The Fire (Part 2)

It was 12pm in Domino’s. Recently, we’d been assigned to try out some new “shrimp bites.” as the head chef, of course I tried. Odd for a pizza place, I know. Ideas make money, even if they’re crazy, I guess. But instead, they’d burned, crackled, and exploded in a shrimpy mess, lighting the deep, wooden walls of the place on fire. The cooking knives had clattered to the floor as the flames licked at the floor, igniting the manager’s desk and the cutting boards. The air tight door had shut on itself, locking me inside as I was the last one left in the deep, abyssal cooking room. I sit in this lost darkness, lit by the flames of sin, as I give up my resolve to escape here, death in this sad pizzeria. I grab the hot knife from the floor, examining my sweaty face in the glare of the knife dripped with deep red jam from desert experiments. Maybe it’s guilt I feel, maybe tragedy. Maybe it’s because it’s not actually jam on the knife. Usually, I’d have someone else here with me. But instead, they burn parallel to me in the singe of fire. I wonder if this endless inferno, fear, and heat I feel consuming me is what she felt when she died in that fire I trapped her in. I wonder if this is revenge.

Thank you Angelina for this amazing second part to my story.

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