Dia de los Muertos

Dia de los Muertos

by
Ed Held
(Dear Sweet Hubby wrote this for his English class)

“Dia de los Muertos”, Ticker mumbled, “Day of the Dead”. Ticker sat, or rather slumped, in the sleaziest bar in Tijuana, drunk off of his ass. Again. “Dia de los Muertos” he mumbled again. Why can’t I convince anybody that this year will be different? That this year November 2 will really be a day of the dead? Well, I guess tomorrow they will find out. “You’ll all find out!” he suddenly shouted. The bartender stared at Ticker until he decided that Ticker was just another drunk tourist celebrating the holiday a little too hard and a little too early.

Ticker had been convinced for a long time that the world was going to end on November 2, 2009. He was a watchmaker by trade, and as such was very interested in the concept of time. He had discovered an ancient method of timekeeping buried deep under Ayers Rock in Australia while he was there on vacation several years ago. While he was investigating this method, he made a startling discovery: the exact time and date the world was going to end. He had tried to show his find to anybody that would listen. The ones that bothered to halfway hear him out were convinced that he was just another new-age crackpot with a doomsday prophesy.

Ticker didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow, all he knew was that the world was going to end. All of his calculations had pointed to November 2, 2009 at 8:06 am, sunrise. “Why didn’t I do more to convince somebody?” he thought. Ticker knew people, powerful people, who would believe him but without knowing exactly what was going to happen what could they have done? Caused widespread panic? Better to let them enjoy what little time they had left. “Mas Tequila” he mumbled as he threw the last of his Pesos on the bar. Let the bartender keep what was left, tomorrow they wouldn’t matter to anybody. The bartender set up two shots of Tequila on the bar, swept up all of the coins, and went off cursing in Spanish under his breath. Ticker ignored him as he picked up one of the shots and knocked it back. He wondered if he should at least try to make one last effort to warn somebody. “Screw ‘em” he muttered as he gulped the last shot and passed out.