Imperial Junke Yard, Friday
Marcus wasn't actually doing anything much beyond existing, just leaning on a pole, idly staring out the front gate at the street beyond.
It took him a minute to notice the canvas duffel bag which appeared beside him.
Warily, he eyed it, waiting for it to sprout teeth and leap, or melt into a puddle of toxic ooze. When it simply continued to sit there, looking duffel-like, he approached, flipping over the rather prominent label tied to the top. Guilt over killing his brother, it boldly proclaimed.
He stared at it for minute, jaw working, then turned on his heel and stalked off. He returned several minutes later carrying a gas can and a matchbook.
After liberally dousing the duffel bag in gas, he stepped back, struck a match and tossed it on.
The whump of ignition was satisfying, the flicker of the flame even more so, and the bonfire of baggage lit the junkyard with an oddly cheerful glow.
Marcus leaned back against the shed and watched it burn. Some days he really hated this island.
It took him a minute to notice the canvas duffel bag which appeared beside him.
Warily, he eyed it, waiting for it to sprout teeth and leap, or melt into a puddle of toxic ooze. When it simply continued to sit there, looking duffel-like, he approached, flipping over the rather prominent label tied to the top. Guilt over killing his brother, it boldly proclaimed.
He stared at it for minute, jaw working, then turned on his heel and stalked off. He returned several minutes later carrying a gas can and a matchbook.
After liberally dousing the duffel bag in gas, he stepped back, struck a match and tossed it on.
The whump of ignition was satisfying, the flicker of the flame even more so, and the bonfire of baggage lit the junkyard with an oddly cheerful glow.
Marcus leaned back against the shed and watched it burn. Some days he really hated this island.