Knockin' on Heaven's Door
By Sarah Hutchings.
"Goin' down in a blaze of glory.." blasted from the tape deck. Richard was on a long road to nowhere...and the devil was ridin' pillion. Nothin' had made a whole lotta sense since he'd been evicted by the landlord to his heart...and now he was gonna pay the rent.
By an eerie coincidence, Jovi was on that same long road. He couldn't see much, his Ray Bans fogged by the tears that never ceased to spill from his eyes.
"Marxeo, Marxeo, wherefore art thou, Marxeo?" He croaked and revved his Harley.
Too late Richard spotted that lone motorcyclist. Their eyes met as Jovi landed on Richard's windscreen. Marxie had remembered to put on his seatbelt and suffered only a mild case of whiplash. He leaped out of the car, took Jovi into his arms, lifted his face to the cloudless sky and howled. Clutching Jovi's chest, he felt a hard shape in the top pocket of his one and only's leather jacket. Wild with grief, he took out the vial and gulped down the amber liquid.
A tear from Richard's eye had fallen on Jovi's cheek, that magical substance blessing Jovi again with life. He opened his eyes and saw Marxie lying on the dusty ground, the empty urine sample still clutched in his fist. In the distance, he heard the wail of a police siren. He fumbled in his boot.
"Oh happy dagger!" he exclaimed, holding up the swiss army knife Richard had given him to aid in their boy scout fantasy. He found the corkscrew attachment and twisted it into his chest.
When the boys in blue arrived they saw the two rock stars entwined in their dusty open-air grave. They removed their hats, aware that they were in the presence of true love.
Meanwhile, Marxie and Jovi rose groggily to their feet.
"Where are we?" they exclaimed. When they turned to each other they could barely contain themselves. Richie wore a skin tight white leotard with cut-outs around the nipples. Jovi was skimpily attired in white leather pants, their drawstring loosening in promise.
Before they had a chance to admire each other more closely, they perceived figures with hands outstretched approaching from the mist around them.
"Freddie!" cried Richard.
"Jimi!" cried Jovi.
"Jim!" cried Richard.
"Janis!" cried Jovi.
A distorted electric guitar sounded and all the figures turned. The mist cleared.
Descending an ivory staircase, still dressed in the orange pantsuit that had been his funeral garb, came a rock star who had enjoyed fame of a similar size to Marxie.
"Its T-Rex!" cried Richie.
"Hi fellas, I'm Marc Bolan, of T-Rex fame. I ain't no square with my corkscrew hair and have therefore been chosen to welcome you." He draped the two rockers with long silver capes and handed them each a white guitar.
"What is this place?" questioned Jovi.
"I think that's fairly obvious," said Marxie condescendingly. "We're in rock 'n' roll heaven." And the two lovers ascended the stairway to heaven, swigging Beam handed to them in crystal bottles with silk labels.
Back on earth, the winters grew longer and flowers weren't quite so quick to bloom. But occasionally in the sky a hot pink and black rainbow formed, and the people smiled as they remembered those star-crossed lovers and forgot that there were quite a few stories of more woe than that of Joviet and his Marxeo.
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