The Reluctant Angel-Part 2

Something awakened in the distant echoes of Angel’s consciousness. He couldn’t put words to the collaboration of new sensations that he felt but his mind brought one to the forefront-


For the better part of his life, Angel searched for this feeling….yet it wasn’t a feeling.

He couldn’t grasp or touch it.

He just…knew….that he had reached it.

He pleaded for the ability to keep his eyes closed and maintain the ability to experience this…..realm of peace.


Like all things, good and bad, that occur with eyes wide shut, they come to an end.

Angel opened his eyes, expecting to see the flawed popcorn ceiling and lint covered fan that are representations of his apartment.

What he saw, caused him to fall out of the chair he was sitting upright in, and to re close he eyes tight.

Before opening his eyes…again. He convinced himself that he must still be sleeping and his mind shifted into nightmare mode.

“Just ride it out….” He told himself. “just ride it out.”

As he continued to repeat the phrase under his breathe, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He did his best to ignore it but the tapping continued.

He reluctantly began to opened his eyes. The nightmare wanted to talk to him.

He repeated the phrase, one more time, then opened his eyes to face to constant tapper.

“Ride it out.”

Angel uprighted himself in the chair and looked at the boy who inflicted the tapping.

He couldn’t have been older than 8, but it was hard to be definite of his age because of the bloating of his lips and body and extreme blue coloration.

The boy tilted his head, pointed at the exit wounds in Angel’s chest and asked-

“You get shot?”

Angel replied-


The boy asked again-

“Shot…pew pew pew.” With his enlarged blue fingers using a gun motion.

Angel slowly looked down at his chest and looked at the blood stained shirt he was wearing. He lifted it up to reveal 3 small exit holes. For the moment, he had no recollection of the events. He looked back up at the boy who was awaiting an answer.

“I don’t know….what happened to you?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and simply answered after a coughing fit that brought up murky water-

“I go swimming to catch robot that fell in lake…..” He said as he held up a small toy robot and continued.

“I catch robot….but I forgot I can’t swim….wanna play?”

He started coughing again, then reached into his mouth and pulled out a piece of seaweed.

“Tastes icky….here.” He says and hands it to Angel.

The seaweed feels real in his hand. Limp. Soggy. He flicks it and the remnants of lake water and saliva that covered his hand, and wipes his hand on his shirt to dry it.

His hand comes up blood red.

He looks at it, wondering when this nightmare will end.

The boy gets disinterested and sloshes away.

“Maybe if I pinch myself real hard it will jar me awake.” He thinks and proceeds to grab portions of his skin with his index finger and thumb.

He twists and tugs in his arm as hard as he can. He shuts his eyes tight, mutters “hmmph” and let’s go when he can’t handle it anymore.

Then opens his eyes.

And is startled by a large man covered in a dark oily substance, laughing at him.

He looks up to look at the man in the face, but he has nothing but a neck.

Angel scales his eyes back down his torso. The head is laughing from underneath the bulging right arm that holds it.

“I tried that too,” the head stated as it chuckled, “you’re really here. By the looks of it…you got murdered. That sucks.”

Angel replied,

“Yeah, I’m here until I wake up. What happened to you?”

The face on the head smirks.

“Wake up? You should wake up and realize you ain’t gonna ‘wake up’. Have you seen you.” He says as he reaches his dirty left index finger out and at Angel’s bloodied chest.

“This hole is right where your heart…was.”

He pokes his finger through the hole and into where his heart should be then pulls it out.

“No one wakes up from that. Me? Oil rig accident. Tension rod snapped. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time…took my head clean off. Now I am here…like you waiting for my name to be called.”

Angel tried to grasp what the headless man said and managed to utter one question.

“Called for what?”

The head replied with another chuckle-

“Transition…wow…you are totally clueless, aren’t you. No worries, got nothing to do but wait…you go ahead and keep trying to wake up, though.”

As the large man finished his statement, a voice came over the intercom,


“Hey! That’s me. Gotta go, kid. Keep your head up.”

He said as he placed his head between both hands and raised it up and placed it onto his neck.

Angel watched in disbelief as “Headless Bubba Connelly” walked up to the front of the room and greeted the man who wore an oversized grey suit and immaculately shined shoes.

Before leading Bubba down a corridor, the man looked over at Angel, tipped his fedora and put up one hand and motioned for Angel to wait.

Angel began to get up to confront the man in the grey suit before he disappeared again.

Before he could, he legs went numb and he collapsed back into the chair. His eyes rolled back as the images of his death rolled into view, as if watching a movie.

A tear rolled down his cheek, as he watched his body fall and the life he once had end.

