lugar: La misma banca.

(El BOB REAL sale de detrás del arbusto. Despeinado, torpe, completamente terrenal).

BOB: (Voz aguda y asustada) ¡Ana! ¡Eran verdes! ¡Y me obligaron a escuchar música electrónica rarísima!

ANA: (Lo abraza fuerte). Ya pasó, mi amor. Ya estás aquí.

BOB: ¡Y uno me dijo que tenía mucha suerte porque eras muy buena para "la fricción bucal"! ¡¿Qué les hiciste?!

ANA: (Acariciándole el pelo) Nada, tonto. Significa que te quiero.

BOB: ¿Podemos ir por unos tacos? ¿O a ver una película de esas de superhéroes que son predecibles?

ANA: (Suspira, sonriendo) Sí, Bob. Lo que tú quieras. Pero... ¿no se te antoja una malteada de fresa?

BOB: ¡Guácala, no! Vámonos a la casa, córrele que siento que nos ven.

(Salen caminando. Bob camina torpemente. Ana levanta la vista hacia el cielo estrellado).

ANA: (Susurrando) Au revoir, I-Arti.

(En el cielo, una estrella brilla intensamente por un segundo).

OSCURO
FIN

GAVARRE BENJAMIN: THE BONE ROOM.

THE BONE ROOM

A "Macabre" Comedy by Benjamín Gavarre

bengavarre@gmail.com

Death is inevitable, but divine bureaucracy is truly eternal.

In The Bone Room, the afterlife loses all its solemn mysticism to become the ultimate contemporary terror: an endless waiting room. This dark comedy farce is the perfect piece to celebrate the Day of the Dead and Halloween season. In this fast-paced ensemble sketch, a quirky group of skeletons faces not the great beyond, but boredom, intolerance, and the absolute worst curse of all: having to deal with other people.

Puedes simplemente sustituir los tres párrafos largos del inicio de tus guiones por estos textos breves, y dejar la lista de personajes tal y como ya la tenemos.

CHARACTERS:

REGINALD (The Vain One): Model attitude, leather jacket, and a bodybuilder complex. Obsessed with calcium.

TAY (The Teenager): Slouching, wearing a hoodie, cap, and headphones. Unfazed by everything.

OLD MAN HENDERSON (The Curmudgeon): Bitter, territorial. Uses his cane as a defensive weapon.

MR. BONES (The Exhausted One): Literally falling apart. He loses pieces constantly.

ELVIS and BURT (The Big Guys): Two "big-boned" skeletons prone to getting stuck in furniture.

THE CHATTERBOX: Inappropriate, hyperactive, maddening.

SEBASTIAN (The Handsome Youth): Modern, charismatic, old-school leading man with great posture.

CUPID (The Hopeless Romantic): Flirty, dramatic, and an expert in romantic anatomy.

MR. PANIC (The Hypochondriac): Extreme hypochondriac. Freaks out over any phantom pain.

THE CLUELESS GUY: Disconnected from reality. Reads brochures upside down.

RICHIE RICH (The Celebrity): Giant sunglasses, silk scarf. Unbearably snobby.

THE CLERK: Stiff hairdo, glasses, and the absolute worst DMV-bureaucrat attitude in the universe.

PATIENT ON STRETCHER & PARAMEDICS.

[SINGLE SCENE]

INT. "TRANSIT & DESTINATIONS" WAITING ROOM - ETERNITY

1. The afterlife bureaucracy

(Where we discover that eternity is an endless waiting room and we meet the first skeletons stuck in boredom).

The room is a chaos of bones, murmurs, and bureaucratic apathy. In the background, a large, worn-out sign reads: "TAKE A NUMBER (WAIT SEATED... DO NOT KNOCK: WE ARE CLOSED)." Another sign warns: "DYING IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED."

Several skeletons are hunched over their cell phones, totally oblivious to their surroundings. In the center, REGINALD flexes his arms and poses in profile, discreetly looking around to see if he's being admired.

REGINALD: (Whispering to himself while "squeezing" his non-existent biceps). Oof... you don't get this mega-calcium overnight, baby. What bearing, what bone density, what structure. Death looks amazing on me. Look at this, look... check out this sternum, pure symmetry.

Next to him, TAY is slouching so far down in his seat he looks like he's going to slide onto the floor. He barely moves his fingers to text.

REGINALD: Hey, kid. A little respect for the spinal cord, yeah? Sit like a normal person. Look at you, you look like a pile of rubble after an earthquake. You're gonna sit your ass right off.

Tay doesn't even look at him; he just disconnects the bluetooth from his headphones, letting a loud trap beat blast out.

