Fiction: Marth V.

Marth V. woke up feeling rejuvenated. It was probably the drugs finally draining out of him, what with 3 liters of Vitamin C that gave him gastritis and stuff. He ran out of his bedroom, manually removed his foley catheter, and shaved his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, and knew that indeed this is the day when he would burn in love. And burn in love he did. He ran to the mall, went to the bookstore, to the Young Adult section. He had a premonition, he did. And as if on cue a girl with the nicest hair, the brightest skin, the slenderest waist, the buxomest chest, came walking by. It was burning lust at first sight, but Marth V. convinced himself otherwise–this is divine, providential love. The girl with the nicest hair, the brightest skin, etc. looked at him with her cat eyes, walked towards him,and grabbed his face–and their lips, their tonsils, touched in a total conflagration. Their passion was hot, too hot, extremely hot, indeed, that they felt their skin blister and burn. And they burned and burned and burned, and in two seconds they were reduced to black soot on the floor, all the books burning around them, firemen rushing in. Marth V. and girl with the slenderest waist burned to the ground, and they were dead.

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