Burnt

“We’re here.”

The Jamison burned my throat as the car jerked to a stop.

Everyone piled out. I smashed the bottle on the pavement.

Voices were excited. We’d made vows. Brothers and sisters united, in control, unstoppable.

Red cans were passed out. Full and heavy.

Windows fell to aluminum bats. Glass cascaded to the ground, mixed with laughter, the shriek of alarms.

“Let’s do this.” With a wink, he led the way.

A deep breath swelled my chest.

The smell of gasoline was already strong.

Flames erupted deep within.

I froze and watched. Thankful that I hadn’t struck a match.


Picture is copyright by Mathew Phillips.

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