Clockwork

Tools of the trade are lined up in front of me: matches, the good
ol' kerosene can, black leather gloves, and other dandy brick-a-brack.
Simple things to come about, really, but the Spoc has begun to catch
on. Caught Burny and Splash last week. Amazing fellows, did a gig with
them once, but they're gone now. Once you're taken, your shows over. No
more gigs. A lot of the other fellows are being cautious, waiting it
out, carrying their supplies taped to their chests, so a raid on the
apartment would come up short.
I'm not one to sit around waiting while the greatest gigs pass on by,
untouched, untainted. My partner, Cyclone, wouldn't even go with me
this time. Called me a "silly ol' fool" and gave me a smack in the
kneecap with that chain he always goes around with now.
No more time for dilly-dallying. The time is prime, my friends. I
arrived early. Wanted to re-check my supplies and get myself in
position. Night had already fallen, hours ago. The witch up in that
dear globe will have a beauty to rest her eyes upon tonight. She'll be
pleased, I hope. One more glance down at the sundial. Time to go. The
gig has begun.
Kerosene can open. The matches tucked away neatly in my pocket.
Drowning the place will take a while tonight. My biggest gig. My
crowning acheivement. It'll be bigger than Splash's last one, the one
that lovingly digested half of Takiti Lane last week. This one will
take out more, much more. My eyes light up like those of a lovely demon
just thinking about it. I will become famous. I'll become the fellow
every young punke will look up to, eyes glazed over, drool spilling out
like fresh milk from a mouth opened wider than a basin to catch the
rain. Lovely, my friends, lovely. The thoughts...
Done, it's ready. I step back aways. Pull the box of matches out of my
pocket. Licking my lips as I slowly separate one, single match from its
kin.

*rrrzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*

The spoc are here. I can hear that idiotic wail of theirs. I wonder
who told them. Doesn't matter now. I'll be done and gone soon, and
they'll never ever find me once I leave here. They'll never catch me
like they caught Burny and Splash. I'll be better than them. Thousands
time better.
The match is struck. Held between my fingertips, I affectionately
watch the flame flicker back and forth, holding my amazing future
within its destruction-hungry little core.
:::flick:::
The match twirls gracefully before plummeting head long onto the
kerosene covered floor. It has befun.
Turning, I place the black leather gloves upon my wonderfully God-like
hands. These are the wonders that will make something so beautiful
happen tonight. The door is ahead of me. Two more steps, I'm there, a
glance back, a smile at the growing wartmth spreading towards me.
I pull on the latch of the door and...

It doesn't open.

I pull on it again, harder. It won't budge. It won't move. The door is
locked. I can feel the beauty I created licking at my boots, bought
especially for this job. It's almost on top of me. I have nowhere to
go. The Spoc are outside. I can hear their sirens over my beauty's
roar. I begin to scream, ones that echo off the metal walkway above me
back to me, and then disappear as if sucked away by my beauty's
lips.
She begins to eat away at my shoes. I can feel her melt my shoes away
til only my flesh is left.
My hands are what I see last. Beautifully perfect in their simplicity
and loveliness. These God-like renderings. Perfect. Before my beauty
covers me and devours me to pieces, they are the last thing I see, held
above and beyond a flickering hungry monster, that I created.