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He storms out the door, jacket in one hand,
keys in the other. Feet run down wrecked
stairs – he almost trips. He runs faster down,
towards the lobby, out the door, into his
car. He turns on the engine, steps on the
gas, speeds… faster… faster… drives to nowhere.
She lies on his side of the bed. Just where
did he go? A cigarette in her hand
trembles, ashes on her jade nightgown – the
one he’d bought. On the floor, the TV wrecked,
windows broken, bruises on her face – his
fist had painted them. She stands, then falls down.
He lights a cigarette, foot presses down
on the gas, bolts onward. He wonders where
he’s heading. Turns on the radio, his
cigarette falls. He doesn’t notice. One hand
on the wheel, windows open, he made a wreck
of their lives. His vision, cloudy as the
rain falls. She stands in pain! Has to shut the
shattered windows; takes a small step, falls down,
gives up, crawls to the bed. Her ankle wrecked,
her migrane intolerable, but where
is he? Picks up the phone, line dead, her hand
drops it. She lights one more cigarette – his.
He turns on the music louder as his
blurry vision worsens. Maybe now the
music will help. He throws his steady hand
out the window, collecting drops, steps down
on the gas, smells smoke, crashes. Everywhere
flames. An explosion thunders. What a wreck….
He home, her body, her love, her life all wrecked.
The cigarette burns on the carpet. His
words echo in her ears – words of a place where
only they mattered. He, she. She smells the
smoke, can’t move, rug on fire, she falls down.
Too late for screams, too late for helping hands.
Two fires, two wrecked lives. His body dies
on the trip to nowhere. Too late for them.
Her face, hands, body, burned down in his home.
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