Torry sat next to Azriel, the angel of death, and kept silent. He wasn’t afraid to speak, it’s just that he was stoned out of his mind and couldn’t gather up any words to say. This was the best weed anyone had ever given him, and it was from the angel of death himself.
“Thought about my offer yet?” Azriel asked him.
“Why me though?” Torry asked. The worn out burgundy Chevrolet that they were in was completely filled with smoke. If someone was looking on the inside they wouldn’t be able to see that there were two figures in there and that one had somewhat of a silent glow around his punk-rock attired body.
“You’re the only one with the right mindset, bro,” the angel said. “I’ve been alive a very long time. I haven’t met anybody who is just as chill about everything as I am, that is until you were born.”
“So you want me to be the next you?”
“Yep, and let me tell you, my job can be awesome bro. But you won’t fully take the job ‘til you turn eighteen. Until then, your body will be developing into…well…what I am.”
“This is sooo frickin’ cool man,” Torry said with a smile. “So in three years I’ll be the angel of death. I can’t wait man. Yeah dude, I’m totally in.”
Azriel took another puff on the vanilla swisher roll and then looked at the young half black half Argentinian hippie beside him. “I do have to warn you though,” he started, “you’re not the only one getting chosen to take on a new role. It’s basically like…everything is starting over. But then again, it’s really just repeating. You follow?”
“I guess so,” Torry said. “So this is like my becoming then, right?”
“Right,” the current angel of death said, handing the joint back to the boy. “This is your becoming.”
Torry took one last puff and then tilted his head back as he fell asleep without dreaming.