Author S. K. Nicholas

I’m on the verge of another breakdown when she crashes the car into a ditch by the side of the road. It’s dark, and as I remove her top and sweep the shards of glass from the back seat, my vision begins to blur. Shapes where there shouldn’t be shapes, her body morphs into that of a cat. A short time later, the power goes down, and a heavy silence plunges everyone into a state of panic. The bombs have dropped over London. I’m terrified yet elated; I never liked that city anyway. She convulses from a lack of sleep and too much acid; she sees flies crawling on her breasts as I do my best to spread her legs. We’re somewhere near Manchester, or it could be Long Island. There are bodies nearby; bodies of prostitutes submerged in marshland. They call my name, but I ignore them. I leave teeth marks on the inside of her thighs as she pushes my head against her sex. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to. The bones in my left hand are broken. Shaking from a lack of alcohol, these thoughts of mine won’t steady themselves. Clenching my good fist, I hit her in the belly. She winces, then demands I do it again. She is Ares. I don’t know her real name. Stubbing cigarettes out on my arm to elicit real feelings, the buzzing in my ears grows louder. Losing control as the dark horizon burns like a billion fireworks blowing up in a billion stupid faces, all those dreams of utopia are now as pointless as the seed I pump into her pussy. The pill keeps her safe, but in less than an hour we’ll be dead anyway. She wants me to hold her, but I crawl from the car and stand there open-mouthed looking at the end of the world. The beauty of destruction takes my breath away. In awe of what I’ve waited my entire life for, I drag her from the wreck and have her again in the middle of the road. Making snow angels as the bombs come closer, our passion is surpassed only by our madness. We ignite in ways no one else could comprehend; we taste what others fear most.