AbriendaArdente

I keep having this dream. It's not like my other dreams. It's a nightmare. I open my eyes, like I've blinked, and I inhale deeply; I see nothing but red.  When the smell hits my nostrils, I recognize it, it's his smell, a sharp chemical cologne, mildly intoxicating.  He's never this close to me, but I deduct that the red in my vision is the fabric of his shirt, and the arms clinging about my waist are infact his.  Riot.  The latest addition to the growing list of bodies in my wake. Realistic or not, I indulge in the fantasy, snaking my fingers into his hair and gripping tightly, kissing my way up his unusually warm neck. It appears that my

I see no need, for plastic smiles. The answers to every question. Resting inside the mind of a million. Fuckin' rats, that don't know. What their in for. I know I'll always miss you. But we're just killing ourselfs. Outsourcing pain to populations. So much worse off then us. I'm fucked into knowing. All the answers.

      He poured the Alcohol, then he pulled out his prized unfinished and simple zippo. He gave the lighter a quick flip then stuck the wheel marveling as always the way the fire seemed to grow off the wick. He stood there staring at the lighter flame for a moment then bent down and lit the alcohol on fire. After lighting it, he took a step back and watched the flames spread over the surface of the alcohol and subsequently over the corpse of the bunny he had found earlier. Now, this may sound a little sociopathic to you, but he got no specific pleasure from burning the dead, it's just.....it burns in such a different manner than all other th