(Previously, the fireworks were the least of Lucy and Daniel’s problems. And a cat got blown up. Today, Wilbur and Amanda get to be the last two people blown up. And, apparently, it’s all Wilbur’s fault.)
Today’s gratuitous photo is leaves in a tree. I mean, where else?)
“Honestly, Amanda, this isn’t what I had it mind.” It was impossible to say where Wilbur’s words came from, their source and their direction. Wilbur wasn’t Wilbur anymore. Amanda wasn’t Amanda. And it really didn’t matter what Wilbur had in mind. Both were ingredients in a fiery stew of atomic displacement, their atoms reeling and doing things that were considered abnormal in polite society. But then, polite society was pretty much no more as well.
“This is not my idea of a good time.” Amanda’s words were equally as puzzling as Wilbur’s. Where did they come from? Amanda is no more. Who was listening. Wilbur is no more. Didn’t Amanda and Wilbur have bigger things to worry about? Shouldn’t what’s left of their words be wrapped around prayers or something?
“I wanted this to be a romantic experience for both of us,” denoted Wilbur from everywhere and nowhere. “That’s why I filled the house with candles. It took me half an hour to light them all.”
“And now look at us.” As though there was anything recognizable enough to look at.
“But, Amanda, I honestly don’t think this had anything to do with the candles.”
“Just like you, Wilbur, never take responsibility for your actions.”
The disdain in Amanda’s words burned into whatever flux of consciousness Wilbur had become like an existential slap to his disintegrating selfness. “But this is not what candles do, Amanda. Not even a house full of candles. This is not what it feels like to be burned to death by candles burning a house down. This is definitely something else.”
“And how would you know what it feels like to be burned to death by candles, Wilbur. You’ve never been burned to death by candles. I would have known about it.”
“No, Amanda, I’ve never been burned to death by candles. But I’ve imagined being burned to death by candles. I imagined it while I was a lighting all the candles. After half an hour of lighting candles, you begin to have odd thoughts. And I can tell you right know, Amanda, this is not what it feels like to be burned to death by candles. This is something else.”
“This is YOU, Wilbur. This is another one of your failures. My mother told me you would do this some day. She warned me. “You’ll just get burned if you…
And that’s it. I blew up 100 people, 10 bats and 1 cat. But once you start blowing people up, it becomes kind of a thing to do…like eating a whole cheese cake in one sitting because it’s cheese cake and there’s still some left so you eat it. But I’m currently writing a short story that keeps getting longer as I write it (as in, it should have ended a few thousand words ago) called “Everything Sucks.” When it’s finished, I think I’ll blow up another 100 people. And 10 of something. And 1 of something else.
In the meantime, I have some really crazyass novels at Amazon.