A thought slowly ran through his mind as he watched his eyes go blank-

“Wrong place….wrong time.”

As the thought finished it’s journey, the peace that had felt when was convinced he was dreaming….returned.

And he waited for the man in the grey suit and the immaculately shined shoes to call his name.


To be continued….
Images retrieved using Google search.

Continued story from the mind of-


The Elevator Man

“If you could be stuck in an elevator with any actress in the world…who would it be?”

The young man asked his favorite uncle.

Without missing a beat his uncle replied-

“Whichever one that could fix the elevator…I am old…tired….and I have to pee a lot.”


Taken off my wife’s Facebook page.

Written by her second cousin.

Story reenactment from good2begone…….her second husband.

Which is ok…

She is my second wife.

But is second… none.

The Reluctant Angel

Angel Davis had no known enemies and almost as many friends, but he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that he was being watched and distantly followed by the man in the oversized grey suit and the immaculately shined shoes.

The first time he saw him, the man was getting his shoes shined by the wide eyed young boy who hung on his every phrase and looked up at him as if he were some sort of messiah.

Angel remembers watching them as he passed with a strange fascination.

The old man looked up at Angel, mid shine, pulled out a pocket watch, clicked it open to view the face, closed it, placed it back in his jacket pocket, and tipped his fedora to him with a knowing yet wry smile.

Then, set his attention back on the boy who was preparing his vehicles of chosen transportation for the days journey.

Angel had forgotten about the occurrence, until he saw him again on his transit ride to work.

He always felt like it would be a good day when he actually got to sit in a seat, instead of holding on for dear life by standing in the aisle gripping the loop with both hands. Angel was able to hold on to that joy for 2 stops when the inevitable happened.

An older woman with a cane got on. There were no seats for her to sit in. Angel shifted his eyes, side to side, waiting to see if someone was willing to give up their seat.

As the barrage of newspapers began to lift, Angel shook his head and thought,

“selfish bastards”

and promptly asked the woman to take his seat.

He then grabbed the loop as the bus pressed forward. He glanced around just as the newspapers were dropping, revealing triumphant grins of satisfaction.

That’s when he saw him again.

He was sitting in an aisle seat, 8 rows back. Angel probably wouldn’t have even noticed him, except for the glare of the sun that caught his shined shoes, just as Angel began his look around.

The old man, looked up at Angel, mid glare, pulled out a pocket watch, clicked it open to view the face, closed it, placed it back in his jacket pocket, and tipped his fedora to him with a knowing yet wry smile.

The bus stopped at the next stop. Angel had to move and assist the woman with cane to get up and off the bus. As he helped her to the door, he looked back, hoping to get his seat back, just in time to see the business man who stood behind him sit in that very seat, adjust his suit and glare at him. He looked beyond the “it’s my seat now stare” and noticed the man in the grey suit was gone.

The next time he saw him, he was just keeping to himself, like he always did, eating an ice cream cone on a park bench. The old man was walking through the park as well. He sat on the bench directly opposite of Angel.

Angel had had enough of the following, but as he got up to approach the man with the immaculately shined shoes, he was suddenly surrounded by a group of people carrying their Bibles like shields that needed to ask him a few questions.

“Do you know The Lord, young man?”

“Let us teach you the word of God and improve your life!”

“We can save you and prepare you for his coming!”

As they bludgeoned him with their questions, Angel got a glimpse of the man on the opposite bench.

He had crossed his arms and seemed to take great delight in watching what was transpiring.

Angel took in a deep breathe and did what he had always wanted to do….he calmly but confidently answered their questions…..his way.

“I don’t believe in God.” He said as they looked at him with mouths gaped open.

“My child, you are destined for a life in purgatory without believing!” One if them said.

Angel replied,

“If I don’t believe in God…it wouldn’t make much sense to believe in hell…now would it!”

“Through prayer and his words in the good book we can make you a believer.” Another said.

Angel looked through a gap in the semicircle of believers that surrounded him. The man still sat there….intently listening.

Angel calmly looked at the questioner in the eye and answered.

“I have read the book. If you want to prove to me that there is a God. I have the only way.”

Angel reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. He looked at both the heads side and the tails side, then spoke.

“It says in the book, something like ask and you shall receive. Correct?”

They nodded yes.

“Ok. Then I will give you this quarter…..what I want you to do is pray long and hard…and ask that this quarter will turn up heads 50 times in a row after flipping it in the air. If it does…I will be a full and lifelong believer.”

The semicircle looked at the quarter and then each other and clamored for something to say.

