He’d gone up the road. It was past midnight, dark, for there weren’t street light. He knew the area, he’d lived here all his twenty four years.
His mother had named him ‘Prince’ as if he’d grow up to something, but born poor, attending a poor school, getting into a poor High School, meant that beyond reading and being able to do arithmetic, that was about it.
Sometimes he got a job as a labourer on a building site, sometime he helped set up or clean up after a dance.
Some times he did some work on someone’s farm, but most times, he did nothing.
He was fed up with it all, wanting to go away, somewhere. This night, he went to burn a spliff in the bush where no one would bother him.
He had taken two pulls when he heard the sound, and saw a plane passing over head; a small plane, small lights, which crashed maybe fifty feet away.