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If a boy stood on the burning deck   And as I sat down to watch hell break loose
there wasn’t much likelihood that    I almost felt concern for the fate of Dwayne,
he would’ve survived the inferno    because his former apartment block was now
spewing flame and hellfire and       belching thunder clouds and horror. Heat was
licking everything red. It was       searing my cheeks and firing my eyes as I saw
Dante’s nightmare but of course    crowds are drawn inexorably to the fireplace:
the sirens soon screamed as the   noise and light show in one. And me there, as
fire engines screeched up and the   thought of what this meant burnt me and no
great soothing arcs of water began      raining to douse the danger. I am forced
to play with this urban volcano,      because Daisy won’t believe I didn’t do this:
while on the other side there’s    Dwayne probably did, to escape my wrath. But
a certain voyeuristic pleasure in      the possibility someone else of the species
watching those elemental forces     that I love devouring, or dare I say? perhaps
consuming life, and chain-smoking    more like someone I know, has beaten me?
to the death. It is conceivable        Dwayne’s made more enemies than me and
someone started this and likely       that might be what killed him. Doesn’t solve
the problem will now prove to be    my loss of funds, friend, revenge: but I know
who’s really going to finish it.           I’m ready to face the heat.




One Comment

  1. This format is absolutely brilliant.

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