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Angels, Heartburn, and the End of the World
I keep asking myself, Why me? Still, the answer’s always the same: Because you’re a happy drunk who always uses condoms. Pretty bad ass, huh? I know, I know, I’m whiter inside than that angel’s downy wings.
Wait.
Yes, his wings were white. Whew. Okay. Sooo. Yeah. The world is ending. That’s what he said. Okay. What am I gonna call this?
Wait, first things first, how did I get here? Why me? Because I prayed for a story idea and God sent me an angel. An angel who told me about how the world was gonna end.
Holy shit! I am like a prophet or something! Wow! I could have my own movie. Called, like, “The Angel’s Apprentice” or something. Damn. This shit has potential.
Oops. Prolly shouldn’t curse holy thing’s names and all anymore, at least not until I finish running this article. Okay. Sooo, let’s see. I am sitting here, smoking a joint, realize I have an article deadline to meet in three hours, and what do I do? I start praying, yada, yada. Oh, let’s not forget that I had a Coors Light in my hand. That’ll be great for advertising, and whoever said that isn’t real beer is just a fucking lunatic. That stuff’s the shit! It summons angels, for God’s sake!
Oh boy. Did it again. This is gonna be harder than I thought. I’m already falling into temptation. Deep breath, deep breath. Keep it coming. Shit. No more Mari Huan to smoke? Okay, Marlboro it is then. I hate these things. Such a letdown after puffing the good stuff. “Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea.” Shut up man. You gotta get your shit together or you’re gonna flop and miss the deadline, even with the magical angel help and all. Forty-five minutes left.
Fucking hell! Really. God’s great and all, but he sent that fucking angel here to help, and he took up all my time, ranting and raving about how jalapeño pepper pops were going to fall from heaven and fill the world with heartburn, and the light of HD TV screens were gonna turn black, and how Dungeons and Dragons is gonna brainwash people to take over the world.
Or something like that.
And all this time I thought fire and brimstone was bad, but can you imagine? Giant. Jalapeno. Poppers. Greasy and hot as shit. Falling from the sky. I mean really. That’s bad stuff.
He said a lot more than that too. Ha. Yeah. Wish I could remember it all, but, like, that beer was so good, and, like, I have ADD and all, so, like, I mean, yeah. Can’t expect perfection, ya know? Wow. Look at the time.
Fuck! I hope that angel gets a serious case of dandruff, or mites, or both! Oh, better yet. I hope his wings turn black. That’ll show his true colors. Ha, ha. Get it? Ha. Yeah. That was a good one. Time waster. Hey, isn’t there something in the Bible about wasting time? Hhmm. I’ll have to Google it. Oh, shit, whatever, that’ll just waste more time. God! All these temptations! I’m serious. It’s like Dante’s inferno in here! Better turn on the air.
God! Why? Why are you testing me like this? Stop the moon! Moon bounce it or something, I don’t know. Take this beer from me! It’s no longer cold, but lukewarm and flat. Beam me up and parent swap me with the angel or something!
Man, it would be awesome to have wings, wouldn’t it? You know what? I want to fly! God, if I tell the world about how they’re all gonna die, than you have to—wait, I don’t want to die! I don’t want the world to end! Not from heartburn!
I know. Where’s that beer can? Even better—yes! I still have some oxycottens left! Sweet! Man, you’ve got to stop saying that. It’s so not cool. Dude, I am going to fly! That’s right. I’m gonna fly sky high. High apple pie in the sky-ee-yi high. Wuh-wait. Yeah. Freal though. Everyone becomes an angel when they go to heaven, right? So this must be a sign. The angel coming here and all? It must mean I’m a half-angel. That’s it. An, like, I need to awaken my latent powers! Up to the roof! Arise and shine and give God the glory, glory! I will awaken the dawn!
Oh, beautiful world! You are ending, but not before I save thee. Unto thee I commit my body and jump from this high building, for you I lay down my humanly life to attain angelhood. Just for you, so you will not know the angel’s words that burn in me now like, uh, acid reflux. Just for you, oh, wide, wide world.
You. Shall not. End!
P.S. Damn. This’ll make a great story. (wink, wink) The DIPSHIT who doesn’t take this submission after the deadline is a fucking MORON.
Yeah. Peace out, man.
Hillary Hunter is a graduate of Eastern University's creative writing program. Her writing is well fuelled by stories, life, and relationships. Writing is her passion, while creating stories is her life.
Email: Hillary Hunter
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