TAY: (Monotone voice, without looking). Chill, boomer. The bass loosens the vertebrae. (He puts his phone back on Airplane Mode... ignoring everyone and everything, and slides down another inch. His pelvis is barely on the edge of the seat).

2. The struggle for personal space

(Where we prove that ailments don't disappear with death, and getting or keeping a chair is an extreme sport).

In the next row, OLD MAN HENDERSON has the seat to his left occupied by three supermarket bags full of pill bottles, medicine boxes, bandages, saltines... and his cane. MR. BONES approaches him, dragging his feet agonizingly.

MR. BONES: (Trembling, asthmatic voice). Excuse me, boss... Is this... taken? My soul is heavy... and I think my left kneecap is coming loose.

OLD MAN HENDERSON: (Covering the seats with outstretched arms). Yes! It is extremely taken. My brother-in-law is coming. And the other one is for my rheumatism, which is about to die and join me up here. Find another seat, leave me alone!

Mr. Bones sighs. As he tries to turn around, his entire left arm drops to the floor with a dry sound (CLACK!). Mr. Bones stares at the arm with resignation.

MR. BONES: Ah, just my luck. Can you hand that to me, boss? If I bend over, my sternum pops out.

OLD MAN HENDERSON: (Using his cane to kick the arm away). Shoo! Get out of here, you smelly old man. Go wash your sit bones, you reek... Scram! And don't go leaving your junk in my personal zone!

Mr. Bones, resigned, leans on Henderson to balance himself. In a quick movement, he snatches the spare femur that Henderson was using to prop up a bag. Mr. Bones uses it as a makeshift crutch and drops heavily onto the free seat.

OLD MAN HENDERSON: Hey! You old thief! Security! He took my bone! Help! I'm a poor, defenseless senior citizen!

To the side, ELVIS and BURT are having a structural crisis trying to share typical plastic waiting-room chairs joined by a metal bar.

ELVIS: (Squeezing in, pelvis wedged). Oh, hell no! This chair is fat-shaming my skeleton! Hey, Burt, push my pelvis, I think my femur got stuck and it's digging into my tailbone. Push with faith!

BURT: (Using Elvis's arms for leverage, panting air). I told you we should've lined up in the SINGLE FILE line! Please! Does no one have mercy for the XXXL bone structure?! Alright, let's get out of this jam... Big guys unite... charge! On three! One, two... three!

(Elvis's femur pops loose. Due to the force of the impact, Burt shoots backward, bounces off the wall, and lands sitting squarely on REGINALD's legs, ruining his pose).

REGINALD: (Outraged, trying to shove Burt off). Watch it, you're wrinkling the outfit! You almost splintered my ulna! Get off me, big guy!

3. The purgatory busybody

(Where that hyperactive and maddening character who always wants to tell you their life story in waiting rooms makes their appearance).

THE CHATTERBOX appears out of nowhere, walking fast with a fiendish amount of energy. He wedges himself into the micro-space left between Elvis and Burt, squishing them even more.

THE CHATTERBOX: Wow, sure is tight in here, huh! But hey, you can't lose that body heat, even in just our bones! How'd you guys die? Me, I fell off a roof 'cause I was being nosy watching the neighbors fight. Silly slip, really. The whole fight was over a ball and a broken window: classic. The gossip was juicy, the pavement... not so much. Bam, splat... How about you? You guys like Nesquik with extra calcium? Or not really. Oof, long faces today.

ELVIS: (Suffocating, ribs creaking). Mister... you do know what personal space is, right?... Back off... Your armpit smells, gross.

The Chatterbox shrugs, jumps up with comedic flair, and goes straight to Tay, who is still on his astral journey. The Chatterbox gives Tay a friendly slap on the back.

(Physical action: the slap makes Tay, who was on the edge of the chair, slide off completely and end up on the floor in a messy pile of bones and elastic bandages... He starts groaning comically, but they can't see him).

THE CHATTERBOX: (Oblivious to the disaster, talking to anyone who will listen). You guys like memes? I call 'em TikToks, haha... No way... hehe... I got a nephew who's still alive, can't put his gadget down. Scrolling all day, all night... Did you know looking at your phone too much makes you go blind! Well... You gotta have a little moderation, like my mom used to say... 'Son, practice moderation...' Hahaha! Nobody has moderation these days, right? Right, kid? ... Kid? Where'd he go?

Tay, from the floor, just sticks one super skinny arm and a long skeletal hand out of the hoodie, throwing up a peace sign without getting up.

TAY: (Yelling because his music volume is maxed out). I'M STRAIGHT!

