Tom Moses

“…have been burning well into the morning.  The third such fire erupting since the predawn hours, we are still waiting word from Global Securities chairman Marc Spector, but to this hour no one has been able to reach Marc Spector.”

There hasn’t been anything new in the news since before I can remember.  Just a load of heartless hate mongers with their own agendas to push down peoples’ throats.  I wanted to relax for a Saturday, take a load off, rest up and plan my next move; but the phone will probably start ringing in the next few minutes and I’ll have to find something to say to the Press.

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Orange burns through the overcast gray the best it can, only succeeding in small efforts to defeat the coming rain.  Across the four-lane street from an old friends’ house, the suns’ last grip on the daylight hours cause my eyes to strain.  The wind is slow and as quiet as the sidewalks are empty.  It’s a ghost town here and an impending sense of dreads takes the forefront of my mind.

All the foot traffic ceases and changes direction before the people come near Manny’s place.  And just like it is some Middle Eastern village in the middle of nowhere, I know something violent is coming.  All the signs are here.  There are no witnesses, no bystanders, even a cops’ cruiser makes a U-Turn at the intersection not twenty yards east of Manny’s small house.

I don’t like this one bit.

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My eyes aren’t even open and I know the trouble I’m in. The sweet taste of blood lingers in my mouth; absent-minded I flick my tongue over a string of meat stuck in one molar. The room reeks of blood, and a scent of a sweet perfume I know I don’t want to even attempt at opening my eyes to see what’s laying next to me.

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The train hissed to a halt and the masses exit like cattle led to their deaths. A slow death unfit for cattle, these men and women moved through their terminals and their turn styles, counting for the census bureau and giving job meaning to a useless endeavor. The stairs were dirty, a homeless man sat to one side and routinely kicked. He didn’t seem to mind.

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When a fire burns so bright that it becomes invisible to the human eye, it is almost too hot to imagine. Such a while hot flame sears the flesh before the fires come near, the pain starts immediately, the burning heat. The extremities are the first to cry out, but they cannot do it through words, only boils and blisters that will quickly rupture. He can’t cry out, what words would there to be said? It’s all over for him now, nothing left but to watch as everyone he knows is burned asunder.

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