when she opened fire on him. Two more shots and his body hit the ground, his eyes wide open and his body fat and flat against the ground. Not twitching, not moving, his skull ripped open from the shots and bits of brain leaking out, and his hair on fire, it was on fire and he looked like some surreal religious icon, just burning away with a halo of fire.
The air smells terrible, like transistors and ozone and burning hair and skin.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing Eric’s arm, “We’re getting out of here. Where do you live?”
He doesn’t say anything, not right away.
“Tell me, where do you live?”
He lifts up the mask, he can’t speak with the mask on, the mask stole his words, turned him into bursting ball of flame, and the fire can’t speak, not without burning everything around them to a crisp. “Not far from here,” he says, “Not far at all, I’ll show you.”
“Good, we’re taking my car.”
“Oh shut up, I’ve got a plan. Come on.”
And she yanks on him leading him downstairs to the parking lot outside, and as he’s moving he pulls the mask down over his face again, extinguishing everything inside of him. When he wore the mask he had no I no Me no Id no Ego nothing but rage and rage and fire.
[from a wip]