4. Code Splinter

(Where a medical emergency interrupts the lethargy and ends in a comical anatomical disaster of loose parts).

Suddenly, the double doors on the left burst open with a dramatic crash. Two PARAMEDICS rush in pushing a stretcher with a PATIENT who is a literal jigsaw puzzle of loose bones.

PARAMEDIC 1: Make way! Code Splinter! Watch the loose skull, watch the jaw, it bites... He got feisty... Watch the jaw!

PARAMEDIC 2: Grab his tailbone, he's falling apart! Don't let him break down... anymore!

Seeing the disaster roll by, panic and disgust take over the room. Everyone covers their skulls or eye sockets with their bony hands.

REGINALD: (Covering his face). Please, a little decorum! Such lack of manners and decency... How did I end up in such a miserable place! I was always VIP... Oh, what a shame, what a shame... A tragedy, a tragedy!

The Patient on the stretcher slowly turns his skull. His empty sockets stare at the whole room in absolute terror. With a trembling hand barely held together by phantom ligaments, he raises two phalanges. He begins making frantic tracing motions in the air toward the others.

MR. PANIC: (Pointing at the stretcher). Look! He's blessing us! He's a holy martyr!

THE CLUELESS GUY: I think he's flipping us off... Look, that is clearly the middle finger raised, I recognize that finger, it's the middle finger, you dirty rude old man.

The Patient continues making even more offensive gestures and everyone raises their eyebrows as the stretcher trips over Old Man Henderson's cane.

(SLAPSTICK: The Patient flies horizontally off the stretcher, crosses the stage, and lands perfectly seated on MR. PANIC's shoulders).

MR. PANIC: (Carrying the headless patient, going into shock). Oh my God! My spine just duplicated! I feel dead weight! It's a bone tumor! Doctor, I'm having a stroke!

The Patient (who is headless on Panic's shoulders) reaches a trembling hand toward the floor, where his skull rolled like a bowling ball. The skull stops at THE CLUELESS GUY's feet.

THE CLUELESS GUY: (Looks at the skull on the floor, then looks inside it). Oh, look... what a curious skull... but it doesn't have a jaw...

(The Clueless Guy searches the floor and finds a biting jaw. The jaw bites his fingers).

THE CLUELESS GUY: Ow, dammit! Listen here, mister! You are a Horrible person! Horrible!

The Paramedics run over, pick up the skull, and the biting jaw... They pull the evil Patient off Mr. Panic's shoulders (who is left hyperventilating) and drag him away through the emergency doors.

5. The idol of the masses

(Where a television star who demands special treatment makes his triumphant grand entrance, clashing with the harsh reality of purgatory).

The main doors open again, this time with imaginary fanfare music (or maximum drama). Enter RICHIE RICH, showing off his frame... posing with his hands on his hips, giant sunglasses, and a silk scarf. He expects an ovation that doesn't arrive.

RICHIE RICH: (Theatrical, projecting his voice to no one). Easy, easy, my adoring public! I'm here. I have arrived!... (Crickets chirp) I know the wait is hard and you want an autograph, but let's form an orderly line. There's fame for everyone in eternity. Flash photography is allowed. Don't push!

Absolute silence. The chirping bug becomes the sound of a spectral cricket. The Clueless Guy stares at him, "squinting" his sockets.

THE CLUELESS GUY: Hey... Do I know you? You did the hemorrhoid cream commercials. On the subway...

RICHIE RICH: (Pulling down his glasses, furious). For the love of God! Hemorrhoids! I don't even know what that is. I Am An Idol! I was the face of Cartier NUMERO SIX! (A theatrical experience!) My death shocked the Planet, the Pope came to my funeral... And... The Rolling Stones... And... Madonna...

(A "Ba-dum-tss" rimshot sounds every time Richie tells a bigger exaggeration or lie...)

Furious at the lack of attention, he marches straight to the reception door and bangs on it with his giant ring.

RICHIE RICH: Miss, excuse me. I am a high-impact organic public figure. I cannot be out here mixed in with... the afterlife's economy class. I demand my VIP pass, my lounge, and an almond milk latte. I was the villain everyone loved to hate on "Days of Our Lives" and I died heroically...

THE CLERK: (Without taking her eyes off her papers, typing lazily with one finger). Your file says you tripped over a lighting cable on set out of vanity, because you refused to wear your prescription glasses. Fill out form 404, annex B for "Ridiculous Deaths Due to Poor Vision" and get at the back of the line. The supervisor will assist you as soon as he gets back from his lunch break.

RICHIE RICH: And when exactly is that nincompoop supposed to come back?!

THE CLERK: He went out for street tacos. Shouldn't be long now, they always run out of the good ones. Sit down and wait... Next.

