Page 3 of Genesis
“Don’t get it on you,” I say, twisting the cap off. The place fills with overpowering fumes as we both begin drenching everything in moonshine, soaking the couch and all the furniture.
Johnny stops and looks at his old man, studying him as though he wants this moment captured in his memory for the rest of his life. I’ve seen him a few times, sitting on the porch when we’d come by on our bikes, never up close, though. Johnny looks like him, but not in an obvious way. Just the same face structure and hair color.
“Do you think he’ll wake up?” I ask, slightly out of breath.
“I hope so,” Johnny says.
And then he pours juice onto his dad’s lap. The bastard still doesn’t move. Johnny reaches down and grabs the man’s smokes. Pulling one out, he scoops up the Zippo. He flicks it open, looking over it for a moment.
“He’s always had this,” he says. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to buy lighter fluid for it.” He studies the lighter in his hand, tracing the scratches and running his thumb over the brass. “He told me his father had it before him. Of all the things you can pass down to someone, my grandpa gave my old man a lighter.” He looks over at me.
“Guess he didn’t have anything else to give,” I say.
He scoffs. “Guess not.”
My boy lights the cigarette, takes one big drag, and thumps it onto the couch.
Flames shoot up from the drenched threading and quickly begin to spread, filling the room with toxic smoke.
“Shit,” I say, putting my shirt over my nose. “Come on.”
Johnny grabs the family photo off the wall, leaving a clean spot behind and revealing how much these walls are nicotine-stained. I toss the moonshine, hearing it shatter as we take off through the hall. Johnny leaves a trail of homebrew behind us, drenching the countertops in the kitchen. He tosses the Mason jar and we hurry from the house, running through the yard and across the street. We dip into the alleyway, and Johnny stops and turns around.
“We shouldn’t be here,” I say to him.
“Just give me a second,” he says. We both stand watching the house as the fire consumes it. Smoke pours from the cracks, red flames bellow behind the windows, and then the glass breaks.
“You didn’t want anything else in there?” I ask, looking down at the photo in his hand.
Johnny shakes his head, opening his hand. “Nah, I got my family heirloom.”
I look at the Zippo and smirk. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
“Think he’s dead yet?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I feel like he would have woken up yelling if he wasn’t.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I think I read somewhere that it only takes a few minutes to die from smoke inhalation.”
“Kinda wish he would have woken up. Suffered a little, ya know?” Johnny says in a serious tone.
I lift a brow. This boy’s dad is burning alive in that house because of us and he wishes he would have suffered a little more? That’s messed up, but I guess if you’ve been beaten as many times as he has, it’s understandable.
“Hey, he had a Viking funeral,” I say with a smirk.
“Minus the boat,” Johnny says. “And the fact he wasn’t dead first.”
We both twist back when we hear something behind a dumpster. “Hey,” I call out.
My eyes grow wide when a girl walks out from behind the bin. Wearing blue jean shorts and hot pink socks with black boots, she looks from me to Johnny before skipping her eyes past us at the burning house.
“Shit,” Johnny says under his breath as sirens ring in the distance.
“We gotta bounce,” I say evenly, looking at the stranger. I narrow my eyes at her before we take off running back home.
_______________
Out of breath, we all stop once we near my house. Johnny looks over at her. “Who the hell are you?” he says.
“Did you guys really set that house on fire?” she asks, sliding a piece of dark hair behind her ear.