“I come through this park around the same time, every Saturday. When you are as confident with your results as much as I am. Come find me.”

Angel then got up to leave. He looked over at the opposite bench.

It was empty, with no sign of the man in the grey suit anywhere.

He flipped the quarter up into air and watched it fall on to the ground in the center of the group. He glanced down at it and then back at them and said,

“There’s one…..only 49 more to go…”

He thought he heard the click of a pocket watch closing as he left the group to stare at the quarter, but chalked it up to wishful thinking.

As Angel walked the blocks that returned him to the solitude of his studio apartment, he got cornered by a group of teens, who apparently owned the stretch of sidewalk he was walking on.

“Hey homie…you can’t just walk on our turf” one yelled threateningly.

Angel replied,

“Look, I am just walking home, kid. I live 2 blocks down. It’s the shortest distance and I am taking it.”

The kid curled his brow, pulled out a revolver, pointed it at Angel’s chest and said,

“It’s the shortest distance to your death…you still wanna take it?”

Angel returned his stare, put his hands up and retreated,

“Nah…I’m good…I’ll just walk around.”

Not giving in that quickly the kid stated,

“Not until you pay me for trespassing, give me you…”

He was cut off by the sound of squealing tires. A dark 4 door car came down the street…fast.

As if in slow motion, the windows began to roll down. The barrels of a automatic rifle emerged, sighted on the group of teens.

Angel yelled,

“GET DOWN!” And pushed 2 of the teens off their balance and to the ground just as the sound of bullets began to fly.

Just as quickly as the 4 door came…it left with the same squeal of tires.

The teens began to get up and check themselves for injuries.

They each seemed to be unharmed.

Angel, remained motionless on the ground, paralysed and near death from 3 bullets in the center of his back.

The last thought that went through his mind before his last breathe exited his body was of the man in the immaculately shined shoes and the sound of his pocket watch closing.


“Time’s up.”


This is a new fictional story with an appearance by a character I created from another story.

That character’s story is called-

The Shine” which is one story but it has 6 pages. The page number tab is at the bottom of the post.

To get to know him….hit the link.

He will probably show up again in “The Reluctant Angel”.

Part 2 is in the making….or writing….or creating….


it’s coming.

As always, thanks for reading.

Wild Thang

Today was supposed to be the day, so my keenly medically educated by reruns of ER mind told me.

The staples will be removed from my arm and I can attend open tryouts for the pitching vacancies on a terrible Major League team.

I’m 45, with a surgically repaired arm.

It was made for me to be better….stronger….faster.

I’m a practical shoe in for the position. I’d bet my right arm on it.


As my wife puts it. Just get well enough so you will quit whining from the sofa.

A guy has got to have dreams.

Anyway, we go in with my hopes high, I left with head hung low.

I got ready for the exam by taking off my shirt.

The Physicians Assistant walks in. I point at my arm with my fingers in a scissor cutting position and said with a smile-


His reply-

Another week. Another appointment.

Oh, well.

Gives me time to watch “Major League” for the umpteenth time.

That movie has Charlie Sheen….you know….before he said things like-

I wonder if he is still winning…

Here Comes Da Judge

After blogging for more than 2 years, I received my first hateful comment.


Which could have been dealt with in many ways-


I chose none of the above. Instead, I approved the comment and replied to it.

The post in which it all appears-

“The Plan To Cure The 17 Year Old Itch

which was written in freaking October of LAST year.

I am being judged by someone that “accidentally” found my blog and has read probably 2 posts from my blog.


Out of the over 600.

Because of those posts, my step kids should hate me and phase me out of their lives.

I would much rather be harshly judged by the individuals who have consistently read my blog or by people who see me on a day to day basis.

But, I am the lucky one, who gets judged by someone who doesn’t even have a blog but does have an opinion.

I guess it comes with the territory.

The Guitar Hero

Creating a masterpiece from wood and wires is quite an accomplishment.

Making a video to display your creation AND using it for the first time ever is the stuff legends are made of.

This guy is prepared for greatness!

Oops…that’s gonna leave a mark.

The Rig Bee

My involuntary occurrences in the mind are usually forgotten within moments after awakening.

Dreams-successions of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations that occur involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep.

Occasionally, they stick around in quick flashes to remind me they occurred.

Like a fly that can’t be swatted but won’t be ignored.

The following are the snippets from a dream I had this past week….Complete with the lyrics to the song that accompanied the images and sensations.

Where it came from….I don’t know.
What it means….I don’t know.
Maybe, writing it down might shed some light on the ideas from the dark.

