Don’t let your friend die on the road

The black magician was so innocuous no-one would have picked him out of a crowd. An elderly bloke with straggling white hair his rheumy blue eyes glazed over passers-by who looked through him as if he and his dust cart were not there. He pottered by the blind alley, where cars would unexpectedly exit at speed, that being the only way they could cross the busy traffic into the opposite lane.

The sun shone. Pedestrians ambled along enjoying the sunshine and two boys on bikes sped along the broad pavement chatting happily. The dust cart man glanced back at the car park at the end of the alley. One of his targets should be returning to his car just about now. The tall figure of the Minister walked towards his car. The magician smiled and nodded happily to himself, diligently spiking a piece of litter from the ground and depositing it in his cart. Got to get the timing just right and he had.

The Minister pulled out into a gap in traffic heading for the opposite side of the road just as the two cyclists sped towards the invisible exit. The boy nearest the road had nowhere to go. A car parked on his left. His friend on the right, he slammed into the side of the car. In seconds he was lying on the ground blood pouring from his head. His friend stood stunned. The Minister was standing by his car tears streaming down his face. “Jesus, Jesus” he kept saying.

Job done the magician lifted the handles of his cart and wandered off down the road. An ambulance arrived immediately.

Half an hour later the magician was standing in the Controller’s office giving his report. The Controller nodded and dismissed him. He called for another Agent.

“Is the mocking campaign ready?”

“The posters go up tomorrow. Posters with the slogan “Don’t let your friend die on the road” will appear in the boy’s neighbourhood. He has to pass one everywhere he goes”.

Just then the phone rang. It was one of the para-medics from the ambulance. “The boy was dead on arrival at hospital. Just as instructed”.

“Good”. The Controller turned to the Agent. “Proceed with the campaign. Dismissed”.

Alone in the office the Controller flipped the pages in a folder. The Minister. An inspiration to his congregation, helping and guiding. Someone to turn to. The psychics predicted the break-up of his marriage, his loss of faith and a rapid spiral into destitution.

The boys, one black, one white. Loyal friends, friends for life. Accepting each others problems as their own. Working together. Eventually working together for the good of their communities.

The Controller slammed the file shut in disgust. Races inter-mingling. Well, that white boy would never be friends with a black person again!

………………..

Copyright 2015

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