Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“What can I do for you?” his father questioned, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m just an old man, and I don’t have much money.”
“I don’t want a cent from you. All I want is for you to forget you ever saw me here today. Tell everyone that I was someone else who came to visit, not your son. You were mistaken. I wish you well, Daddy. May you live a long, healthy life. I mean it.”
And then, he walked out…
Chapter Twenty-Three
There was nothing more beautiful than traveling to foreign lands. Silver-winged angels and silver-tongued demons often went on special missions, journeying to places they’d never been.
Strange, philosophical thoughts ran through Legend’s mind as he drove at top speed on the Harley Davidson motorcycle. Perhaps mankind was the merging of the two? Angels and demons decided to play a game, and created humankind. Mankind became a toy. A strange creation, born from good and evil—thus, we have a choice to act in one nature or the other? God let them have their fun. What if every day was a test, to see who would win? Good versus evil. Thus far, the scoreboard said: Angels 0. Demons 1.
Conceivably, there was still an opportunity for the angels to catch up, even during the last innings, and maybe, angels are rather warlike after all. Not the meek, mild and pretty renditions we see in old oil paintings, hanging high in stuffy museums. It’s not inconceivable that they, too, thirst for retribution, bloodlust, and justice, here on Earth. Or maybe, we’re just all in some great big petri dish, while gods and goddesses look on, making bets on us, and laughing at our follies, while stuffing their golden mouths with crystal grapes. Who will kill who today? Who will succumb to temptation? Who will come out victorious?
Legend revved his motorcycle as he headed down a winding, bumpy road amongst some of the most picturesque peaks, green hills, and thick woodlands he’d ever seen. The sun had almost set, a streak of lavender crept across the sky, and as he approached the dark blue forty-foot container home in the middle of nowhere with loud generators running, he knew immediately that his wishes had been bought and paid for, and carried out to the letter.
He removed his helmet, got off the motorcycle, grabbed the duffle bag full of delights, and approached the container. Slipping his leather-gloved hand into his jacket pocket, he removed a special silver key he’d been given by one of the men who greeted him at the hotel.
Jamming it into the old padlock, he cracked it open and entered into the rectangular space, shrouded in darkness. A cold burst of air hit him immediately, bathing him in an icy zephyr, from head to toe. The air conditioning unit to his right was on full blast. A meager beam of light shined down on one spot of the container. To his left was a pristine surgical steel table, and a low cot close by. An old television, like the kind Mama had, and all the paraphernalia he required were within reach.
Stifled cries came from the trash, left in a corner. Legend’s boots thundered with each step he took towards the garbage. Tucked and wrapped away like a present was the sight he expected to see, and his lips curled. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor and turned on the light switch, flooding the entire space in a bright red glow.
The moans of the rubbish grew louder as he approached, and the human excrement, passing itself off as a human being, moved about in a thick black cotton sack. Yanking the sack up about the neck area with one hand, he quickly undid the twine rope around the feet, and peeled the bag off his priceless gift, allowing it to fall softly to the floor.
He was now looking into the cold, light sable eyes of the man who had taken his childhood and stomped it to death without a shred of mercy. The dark brown waves of hair he recalled as a boy had been replaced by wiry salt and pepper strands, thinning in the middle, a bald spot in the making. Crow’s feet framed his devilish eyes, and dark bags hung from them like sallow blue sails. His hands were bound in handcuffs, and his ankles were also restrained. Legend threw his gift on the floor, causing a loud reverberation. It was like a piñata, only the candy inside was rotten, bloody, and stale.
“Hola, Luis. ¿Me extrañaste?” (Hello, Luis. Did you miss me?)
The man’s mouth was covered in several layers of dark blue tape, and it was clear to him, there was no recollection in the fiend’s glare. Picking him back up with one hand, he smiled, then dropped him back down unceremoniously.