Page 57 of The Storm
“Ah, yes, the technical term.” He huffs out a quiet laugh.
“And then after, I’d walk away in slow motion without looking back while smoke and dust bloomed in the background.”
“With AC/DC as your soundtrack?” he asks.
“I think the right music would add a lot to the experience.”
He laughs again.
He’s laughed more since we’ve been in here than in the whole time I’ve known him. He’s talked more, too. I’ve learned more about him.
It doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of everything I want to know.
“And now?” he asks. “Still planning to blow things up?”
I shake my head. “I…” I look around in the darkness and try to think of the future, but my whole world seems to have narrowed to this limited space and nothing else, and the more I let that feeling sink in, the harder it gets to breathe again.
“Do you think there’s an afterlife?” I blurt.
He’s silent for a bit.
“Why?” he asks.
“Just…” I wave my hand in front of myself. “Out of curiosity. Small talk.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“No, I know. That’s not why I asked.”
“Then why not ask something less morbid?”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes. “How many marshmallows can you fit in your mouth?”
“I don’t like marshmallows.”
“I can do nine.”
“Is that impressive?” he asks.
“I count it as one of my greatest achievements in life. I’m hoping to get to ten one of these days.”
“Cool,” he deadpans.
“No need to be jealous. We all have our talents. I’m sure there’s something you’re good at too, if you dig deep and do some introspection.” I smile as he huffs.
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says in an annoyed voice.
“I’m sure you are,” I say flippantly.
“It almost sounds like you don’t believe me.”
“Okay, then. Convince me. I’m all ears. What are you as good at as I am at stuffing my mouth with marshmallows?”
“There are much better things to stuff in your mouth than marshmallows.”
My whole body goes hot. Scorching hot. Head to toe. There’s a fire burning inside me, licking at my chest.
I tap the tips of my fingers with the tips of my thumbs.
