There Was a Dream

There was a dream...

There was a dream...

But nobody told that dream it is unwanted, it was a mischievous dream, it was lust, it was love.

They told him and her they aren’t meant to be. They told their children will be swamped once they break free. But all they knew was a rebel spirit. The were born under a fifty starred flag, and stripes, they knew whatever happens, happens for a reason. His name was Joe and her name was Mary, they were black and white couple in the 70s. Somehow, they made it work. I am not God to tell you their story, but my idea is pretty close to truth, because I was there guarding their fate, the 13th death angel from the Malibu street.

Joe was a plumber. A very talented one. She was a hard dresser. They lived in a small city in Georgia and it seemed everything was alright for the time.

The dress code was simple back then. Nobody underdressed too much or over dressed too much. But being a 13th death angel, I usually wore all black and sunglasses. People couldn’t see me, unless I unlocked it in their brain. I felt sorry to take Joe’s and Marry’s little girl from them. But it was all part of God’s big plan. Geesh! Like an old man had any idea of what he was doing...

I took my scythe and went to do the job. The version was that little Anny was ran by a bus. And so, I had to set the scene. You know. The usual.

Business is business. God’s plans. Etc. Don’t ask me. I didn’t volunteer for this job.

I play harmonica after it’s all done. I play it to the relatives. It seemed somehow Joe heard the tune. He and Marry cried a lot that night. Next day Joe played my tune on his harmonica and went to work. Marry stayed home. She was traumatized. Until death may us part.

***

Death gives way sometimes. Their second child wasn’t left without attention. And it was good. The boy grew up responsible.

Even though he was a mix, he had some brains. He wouldn’t die until the age of 89. I am death. I know such things.

Marry was reassured, he’d be a great engineer. Joe wanted him to be a plumber. The boy excelled at math and chemistry. He wasn’t too good in physics though. Or sports for the matter of fact.

***

July 1991 they boy is 18 years old an going to college. Not the Ivy league bit a good local college.

Joe was about to retire. Marry kept cutting hair and recently she started writing romance novels. Like all elderly women working as a hair dresser, she knew everything about plotting.

***

Boy’s name was Michael. His girlfriend was about to die. White girl. Betty. She slipped on a notebook page and broke her neck falling the stairs. God’s plan. The usual. I took my scythe and drank my whiskey. The rest is history. Needless to say, the boy was broken. He didn’t talk for a month. His luck was that the university psychologist was a really smart guy, gave him the right pills and took care of the parents. The boy had a very important job in this life. He had to plan an entirely new western American city plumbing planned entirely by himself. Well, and his computer. It was 90s now. Everything got into these machines. I hear God himself got one of those. There was a rumor I’d be replaced by a robot or something. I don’t care. Just work as much as I can before I retire into Haiti or something.

Got my mojo working. That’s all.

***

The year is 2005. The kid is a big business. Married. Well paid. Big Boss. This time I came for his dog. Tiny pickiness. His own kids played with it. It just got too old and it was time to go for it. All dogs go to heaven, you know.

***

Year 2026. Joe and Marry are long as gone. Michael. The kid. Has his own grandchildren now. They have their own dogs. I wasn’t after him. But his driver had to go. God’s plan. God’s will.

Anyhow I heard they will just delete them from year 2027 and on. I will go to Haiti and reminisce drinking whiskey and boning Sirens and Mermaids. 13th death angel from Malibu Street replaced by a divine code. Wonder if it’s going to be ctrl+shift+del and that’s it. The man is gone. LOL.

Anyhow the driver was too drunk. Got shot by a wanna be gangster. The gangster was sentenced to a life time in prison. Georgia is no jokes.

***

Oh, Haiti. I didn’t know it would this boring. After a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels and a couple of rounds with local sirens and mermaids... Well, I got so bored I wanted to cry and play harmonica blues every day. Dear god, I prayed. Yes, death angel number 13 prayed to god. Pathetic I know... But here we go. Dear God, I want a job. A different one. Not sending people to heaven or hell. I want a job with meaning. With class. Something to be liked for. No whiskey. No sirens or mermaids. Just musc...

***

I was reborn as a producer. But in Scotland. They have bagpipes. They don’t use Harmonicas that much. But it was good yeah. Until I was deleted. LOL. Happened to be it is real ctrl+shift+del. I went to heaven. It turned out to be boring too.

The End