Abolition, Chapter 1: Burning Love Alive

I killed the villian.
Burnt him alive.
I saw him finally have pain in his eyes.

I killed the hero.
Burnt him alive.
I watched the angel’s wings turn to ash.

I killed the love.
Burnt it alive.
Fuck love. Give me fire.

***

The sun is scorching the earth. Making the air I breath a hot, dry, 110 degrees. Life in the desert. 110 degrees is nothing to me.

I smell like I’m on fire, burnt flesh. But I’m driving the convertible as fast as I can so I don’t have to smell it. On this long, lonely, paved road in the middle of the desert, I can really open this rust bucket up.

I scratch some of the dried blood off my forehead as I look myself over in the mirror. I’m a shock blond. All white hair. It looks rather dirty right now however. The sweat, dirt, and blood act as hair gel, spiking it up, a gray mess.

I can see road and desert for miles. Just… nothing. Straight road. Dry desert. An occasional dead animal on the road. Road runners that didn’t run fast enough. Lizards soaking up the heat from the pavement that were too caught up in their cold blooded euphoria to notice the speeding tire until the second before it crushed their skull. That’s all.

I’ve only seen two other people driving down this road. And I’ve been driving all day. Like I said. Nothing.

The up side to that, of course, no cops. Since I’m going 70 above the reccomended speed limit, I’m sure they’d love to pull me over. A 26 year old, blood stained, naked white haired man nearly doubling the speed limit wearing burnt flesh cologne, it’s kind of hard to explain. Not to mention Neva laying next to me. Almost naked herself. She looks more like a skeleton than the girl she used to look like. Lost about 40 pounds since we met. She’s a god damn succubus, a fucking cannibal, but she’s still alive. I think.

I see a flicker of light about a mile in the distance. About time I see someone else.

I reach for my smokes, between Neva’s legs. She’s passed out on the bench seat, her legs resting on my lap. I grab the corner of the pack of cigarettes. I hit a bump on the road and the smokes fall back on the seat. I push Nev’s leg out of the way and grab a lung dart out of the pack.

I cup my hand around the end so the breeze doesn’t put the flame out. I just about light it when I hear that idiot slam on his horn. Dumb fuck probably hasn’t seen anyone all day either. I ignore it as a flame darts out of the tip of my finger. I’ve learned to control it, but the flame still burns. My hands are a blistery mess. As long as its not in one place for too long, I’ll be fine.

The first hit off the cig is always the best. Fills your lungs with gaseous cancer. Better than sex. Sometimes. That fucktard is still blaring his horn, waving at me.

The flame on my finger tip is starting to seer the skin. I bounce the flame around my fingertips. Roll it around my hand. Hide it like a magician hiding a playing card, making three reappear. Juggling them with my fingers.

I hate people sometimes. That idoit passes me. Shouts “HEY!” No more flames on my fingertips. But I still see them.

I rub some dirt off my side mirror with my thumb. I watch the three flames dance around the gas cap of the other guy’s ride. Seeping into the cap. Then foosh!

Gasoline is a flame’s best friend. Its a cheap hooker, or a frail little girl in an alley to a sex addict. Fire loves gas. Gas isn’t a fan of flame however.

That guy is lost in a giant fireball that used to be his car. Pieces fall from the sky as the flame burns everything inside. Cleaning it in a sick, twisted way. The guy probably died from the explosion. But hopefully he was still alive as he got surrounded by the burning red fire. He felt the explosion, held his breath, hit his brakes, and immediately tried to push the button that would release the seatbelt. The flames would melt the plastic button in an instant, making it impossible to release. He’d still hit the button as his hair singes. He’d run out of air, struggling for his life, and he’d instinctively take a deep breath. The heat from the fire would collapse both of his lungs. Then its a race. A race between blood and fire. Who will kill first? Will the lack of oxygen to the brain make him pass out and die. Or will the fire cook him alive? Hopefully the fire will win.

The car is just a red dot with rising clouds of smoke on my mirror now. I guess I’ll never know. The explosion woke Neva up. She lets out a mumbling giggle. She knows what just happened. She was awake the last two times it I did it. I smack her ass as I try to get this shit pile on wheels up to the speed limit plus eighty.

We aren’t running from anything. We’re running to the next chapter. I burnt the angel with the devil horns until he was a pile of ash in the incinerator. Or maybe he was the devil with the angel wings? I’m not justifying it as good or evil. I’m just saying I did it. It’s done.

The bitch beside me killed the she-skunk, a beauty and a beast all wrapped up in one, just like Neva. Two dead heroes. One in a casket, the other in an urn. Job finished.

Now, the road ahead is teasing us with the unknown. We don’t have a plan. Don’t care to. We’re just turning the page to the next chapter. Looks like the next chapter starts with an old roadside store.

I hit the brakes and glide this shit pile into the dirt next to the gas pump.

“Fill it up, I gotta piss,” I shake Neva until she gets up.

She gives me that look. That ‘I could kill you in a second, You know it, and you love it’ look. She scratches her scalp and in the sun you can see dirt blowing off her blond hair.

I step out, barefoot, into the dirt. Sand and rocks find a resting place in between my toes. I stretch, feeling the tense muscles in my body expand, hear several of my joints crack from being in one position for so long. It’s been a long drive.

I reach into the back seat, grab my jeans and pull them on. The last thing the guy in this place is a naked pyromancer.

I walk around the back of the car, watch Neva filling up the car in her pink underwear and tiny little white shirt you can see through.

I nearly trip over some fucking cat on my way to the store. I bend over and scratch its head with my blistered index finger. It purrs at me like its got a tiny little engine in its throat. The smell of burning flesh from my skin returns to my nostrils. The only smell worse than burnt flesh is burning fur. I really hate that smell.