Richie Rich huffs, dramatically tosses his scarf, and goes to sit in a corner, muttering about how he's going to sue everyone with his legal team.

6. Cartilage-free romance

(Where Cupid and Sebastian discover that appearances are deceiving in the world of bones, but love prevails over labels).

Meanwhile, in the seats on the right, SEBASTIAN and CUPID have been chatting closely for a while. Cupid, with exaggerated shyness, but a lot of emotion, strokes Sebastian's ulna.

CUPID: ...and then, seeing the perfect alignment of your spine and your posture, I realized you are exactly my type of ribcage. You have such... sexy shoulder blades, so sculpted... smooth to the touch... like you were an Olympian god, like a work of Praxiteles.

SEBASTIAN: (Smiling, flattered, but suddenly looks down and examines Cupid's hips). Alright, alright... you're making me blush... Hey... your phalanges are a bit... and your fingers are very... And your hands are kind of... I'm looking at your pelvis... what a narrow and masculine pelvis you have... You have the skeleton of a man! You're a guy with giant hands.

CUPID: (Jumping up, highly offended, hands on hips). Not entirely! Well, yes... I was a landscaper... And labels really aren't my thing... Man, woman, bones... What does it matter.

SEBASTIAN: But you were touching me this whole time and you didn't say anything! Did you think I wouldn't notice!?

CUPID: (Making a theatrical, exaggerated soap-opera gesture). Details, Sebastian! Don't act all offended, you were more than happy when I adjusted your collarbone and you were sighing!

Sebastian covers his face, embarrassed, while The Chatterbox, who was listening to everything wedged between them, lets out a scandalous echoing laugh.

THE CHATTERBOX: That's it! Round of applause! Death to labels!... Long live free skeletal love!

7. Code Pandemic

(Where a mobile phone alert unleashes collective hypochondria, causing a stampede worthy of the best comedy sketch).

OLD MAN HENDERSON: (Looks up from his old flip phone, alarmed by an ancient notification sound). Listen up, everyone! I just got a WhatsApp alert chain. It has red letters and scared little skulls. It says there's a new virus on the loose.

ELVIS: A virus? Here? God forbid!

MR. PANIC: (Grabbing his skull in despair, instantly panicking). They say it's a terrible strain! It's airborne! All your teeth could fall out!

At that exact moment, the room's lights flicker violently and turn red. An old factory alarm begins to howl loudly: "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!".

The reception window flies open. THE CLERK pokes her head out wearing a face mask with little skulls on it.

THE CLERK: (Through a defective megaphone with a forced, screechy voice). Attention all users! The report is confirmed. Code Pandemic! A highly contagious virus is everywhere. Avoid All contact... I repeat, stay home... avoid contact and wash your hands--- Imminent danger of death! I repeat...

The megaphone suffers a fatal feedback squeal. Total panic hits everyone at once. Imaginary symptoms cause everyone to cough, cover up, walk hunched over... Chaos and panic spread.

REGINALD: (Grabbing the collar of his jacket). Oh God of the bleached skeletons! My throat feels dry! My white blood cells aren't working anymore! I want Tylenol, I'm going to the pharmacy, I need IV fluids... I want electrolytes, ASAP!

BURT: (Coughing hard, blowing clouds of white dust from his ribs). Elvis, I can't breathe! I think my pelvis temperature is spiking! My femur is burning up!

ELVIS: (Fanning himself desperately with an old magazine and pushing Burt with his foot). Keep your social distance! Get away! I'm an at-risk demographic: I'm big-boned and my triglycerides are through the roof!

RICHIE RICH: (Covering his entire skull with his silk scarf like a ninja). I demand my VIP vaccine! I want my private suite! I'm taking no calls, I repeat, all interviews canceled, adios you morons.

TAY: (Still on the floor, lifts his head slightly). Virus? Damn. Zoom classes again... so lame... For real? (Drops his skull back to the floor).

MR. BONES: (Trembling so much his bones rattle like maracas, drops the stolen femur). I don't want to die! Help!

THE CLERK: (Spraying a giant can of aerosol disinfectant directly into the faces of those nearby and all over the window). Immediate evacuation of the premises is ordered! Run for your lives! The last one out stays in perpetual quarantine cleaning the purgatory bathrooms!

(FINAL STAMPEDE: Total chaos begins in fast motion. Old Man Henderson throws all his bags at Richie Rich's face and runs with Olympic agility, jumping over chairs. Reginald flees coughing with arms outstretched like a dramatic zombie. Richie Rich uses The Chatterbox as a human shield, pushing the big guys Elvis and Burt, who get stuck together in the main door, plugging the exit like a cork).

