Seventeen
“No, oh God, no!” The purple clad, fat whore screams as I touch the flame of my lighter to her synthetic dress.
“Yes, oh God, yes!” I laugh back, tilting my visor covered face to the roof of the catacombs, my peals of humor echoing all around us as loud as her wails of fear.
“Put it out, put it out. I’m gonna get burned.” She yells, her bare hands frantically slapping at the singing material.
“That’s the point.” I say, grabbing my stomach from the pain of my insane, madman, laughter. I’m fucking losing it.
“What? Why?” She screeches, wriggling and thrashing around, trying to peel off the too tight dress that makes her look like a stuffed sausage.
I can see the marks on her hands, the black tips of her fingers already burned from the crack pipe, and I watch with a glee that overtakes me as they turn darker with the soot from the fire.
It overtakes her dress, the fabric hissing and melting to her as the flames grow larger, turning bright orange and red as they engulf her. Her screams are so loud that dirt falls from the roof of the tunnel dusting me, pelting off my helmet with little pings and pats on the carbon fiber.
“Because of what you are. Whore. Filth of society. Trash.”
“I’m just trying to live.” She screams, her body almost glowing, her arms flailing, her chubby legs kicking as she runs in comical circles, grabbing at the flames, trying to bat them away.
“Well, you won’t.” I say, strolling over to her and kicking her square in the back, throwing her down onto her hands and knees. “You’ll burn.”
So beautifully done. Her screams are perfect.
“Yeah.”
Don’t deny it, you love it. I can already hear the excitement in you. Give in to it. Love it. Love me, because I’m here to stay.
“You said you’d go if I burned her.”
I said I’d leave Phoenix alone. Not you.
“Fucker!” I shout, smacking the side of my head, the anger rising up in me, heating me inside my gear.
Ripping my helmet off so I can breathe, the heat from the blaze warms my face even more. It’s suffocating me, burning my mouth and nose, heating my lungs. The whore burns hot, her body lit like a fucking candle, the flames taking over her and reaching upwards to the roof above. Her screams and hollers reverberate around us drowning out my own sounds of coughing and sputtering.
“This isn’t right. None of this. Go away.” I wretch out, falling to my knees, grabbing my head, banging the side of it with the helmet still in my hand.
No.
“Yes.”
No.
“For fuck’s sake, go away!”
Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Never. I am you. You are me. We are one. Accept it.
“No!” I wail, shaking my head, so confused, angry, and in pain, just like the trash that’s fallen flat to the ground before me, still kicking and rolling around on the ground as the fire takes her flesh.
I’ve never been right, not since that night the fire took my mother, my home, and everything I ever knew. But this is a new low. A new insanity that I never thought would happen. I don’t know what I’m doing, seeing, hearing. Nothing is right, it’s all wrong. It’s all…fucked.
I want to enjoy watching her burn, I want to go back to what I was before I mether,I want my old life back. The one where I enjoyed my “work” and got pleasure from it. When he was there in the background and not in the forefront driving me mad, making me do things in ways I don’t want to, for reasons I don’t like. I want to be crazy but not this crazy.
“Fuck!” I scream, leaning forward, feeling nauseated, wanting to puke.
Don’t you do it. No evidence.
“Fuck you.” I growl, feeling my insides heave and turn on themselves. The heat inside me is as hot as the inferno burning on the ground, now silently hissing and sizzling as her fat cooks like a burger on a grill.
