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Heaven Is Real and Looks Suspiciously Like a Certain Theme Park in Orlando Florida Page 2
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MOUUUUUUUSE!
Heaven is real / so real / so real / keepin’ it real / I have cancer
They had neglected to pay the correct amount for parking and so their car was towed away. Secretly, Jada could not be happier since she was not looking forward to the long drive back home, and couldn’t think of a better place to be stranded than New York (Keepin it Real). Word of this got back to the Good Morning America interns, and they surreptitiously set the Smiths up for a few weeks camping in the green room, during which Jada and Will Smith Jr. met with a cavalcade of D-list celebrities and other ordinary Americans in extraordinary circumstances, a few of whom had baffling diseases just like Will Smith Jr., so he ended up making lots of new friends who would be dead soon. Will Smith Sr., for his part, worked his way through every menu item in “flavor town” and gained a new appreciation for the bastardization of world cuisine. The GMA people finally secured the Smiths with plane tickets back home, which was nice of them, but the uncomfortable seats in economy class made for fitful sleeping as Jada had another dream about Mum. This time she was in a house in the middle of an empy field, with her back again turned to Jada but still visible from second story window. Jada ran around the house trying to get in but there was no doors on any of the sides, and she awoke in a cold sweat with her head in a basket of Greek yogurt.
As the Smiths walked the two blocks from the airport to their house which was inconveniently built underneath the flight paths and thus shook uncomfortably whenever a plane flew overhead, which was inordinately often for a town that wasn’t particularly attractive destination in any way, they found a surprise waiting for them in the form of envelopes stuffed with checks and cash.
In the weeks since their GMA appearance, instant disciples of Junior’s bold vision of the afterlife had sent in their own scrimpings after hearing of his plight. They immediately decide to use their bonanza to actually, finally go to Disney World.
Jada mentions maybe the money should pay for their medical bills but Will Sr. and Jr. won’t hear of it. “Let’s go,” they say simultaneously, “First CLASS!”
I’m keepin’ it real / so real / so real / keepin’ it real / First CLASS!
Although they arrived early enough, they nearly miss the flight when Jada points out that no one has refilled Will Smith Jr.’s medication, and there was a brief moment of worry that they would not be able to make it after all, but the concierge service called and arranged for the prescription to be filled in Orlando, and this was the first of many of their first encounters with the heavenly advantages of first class travel.
The seats in first class were more comfortable than the beds in the hospital, confirmed Will Smith Jr. In fact, they were more comfortable than the beds they had back home. They were so comfortable, that all three Smiths fell asleep five minutes after sitting down.
Jada had a dream. She, Wills Sr. and Jr. were in a deli booth. A waitress came with their order of sandwiches. They looked up, and the waitress was Mum! Jada knew it was a dream because the sandwiches were delicious, but she went with it, because the other dreams she had were such garbage. When she awoke, a flight attendant converted her bedseat back to a regular chair and handed her a sandwich -- the same as in her dream! Jada looked to the other Smiths who awoke at the same time and exchanged a meaningful look, meaning they probably shared the same dream, but she wasn’t going to bring it up or make a big deal of it or anything, and instead they all agreed to enjoy their sandwiches, and not spoil their good omen.
When they leave the climate controlled environs of the Tampa airport, they are hit by a blast of warm, humid air, and Will Jr., for the first time in a long time, starts looking as ill as he is supposed to be. “Are you okay, buddy?” asked Will Sr. “I will be, when we reach Heaven World!” said Will Jr. with forced enthusiasm, and muttered something about keeping it real.
When the shuttle drops them off at the gargantuan parking lot, the Smith party immediately gets lost, until they encounter a roving band of homeless guests with season passes. The vagrants are disturbing but actually quite helpful, knowing all the tricks and secrets of the magic kingdom, and they tell them, noticing Will Jr.’s condition, which has become more an more noticeable, to ask for special armbands reserved for terminally ill children that will enable them to go to the head of the lines for all the high-demand rides.
