always threw me dirty looks and I eventually ended up helping out. This loser? Really? All my feelings of sadness are instantly replaced with a deep seeded kind of hate that you can only get from true betrayal.
"You bitch!" Instinctively, I aim the revolver and put a bullet through her forehead.
Asphalt breaks apart behind her, leaving a small crater in the road. Brown gelatinous ooze pours from the nickel sized hole in her forehead. A smell fills my nostrils that I can only portray as garbage left rotting in direct sunlight. For a moment her eyes roll into the back of her head and she goes limp. After a couple short seconds she looks back up at me. Without hesitation, she reaches for me and goes back to snapping like a hungry animal. I should already know that wouldn't work. I stumble back and wrestle off my backpack. Hands still weak and trembling from shock, it feels about impossible to open the large compartment of the bag. I try my damnedest to focus on opening the bag and not think. Eventually I manage to steady my hand and pull the zipper back. The backpack opens and I reach in. As I feel the cold glass of the Molotov is within my grasp, emotion takes over.
"How could you? After all these years, how the hell could you do this? You left me on my own to die in this shit storm, for this guy?!"
I've somehow managed to get the gas soaked rag lit without actually thinking about igniting it. All I can think is how can any human being be so twisted to do this to anyone? What could possibly be her reason for throwing all these years away? I just wish she was really here so she can look at me with that dumbfounded expression and lie to my face like she probably has so many times before. You know what? I'm over it. Somehow, it has all clicked. All the nonsensical drama that you've created over the years make sense, now. You've always just been selfish and impossible. Somehow, I know that and I can take some solace in that fact.
I throw the flaming bottle downward right at her face. It bashes her in the bridge of her nose and shatters. It dents in like a kicked pumpkin. The liquid becomes fire the second it touches the air. Flames envelope her and dance across her flesh. She begins to blacken and split apart like a burning hotdog. I turn around to leave at this point. If I witness anything else traumatizing.. I just don't know. I'm not sure I would be able to handle it very well. This is all so surreal.
Her screams are bone chilling. As the fire breaks apart her lungs, her squeals of agony become more and more shrill. I slow my pace as tears blur my vision. Her voice cracks and for a short time, she sounds human. She sounds just like I remember her any time she's been in pain. Her haunting shout sends me to my knees and for the last time I cry.
After a moment of helpless weeping, I notice something. She's quiet. Finally. The horrid noises my love was making have stopped. I sluggishly force myself to stand and turn to face her. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the end of my sleeve. I peel my eyes open and gaze into the fire. She's in there. Motionless and quiet. This is so confusing. Part of me hates you and the other part wishes you would have just stayed. It could have been different. At the very least, I put you to rest.
"I'm sorry that I wasn't.. better."
A deep groan catches my attention. It sounds like it is coming from behind me. I look up to investigate and I see them. How did I not notice so many of them? They're everywhere. Some are down the street a ways but most of them are almost within grabbing distance. Hungry decomposing faces, some of which I recognize as neighbors, getting closer by the second. The closest one to me is an old man that lives three houses down. He would always smile and wave as we would pass by him in his old truck. Now, he's looking at me with his mouth wide open ready to take a bite. I know I should shoot or, maybe, run. I can't though. It's too much for me. I
"You bitch!" Instinctively, I aim the revolver and put a bullet through her forehead.
Asphalt breaks apart behind her, leaving a small crater in the road. Brown gelatinous ooze pours from the nickel sized hole in her forehead. A smell fills my nostrils that I can only portray as garbage left rotting in direct sunlight. For a moment her eyes roll into the back of her head and she goes limp. After a couple short seconds she looks back up at me. Without hesitation, she reaches for me and goes back to snapping like a hungry animal. I should already know that wouldn't work. I stumble back and wrestle off my backpack. Hands still weak and trembling from shock, it feels about impossible to open the large compartment of the bag. I try my damnedest to focus on opening the bag and not think. Eventually I manage to steady my hand and pull the zipper back. The backpack opens and I reach in. As I feel the cold glass of the Molotov is within my grasp, emotion takes over.
"How could you? After all these years, how the hell could you do this? You left me on my own to die in this shit storm, for this guy?!"
I've somehow managed to get the gas soaked rag lit without actually thinking about igniting it. All I can think is how can any human being be so twisted to do this to anyone? What could possibly be her reason for throwing all these years away? I just wish she was really here so she can look at me with that dumbfounded expression and lie to my face like she probably has so many times before. You know what? I'm over it. Somehow, it has all clicked. All the nonsensical drama that you've created over the years make sense, now. You've always just been selfish and impossible. Somehow, I know that and I can take some solace in that fact.
I throw the flaming bottle downward right at her face. It bashes her in the bridge of her nose and shatters. It dents in like a kicked pumpkin. The liquid becomes fire the second it touches the air. Flames envelope her and dance across her flesh. She begins to blacken and split apart like a burning hotdog. I turn around to leave at this point. If I witness anything else traumatizing.. I just don't know. I'm not sure I would be able to handle it very well. This is all so surreal.
Her screams are bone chilling. As the fire breaks apart her lungs, her squeals of agony become more and more shrill. I slow my pace as tears blur my vision. Her voice cracks and for a short time, she sounds human. She sounds just like I remember her any time she's been in pain. Her haunting shout sends me to my knees and for the last time I cry.
After a moment of helpless weeping, I notice something. She's quiet. Finally. The horrid noises my love was making have stopped. I sluggishly force myself to stand and turn to face her. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the end of my sleeve. I peel my eyes open and gaze into the fire. She's in there. Motionless and quiet. This is so confusing. Part of me hates you and the other part wishes you would have just stayed. It could have been different. At the very least, I put you to rest.
"I'm sorry that I wasn't.. better."
A deep groan catches my attention. It sounds like it is coming from behind me. I look up to investigate and I see them. How did I not notice so many of them? They're everywhere. Some are down the street a ways but most of them are almost within grabbing distance. Hungry decomposing faces, some of which I recognize as neighbors, getting closer by the second. The closest one to me is an old man that lives three houses down. He would always smile and wave as we would pass by him in his old truck. Now, he's looking at me with his mouth wide open ready to take a bite. I know I should shoot or, maybe, run. I can't though. It's too much for me. I
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