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Authors: Eros Winter
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so pungent I'm dying.
With dismay, I realize I didn't save any gas to fill a bottle. FUCK! The plan was to ignite this baby with a well thrown Molotov cocktail. God damnit. What are my choices now?
Option 1: toss a match in the door... Hell no. No way I'm lighting that bomb off from up close.
Option 2: siphon more gas to create a cocktail... HELL NO! My mouth will never be put in a situation like that again.
Option 3: ?... Oh I know. I'll just make a cocktail without the filling, so to speak.
I cover my face and sprint back inside, heading straight to my room. I grab my gassy shirt from off the bed and retreat with it outside. I cram as much of the shirt as I can into a bottle with as much speed as I can muster. I'm beginning to get nervous about the smell. Surely my neighbors are going to catch a whiff soon and come check what’s going on.
Oh shit... My neighbors.
Considering that their place is connected to mine, I guess they are gunna lose their residence tonight as well. I look deep within, searching for some shred of remorse, but the truth is, I don't give a damn. Let them burn. Makes no difference to me.
Startled by my indifference, I take a step back and try to induce the appropriate guilt. It doesn't come, and I get on with my chore. I truly don't seem to care. Huh. Hadn't realized I'd gotten so cold. Perhaps it is the weather, or maybe it's just the flavor of the night.
As I prepare to light the bomb, my eyes fall upon my watch: the time keeper, the schedule enforcer, the wicked master. He belongs in the flame. I snap it from my wrist and strap it around the bottle, giving it a first class ticket to the inferno to come.
Bomb complete, I light it and throw. I can tell the second it leaves my hand that I put too much gumption into it. It's going high, way above the open door. It smashes harmlessly against the wall-I think all is lost-but as the flaming shirt falls in front of the door, fumes from inside catch fire and a massive fireball explodes out. The burst of flame is far larger than I was expecting. I fall back in a stupor.
Holy fuck! Time to get the hell out of here!
I bolt to my car, start it up, and go. I take one last look at the boisterous flame at the end of my reverse, then put the car in drive and speed off-no more interest in looking back-ready for whatever comes next.
I probably shouldn’t admit it, but god damn! I'm having a good time.
Chapter the Fourth
I peel out into the night, pumped up, excited, and ready to take the big step into nothing. Only question left: how am I gunna do it? It's gotta be a guarantee this time-no more mishaps. The first, simplest option, I suppose, would be crashing into something at high speeds. I'm already driving. All I'd have to do is press my foot to the floor and pick an object.
Mmmmm, yeah, I could do that, but the idea certainly isn't jumping out at me. I'm not sure if the simplest option is the one I want in this case. I mean, come on, I'm talking about my final act here! I should do something... I dunno, more epic! Besides, cars are jam packed with safety features these days. It isn't likely, but I could, in theory, survive.
The most sure fire option is putting a bullet through my skull-scrambling the old brains a bit. No reasonable chance of survival there. But where am I going to find a gun? And even if I had one, where is the fun in shooting one’s self? It's a tug of the finger and you're gone. You don't even know it happened. It's too quick. There's no chance whatsoever to experience a final thought.
Come, Chales, think! This is the last thing you're gunna do on earth, man! Make it extreme!
Extreme... yes, extreme.
Ah!- there it is. There's the master plan. What is one of the most extreme activities a person can perform? Base jumping. And what could be more extreme than base jumping without a parachute? Magnifico! A perfect scheme. For one, I already know of a proper cliff. High, rigid, with lots of sharp rocks at the bottom. Chance of
With dismay, I realize I didn't save any gas to fill a bottle. FUCK! The plan was to ignite this baby with a well thrown Molotov cocktail. God damnit. What are my choices now?
Option 1: toss a match in the door... Hell no. No way I'm lighting that bomb off from up close.
Option 2: siphon more gas to create a cocktail... HELL NO! My mouth will never be put in a situation like that again.
Option 3: ?... Oh I know. I'll just make a cocktail without the filling, so to speak.
I cover my face and sprint back inside, heading straight to my room. I grab my gassy shirt from off the bed and retreat with it outside. I cram as much of the shirt as I can into a bottle with as much speed as I can muster. I'm beginning to get nervous about the smell. Surely my neighbors are going to catch a whiff soon and come check what’s going on.
Oh shit... My neighbors.
Considering that their place is connected to mine, I guess they are gunna lose their residence tonight as well. I look deep within, searching for some shred of remorse, but the truth is, I don't give a damn. Let them burn. Makes no difference to me.
Startled by my indifference, I take a step back and try to induce the appropriate guilt. It doesn't come, and I get on with my chore. I truly don't seem to care. Huh. Hadn't realized I'd gotten so cold. Perhaps it is the weather, or maybe it's just the flavor of the night.
As I prepare to light the bomb, my eyes fall upon my watch: the time keeper, the schedule enforcer, the wicked master. He belongs in the flame. I snap it from my wrist and strap it around the bottle, giving it a first class ticket to the inferno to come.
Bomb complete, I light it and throw. I can tell the second it leaves my hand that I put too much gumption into it. It's going high, way above the open door. It smashes harmlessly against the wall-I think all is lost-but as the flaming shirt falls in front of the door, fumes from inside catch fire and a massive fireball explodes out. The burst of flame is far larger than I was expecting. I fall back in a stupor.
Holy fuck! Time to get the hell out of here!
I bolt to my car, start it up, and go. I take one last look at the boisterous flame at the end of my reverse, then put the car in drive and speed off-no more interest in looking back-ready for whatever comes next.
I probably shouldn’t admit it, but god damn! I'm having a good time.
Chapter the Fourth
I peel out into the night, pumped up, excited, and ready to take the big step into nothing. Only question left: how am I gunna do it? It's gotta be a guarantee this time-no more mishaps. The first, simplest option, I suppose, would be crashing into something at high speeds. I'm already driving. All I'd have to do is press my foot to the floor and pick an object.
Mmmmm, yeah, I could do that, but the idea certainly isn't jumping out at me. I'm not sure if the simplest option is the one I want in this case. I mean, come on, I'm talking about my final act here! I should do something... I dunno, more epic! Besides, cars are jam packed with safety features these days. It isn't likely, but I could, in theory, survive.
The most sure fire option is putting a bullet through my skull-scrambling the old brains a bit. No reasonable chance of survival there. But where am I going to find a gun? And even if I had one, where is the fun in shooting one’s self? It's a tug of the finger and you're gone. You don't even know it happened. It's too quick. There's no chance whatsoever to experience a final thought.
Come, Chales, think! This is the last thing you're gunna do on earth, man! Make it extreme!
Extreme... yes, extreme.
Ah!- there it is. There's the master plan. What is one of the most extreme activities a person can perform? Base jumping. And what could be more extreme than base jumping without a parachute? Magnifico! A perfect scheme. For one, I already know of a proper cliff. High, rigid, with lots of sharp rocks at the bottom. Chance of
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