This first story is a piece of "flash fiction" I wrote for my Fiction Workshop. Some have read it and comments range from shock to an enthusiastic, "YES". Please feel free to leave comments. I hope you will enjoy this change of pace as much as I will.
Until Death Do You Part
There is a dying glow on the beach a mile away. You stare into the campfire and relive the horror of what you did. You reach into the cooler for the whiskey bottle and fill your empty glass. You know that nauseating image will haunt you every night—the flaming naked bodies running toward you, screaming, blinded, dying—the van from which they ran, engulfed in a raging inferno.
~
You knew they were in there—two bodies, skin against skin, lips touching, tongues exploring, forbidden acts of hunger, lost in intoxicating passion. You walked up to the side window and stared into the moonlit scene. You knew as the van rocked from within, they wouldn’t feel you cut the gas line. You knew they couldn’t hear the fuel splashing in the sand over her climatic screams. You knew they couldn’t smell the fumes over the salty mist of the surf, of their sweat, of their musty scent of sex. You could see her silhouette, like a wolf howling against the full moon—her head thrown back, her back arched, her long hair falling over her shoulders, breasts pointed and hungry…and watched her in anguish as you tossed the lighter into the gas-soaked sand. You could feel him shudder in release, as the gas tank exploded. You thought it strange that their screams of passion sounded the same as their screams of pain.
The side door flew open as the windows shattered—the interior fully engulfed. First, the woman, naked, running, flames strung out behind her, chasing her, arms outstretched and reaching for you—her screams of agony melting on her skin. She lay face down in a stinking pile of flaming flesh at your feet. Then the man—his muscles exposed and burning, his face glowing, skin hanging like stringy moss on a swamp willow. His frantic escape ended at the edge of the surf, face down, sizzling in the steaming sand— both gruesome masses of blackened bone and smoldering death. The van burned in a hideous fanfare of melting metal—a gutted framework was all that remained—like another lonely campfire speckling the summer beach. You knew it might be early morning before the horrifying scene would be discovered…you knew.
~
Faint footsteps pad the sand behind you. The distant glow is gone—sirens penetrate the night. Your twin sister glides past you—her arms folded tight. She stares at the burned-out van, a mile away. The putrid stench of charred plastic, of melted flesh—of her husband, violates the floating mist of the morning.
“Is that him?” Her quivering voice is soft.
“Yeah. It’s him. He’s gone.”
“And her? Was she with him? Is she gone too?”
You take a long drink and empty the glass. “Yeah…her too.”
She turns, wraps her arms around you and pulls you close. She whimpers softly, her tears fall on your shoulder—your tears fall to the sand. You take a worn-out picture from your pocket—lovingly stroke your wife’s face with your thumb…and toss it into the fire.
“Yeah…her too.”
