The Mysterious Stranger is the final novel attempted by the American author Mark Twain. He worked on it periodically from 1897 through 1908. The body of work is a serious social commentary by Twain addressing his ideas of the Moral Sense and the “damned human race”.
We cross through the tunnel at 12:01. My dog and I enjoying the greatness of the night; him with his head out the window, me with my mind. The cool breeze coming in, smelling of beautiful mist and reinforcing why it is that I love to drive. I’m in the zone, feeling the vibrations of the wheels rolling on the pavement, the soft whirring of the engine as we cruise down the street. Almost home. We come to a stop at the corner; the traffic light paints the street red, and just like the children’s game, nothing moves. The constant tick-tick-tick-tick of the blinker as I look both ways before making a right is the only sound around. I proceed to make the turn and now the sweet sound of the steering wheel gliding through my hands fills me with calmness. I don’t know what it is but that sound has always soothed me; leather on skin, oh what a great combination.
Instantly that feeling is gone, but the stillness that blankets the neighborhood remains. Standing in front of me, waiting just down the road, is the angel of death. Dark and cloaked the way it’s always described, but much greater, much larger, making it’s presence unavoidable. I look to the passenger seat and see Timmy staring forward with intent, focused on what lies ahead.
“Well, let’s see what it wants”