At the ticket booth they request the armbands as well as a wheelchair for Lil Will, but while the armbands are in ample supply, wheelchairs, oddly, are not, and Will Jr., now nearly collapsing due to the muggy heat, is carried by Papa Smith in the manner of a POW carrying his fellow fallen soldier through a death march. As they approach the first ride, the line has snaked for what seems to be miles, and they have nothing but thanks in their heart for the helpful homeless season passholders for their advice, but this is replaced by shock to find that even in front, there is a lengthy line of people in wheelchairs, many of them looking chipper even in the punishing climate. “Who are they?” Papa wondered allowed. A troglodytic visitor wearing a Knicks T-shirt and Crocs answered, “They’re rich kids who’ve hired cancer kids to use their faster-passes. You’re not one of them are you?” he eyed them over with his one good eye.
“Dad, I need to get somewhere cool.”
They trudge over to the nearest gift shop and air out their sweat-soaked “flavor town” shirts in the cool, air conditioned fortress. Jada hands Will Jr. a $10 bottle of water. “This is the last of our money, I’m afraid.” As Will gulps the water down, the lights in the shop buzz, then shut off, as does the air conditioner. “Unionists!” cackles Knicks T-shirt, who apparently followed them into the shop. “They’ve cut power to the main station.” As the heat inside rises to match the outside, Will Jr. slips into heat-fevered dream.
No one will ever know the contents of that dream aside from Will Jr.’s intermittent muttering about pink elephants and keeping it real, but this is what he said when he came to:
“Dad, Sis, I was wrong. this place… it isn’t Heaven.”
The End… OR IS IT?
It is.
FOLLOW @BRILLIANTEBOOKS ON TWITTER FOR NEWS ON THE RELEASE OF THE OPTIONAL HAPPY ENDING TO THIS MOSTLY FICTIONAL STORY, IN WHICH WILL SMITH DOES NOT DIE OF HEAT STROKE IN A FLORIDA THEME PARK.
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Heaven is real / so real / so real / keepin’ it real / I have cancer
They had neglected to pay the correct amount for parking and so their car was towed away. Secretly, Jada could not be happier since she was not looking forward to the long drive back home, and couldn’t think of a better place to be stranded than New York (Keepin it Real). Word of this got back to the Good Morning America interns, and they surreptitiously set the Smiths up for a few weeks camping in the green room, during which Jada and Will Smith Jr. met with a cavalcade of D-list celebrities and other ordinary Americans in extraordinary circumstances, a few of whom had baffling diseases just like Will Smith Jr., so he ended up making lots of new friends who would be dead soon. Will Smith Sr., for his part, worked his way through every menu item in “flavor town” and gained a new appreciation for the bastardization of world cuisine. The GMA people finally secured the Smiths with plane tickets back home, which was nice of them, but the uncomfortable seats in economy class made for fitful sleeping as Jada had another dream about Mum. This time she was in a house in the middle of an empy field, with her back again turned to Jada but still visible from second story window. Jada ran around the house trying to get in but there was no doors on any of the sides, and she awoke in a cold sweat with her head in a basket of Greek yogurt.
As the Smiths walked the two blocks from the airport to their house which was inconveniently built underneath the flight paths and thus shook uncomfortably whenever a plane flew overhead, which was inordinately often for a town that wasn’t particularly attractive destination in any way, they found a surprise waiting for them in the form of envelopes stuffed with checks and cash.
In the weeks since their GMA appearance, instant disciples of Junior’s bold vision of the afterlife had sent in their own scrimpings after hearing of his plight. They immediately decide to use their bonanza to actually, finally go to Disney World.
Jada mentions maybe the money should pay for their medical bills but Will Sr. and Jr. won’t hear of it. “Let’s go,” they say simultaneously, “First CLASS!”
I’m keepin’ it real / so real / so real / keepin’ it real / First CLASS!
