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December 26th, 2007He painted his lips with bright red lipstick in the bathroom.
Then he pulled every dress out of the closet and heaped the garments into a pile in the center of the living room. The man tossed a dozen pair of high-heeled shoes on top, like croûtons.
He picked up the gas bottle and clicked at the trigger a few times. It ignited a blue flame.
He torched the pile of clothes.
Smoke and fire filled the room. Flames licked back at him and singed his eyebrows. The burning pile melted into the cheap brown carpet of the third-story apartment. Smoke mushroomed against the ceiling. Black carbon charred the splattered popcorn texture paint.
He heaved the gas bottle into the fire. It sparked back bright embers.
He ran toward the open sliding glass door, hurtled the railing, and lurched off the balcony. As he sailed downward he made eye contact with a small boy holding a bouquet of bright helium balloons in one hand and his father’s hand in the other.
Smack! He hit the pavement.
The sound of bursting bones inside the man’s gelled sack caught the man and his son by surprise.
A vacuum sucked every bit of air from the city block, voiding all sound.
Silence.
