Nighthawks dreamers

Prologue

'Wanna say yo' last words?' said Jeremya coldly. Joan gave me a glance. He had a bright look on his eyes. Then he looked back to our boss who was lighting a cigar and asked 'Can I?' I was terrified but he seemed calm. 'Of course, r' dis yo' goddamn last words? Brian, give tha pimp a drag.' The man next to me lighted another cigar and approached it to his mouth. He had his hands tight on the back. It was dark, cold, and rainy. Our suits were wet but our faces were dry thanks to our hats. We were in a narrow-closed street covered by a warm orange light spread by a streetlamp. We were seven. Five of us in line in front of Joan. He was on his knees. The last one was in his back pointing him with a gun. The acceptance of his death shocked me forever. If only I had stopped him. I tried. Yet, since the day he met her, I knew our dreams were over.

'Digues-li que no es penedeixi mai d'haver-me conegut, digues-li que estimar-la i que m'estimés ha estat el millor que m'ha passat.' Said Joan without a stutter in his voice.

Jeremiah looked at me and squealed irritated: 'What did he just say?'

I was unable to utter a word. If I spoke, my tears would start going down my face. Then he glowered at me and ordered me to speak again: 'Speak or yo' gotta end like yo' friend!'

'He said he doesn't fear death.'

'Then I be pleased ta say his ass goodbye.' He ordered the man who was pointing Joan's head with a gun from the back to shoot.

I will never forget the sound of is body hitting the pavement and his last look on his eyes. He did not cry instead of that he smiled. He had loved and been loved in return and in those hard times in which we all felt as if we already were dead, he had felt alive.