Although they arrived early enough, they nearly miss the flight when Jada points out that no one has refilled Will Smith Jr.’s medication, and there was a brief moment of worry that they would not be able to make it after all, but the concierge service called and arranged for the prescription to be filled in Orlando, and this was the first of many of their first encounters with the heavenly advantages of first class travel.
The seats in first class were more comfortable than the beds in the hospital, confirmed Will Smith Jr. In fact, they were more comfortable than the beds they had back home. They were so comfortable, that all three Smiths fell asleep five minutes after sitting down.
Jada had a dream. She, Wills Sr. and Jr. were in a deli booth. A waitress came with their order of sandwiches. They looked up, and the waitress was Mum! Jada knew it was a dream because the sandwiches were delicious, but she went with it, because the other dreams she had were such garbage. When she awoke, a flight attendant converted her bedseat back to a regular chair and handed her a sandwich -- the same as in her dream! Jada looked to the other Smiths who awoke at the same time and exchanged a meaningful look, meaning they probably shared the same dream, but she wasn’t going to bring it up or make a big deal of it or anything, and instead they all agreed to enjoy their sandwiches, and not spoil their good omen.
When they leave the climate controlled environs of the Tampa airport, they are hit by a blast of warm, humid air, and Will Jr., for the first time in a long time, starts looking as ill as he is supposed to be. “Are you okay, buddy?” asked Will Sr. “I will be, when we reach Heaven World!” said Will Jr. with forced enthusiasm, and muttered something about keeping it real.
When the shuttle drops them off at the gargantuan parking lot, the Smith party immediately gets lost, until they encounter a roving band of homeless guests with season passes. The vagrants are disturbing but actually quite helpful, knowing all the tricks and secrets of the magic kingdom, and they tell them, noticing Will Jr.’s condition, which has become more an more noticeable, to ask for special armbands reserved for terminally ill children that will enable them to go to the head of the lines for all the high-demand rides.
At the ticket booth they request the armbands as well as a wheelchair for Lil Will, but while the armbands are in ample supply, wheelchairs, oddly, are not, and Will Jr., now nearly collapsing due to the muggy heat, is carried by Papa Smith in the manner of a POW carrying his fellow fallen soldier through a death march. As they approach the first ride, the line has snaked for what seems to be miles, and they have nothing but thanks in their heart for the helpful homeless season passholders for their advice, but this is replaced by shock to find that even in front, there is a lengthy line of people in wheelchairs, many of them looking chipper even in the punishing climate. “Who are they?” Papa wondered allowed. A troglodytic visitor wearing a Knicks T-shirt and Crocs answered, “They’re rich kids who’ve hired cancer kids to use their faster-passes. You’re not one of them are you?” he eyed them over with his one good eye.
“Dad, I need to get somewhere cool.”
They trudge over to the nearest gift shop and air out their sweat-soaked “flavor town” shirts in the cool, air conditioned fortress. Jada hands Will Jr. a $10 bottle of water. “This is the last of our money, I’m afraid.” As Will gulps the water down, the lights in the shop buzz, then shut off, as does the air conditioner. “Unionists!” cackles Knicks T-shirt, who apparently followed them into the shop. “They’ve cut power to the main station.” As the heat inside rises to match the outside, Will Jr. slips into heat-fevered dream.
No one will ever know the contents of that dream aside from Will Jr.’s intermittent muttering about pink elephants and keeping it real, but this is what he said when he came to:
“Dad, Sis, I was wrong. this place… it isn’t Heaven.”
The End… OR IS IT?
It is.
FOLLOW @BRILLIANTEBOOKS ON TWITTER FOR NEWS ON THE RELEASE OF THE OPTIONAL HAPPY ENDING TO THIS MOSTLY FICTIONAL STORY, IN WHICH WILL SMITH DOES NOT DIE OF HEAT STROKE IN A FLORIDA THEME PARK.
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