“Are you coming inside, hon? It’s cold outside.”
“In a few minutes.”
And with that, he lit the bonfire of boxes with clothes from each phase of his life – no trend left untried and none left untouched by the flames. The fire was warm and melted the snow a few feet in each direction. It was warmer here than inside the house.
The man wearing a trenchcoat had been standing on the sidewalk for several hours now. From time to time, he checked a silver pocketwatch. And when the rabbit ran past, he pulled out an enormous gun and shot it.
I’m sitting alone at the hotel bar, after being cut off by the bartender, with all the lonely people, waiting for you to notice and come back.
The camera never lies. Except when it does. And those times are the worst of all. The lies are distortions, like funhouse mirrors, but no one can help but believe them. We all flock to it, and crave its unconditional love. And its unflinching eye watches us.
Now, no matter what, her hair would be fabulous. Some deals are worth the price, she thought to herself.
We drove up to the top of the mountain that night. I had rented an old Impala droptop, a rust bucket, really, but it ran well enough and was perfect for the sunset hours, and she adored it. She wore a lovely yellow sundress and open toed heels, and I was wearing a skinny black suit with a tie to match.
We spent the evening eating from the picnic basket she had packed and drinking the booze I had snuck under the seat and sucking on helium from the balloons I had stuffed in the trunk. We laughed and watched the lights from the city and let the balloons float away one by one. We pretended that one of the stars was a meteor coming to wipe out the world.
That was the last time that most people I know were happy.
Fighting always brought out the best in me. I was always present, in the moment, waiting to taste the blood from the first punch to the face. They took that away from me, to make me a productive member of society, they said. I was too talented, they said.
I make more money now, but all I want when I watch the fights is to be down there, in the filth, in the sweat, in the blood. I own them all. All I want is to be owned.
Flight is a funny thing. Icarus flew too close too the sun and he didn’t know what he was trying to run from. We ran too the moon and came home when it wasn’t the warm inviting place we had hoped. Then we stopped trying to run away. And when they finally came, we had forgotten how to use our legs.
The rain poured down and washed away the filth. When it was finally done, the djinn lit a cigar and poured himself a drink. He would never be a slave again.
The Rapture came and went. Everyone met on the beach, lit the bonfire, and watched the eternal sunset.
