A Little Angel

Most years, as Halloween started to creep up, may parents would eventually recount the story of the Little Angel.

Seems like, back in the before time, in the long, long ago, before they had decided to get around to their purpose in life, namely, having and raising me, my parents were occupied with giving away candy, one dark All Hallows Eve. And, late on the aforementioned evening, when all candy had been disbursed to smiling, costumed cherubs, a final knock was heard at the door, just before the porch light was doused.

Not wishing to be rude, my parents opened the door, and were greeted with the sight of a young girl, decked out in the finery of one of the Lord's own servants, wings and all. The wide-eyed, solemn, and be-winged urchin spoke not, but simply held out the bag she carried, already filled with the sweet swag of a profitable evening.

Both my parents were nonplussed, but didn't want to send the hopeful youngster away empty-handed, fearing that such disappointment would lead inevitably to a life of dissolution, communism, and chicken-raping. So, thinking quickly, my father made haste to our kitchen, laid hands upon a bright red apple, and, returning to the front door, dropped the fruit into the still-open bag.

The little angel looked into the bag at the gift she had received, then spoke to my father.

"You broke my cookies, you dumb shit."