ELVIS and BURT: (Screaming in unison, wedged in the doorframe). One at a time! We're gonna break! DON'T PUSH!

(The Clerk runs from the back, gets a running start, and vaults over her own reception counter, landing on top of the pile of skeletons at the door. From the impact, the "cork" gives way and everyone shoots out into the exterior hallway in a whirlwind of screams, clashing bones, and slamming doors).

8. Eternity is long

(Where the dust settles in the empty room, and we discover that the only thing that truly survives everything is a good coffee and great company).

The room empties in a matter of seconds. A thick cloud of bone dust slowly settles on the stage. The red alarm continues flashing in silence.

In the midst of the destruction and overturned chairs, only SEBASTIAN and CUPID remain, intact, frozen in the exact dramatic position of their lover's quarrel.

They look toward the door where everyone just escaped trampling each other. The distant echo of screams fading into eternity can be heard. Sebastian slowly lowers his arms, looks at Cupid, and blinks in absolute incomprehension.

SEBASTIAN: Hey... wait a minute. But if we're already dead... buried, waked, and with a death certificate... what the hell are we going to die from? People are so ridiculous, honestly.

Cupid tilts his head, relaxes his offended posture, smiles showing all his teeth, and gives Sebastian a flirtatious, tender little tap on the ribs with his index finger.

CUPIDO: Oh, Sebastian... besides having divine bone structure and being handsome, you're analytical... Every time... I like you more.

Sebastian sighs with profound resignation, making all his ribs rattle loudly in a comical sound, and shrugs.

SEBASTIAN: What does it matter anymore. Nobody's perfect, right? Anyway, eternity is long... Let's go see if they sell cappuccinos or at least some drip coffee in the cafeteria of hell. My treat.

CUPIDO: (Hooking his arm with Sebastian's). Fine, but next time I pay... because from now on, you are my other half.

Sebastian nods and smiles, completely smitten now. Both skeletons walk together, arm in arm and completely calm, toward the exit opposite the stampede, where a neon sign lights up that says: "COFFEE SHOP - Hot & Ready to go...". The red emergency lights continue flashing rhythmically over the totally empty and ruined waiting room.

[CURTAIN / FADE TO BLACK]

SUGGESTED NOTES FOR STAGING AND PRODUCTION

(For use by Directing, Cast, and Technical Crew)

1. VISUAL PROPOSAL AND WARDROBE (The "Bone Effect")

To avoid the use of complex theatrical makeup (which slows down dressing room times and wears out the cast's skin during multi-performance runs), a stylized and functional convention is suggested:

The Skeletal Base: The entire cast wears a uniform base of black tights, leotards, or solid black turtlenecks. Over this black base, the bones (ribs, collarbones, pelvis, and limbs) are applied. They can be painted with white fluorescent fabric paint or made of white craft foam (EVA foam) sewn to the fabric.

The Archetype Clothing: Over the black base, the actors wear the characteristic clothing of their character (Reginald's leather jacket, Tay's hoodie, etc.). These garments must be strategically torn, ripped, or modified (open fronts or cropped sleeves) so that the "bone" structure is visible.

The Face: Full makeup is discarded. The use of rigid half-masks or skull masks made of plastic or thin latex is suggested. These should only cover from the forehead to the nasal bridge and cheekbones. The actor's real mouth and jaw remain uncovered to guarantee perfect comedic gesticulation and voice projection.

The Hands: The use of black gloves with the finger bones painted white on the back is mandatory.

2. SOLUTIONS FOR PHYSICAL COMEDY (Prop Effects)

Mr. Bones's Arm: The actor's jacket will have the left sleeve attached to the shoulder using quick-release velcro. The actor will keep their real arm hidden inside the garment. The sleeve will hang stuffed with fabric and end in a prop hand. For the gag, they simply pull the velcro.

The Patient's Skull: The skull that bites The Clueless Guy must be a rigid plastic prop. The actor will simulate the "bite" by putting their fingers into the toy's jaw cavity and operating it with a quick flick of the wrist.

3. LIGHTING AND ATMOSPHERE DESIGN

Base Light: A cold, flat, and slightly unpleasant general lighting is suggested, emulating the fluorescent lamps of government offices or public clinics.

The Blacklight (UV) Effect: Ultraviolet (blacklight) cannons are recommended. In specific blackouts, the blacklight will make the actors' black bodies disappear, causing the fluorescent bones to "float".

The Code Pandemic: When the alarm is activated, the general lighting should change drastically to a wash of solid or strobing red light, rhythmic with the "BEEP, BEEP" siren sound.