I am exiting a building. As I walk the shadowed street, figures pass from a distance with their jackets pulled tight over their torsos, as if it were cold.

“Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for”

The rain begins to fall all around me. Yet I stay dry. The jacketed people disappear. I glance at a window and notice a party with a magician. The crowd cheers as he raises a bunny from his top hat. He waves his wand, the bunny turns to mist. The mist begins to choke the crowd. I watch as they claw over each other and at the window trying to escape, as the magician has the appearance that he is conducting an orchestra.

“All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

I am distracted as a chubby child scurries past me wearing a mariachi band uniform, complete with sombrero. I yell to him,

“You better slow down or you are going to trip!”

He turns and growls at me, revealing fangs and long claws.

He then jumps on all fours into a puddle and begins lapping water.

He looks at me, growls again, then jumps up and runs toward the window where the people are stuck in the mist.

He spits mud on the window, then sits and watches the commotion on the other side of the glass.

He turns toward me and smiles.

Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?”

I walk on, dry as a bone in the sheets of rain. I watch lightning strike a tree, only it doesn’t return to the sky. It remains like a lighted staircase to the sky.

“Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved”

As the rain begins to let up, the pathway I walk leads to the hallway of my bedroom. I push the door open and see myself sleeping, next to my wife as I was before I went to sleep.

I am smiling, similarly to the smile from the mariachi boy.

At my feet, is a bunny with a wand, held up between its paws.

“All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?”

I then awaken.



And quite frankly a bit befuddled at the events that have transpired in my mind.


Lyrics from “Eleanor Rigby” written by Paul McCartney and John Lennon

Covered On Sunday-Up The Irons

Longevity in the music business is harder to accomplish than trying to staple jello to a tree……it’s a rare feat.

But it happens.

It is even harder to stick around when your music is rarely heard on the radio or garnishes attention from the “critics” who make their living deciding what is worth listening to.

But it happens.

One band has been together since 1975……that is almost 4 decades.

As of 2010- over 85 MILLION records sold and have played well over 2000 live shows.

They have survived disco, punk, new wave, hair metal, grunge, bubblegum pop, hip hop, rap… 40 years you can pretty much surpass whoever you want.

Iron Maiden.

The greatest 3 guitarist band on the globe.

They are troopers.

Here they are…live, playing “The Trooper”

You would think that all I could find would be heavy metal covers for this song….

Oh contrare monfrare.

This band is respected across the spectrum.

For cover 1, I decided to add some freaking culture to your Sunday. I will quit harping about it and just give ya the goods-

For cover 2, we go all backwoods on ya with Steve ‘n Seagulls-

IRON MAIDEN… have been covered on Sunday…..twice.

The Bookie Man

A good book should leave you… slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading it.“~William Styron, interview, Writers at Work, 1958

You got that right, Willie!

Reading expands the mind, opens up new horizons of thought and puts the kabosh on boredom.

When I read, I get enveloped in the characters, the descriptions of the scenery and surroundings and pretty much place myself into the shoes of the characters.

It allows me to experience what they are going through. My imagination brings the authors words to life.

That is what a well written book should do.

I have begun to expand my reading experiences by reading novels that have been translated into English from whatever language the author originally wrote it in.

In the last few days I have read-

This is a book in a series called “The Cemetery of Forgotten Books”. The author, from Spain, says the books can be read in any order, they all intertwine.

They. Are. Amazing.

Here is an excerpt that starts the novel-


Second on the list is-

An author out of Mexico weaves a tale of murder and cover up involving police and political corruption. An old case is revisited when a murder of a journalist resembles the murders of 4 young girls who supposed killer has been incarcerated for over 20 years.

This novel took me on a trip through the eyes of many characters. Each section retells the story of murder and corruption from their point of view.

Twisty, turny, very hard to put down until the end. I had to read it twice to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

The excerpt-


Now I am changing pace and satisfying my love of history….particularly the life of Abraham Lincoln.

It tells the story of how he dealt with his lifelong battle with depression and how it eventually made him a stronger President and man.

The author researched for over 7 years using letters and documents from Lincoln’s life.

After I finish my history lesson, I have a few more books to choose from.

I have loaded up while recovering from surgery.


Open the cover

Expand your mind.

Put the kabosh on boredom.

Get it? Got it?


The Verse Of The Con


The glories of the great American basketball shoe.

The Converse All Star, the Chucks, the One Star, all names for the best selling iconic brand of footwear.

The history and fanfare of this American brand can be found by hitting this link-

The factories for this iconic American footwear staple are naturally right around the corner in…..



I didn’t know there was a Vietnam, Ohio.

Oh, American made….where for art thou?