I just…

I don’t understand you sometimes.

You know I love you.

Don’t you?

I love you so much.

And all you seem to want is to see me suffer.

To string me along, my heart like a kite.

Every subtle jerk of the wind… Every twisting of the leaves…

BREAKING me.

My veins SNAPPING off.

The blood draining out of the wound you’ve opened in me.

How can you do this?

Do you understand how innocent my love is?

I don’t even know you.

I only know I need you.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

I can’t... Stop thinking about you…

In his arms…

Violating you…

Holding you…

Your arms wrapped his waist…

Caressing him as he ignores you…

Why are you doing this to me…?

Why are you contaminating something so pure…?

…Why…

Why are you making me want to hurt you?

Want to destroy you?

Want to rip you apart at the seams?

…I love you…

And I want to kill you…

Don’t you understand?

Can’t you understand?

That this would be the best thing for the both of us?

You dead…

At my hand?

WITH MY BARE.

FUCKING.

HANDS.

US BOTH WRITING IN AGONY.

You literally.

As apocalypse swallows us both.

Experiencing The End I’ve promised the only way two lovers should.

With their hands around each other’s throats?

…

Is it…

Is it because I failed?

Is it because you think I’m not strong enough…

To have you…

To be worthy of destroying you…

…

I’ll prove it.

I’ll woo you.

I’ll show you…

How beautiful…

I can make your death…

How romantic…

The end…

Together…

Will be…

***
“IT’S SO NICE YOU ACCEPTED MY INVITATION TO DINNER.”

Mark Flynn brings his wine aggressively to his face.

"SORRY. I'M NOT NERVOUS. I KNOW I SEEM NERVOUS BUT I'M IN FACT NOT NERVOUS. I JUST TOOK A LOT OF MORPHINE FOR OUR DATE SO I WOULDN'T BE NERVOUS. I THINK THE MUSCLE CONTROL LOSS ASSOCIATED WITH MORPHINE INTOXICATION THIS TIME IS MOSTLY FOCUSED AROUND MY THROAT. I CANT SEEM TO CONTROL THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE. THAT'S WHY I'M YELLING. NOT BECAUSE I'M NERVOUS. ALL THE MORPHINE I JUST INJECTED INTO MY ARM. YEAH I'M PRETTY ADDICTED TO ALL THOSE THINGS YOU YOUNG PEOPLE ARE ADDICTED TO NOWADAYS. DRUGS LIKE MORPHINE AND OPIUM AND VIOLENT VIDEO GAMES AND PRE-MARITAL SEX AND DISPLAYING SUB-CONSCIOUS RACISM."

Flynn's hand shakes like a C student at a spelling bee as he presses his glass clumsily to his face. All right, the lie had successfully covered how nervous he was. And he'd found a way to spin it into their probable mutual interests. It had been way too long since he'd been on a date, he had no idea how to do this.

But as far as he could tell, he was nailing it.

He evades eye contact, trying to figure out how to recover his cool. How to break the ice...

Flynn's face brightens up.

His chair screeches against the floor as he turns back to his date excited.

"HEY."

"IN 2012, I MADE THIS CLOWN WOMAN ANGRY AND SHE HELD MY ARMS DOWN SO I COULDN'T FIGHT HER OFF AND THEN SHE BIT OFF MY PENIS ON NATIONAL TELEVISION."

"SHE TOLD ME SHE WOULD EARLIER THAT WEEK. MULTIPLE TIMES. I THOUGHT ABOUT CALLING IN SICK THAT DAY BUT MY FRIEND WAS COUNTING ON ME TO TEAM WITH HIM AND I DIDN'T WANT TO LET HIM DOWN."

"SEVERAL MONTHS LATER, THAT FRIEND AND THESE TWO OTHER GUYS THAT NEVER REALLY EXPLAINED THEIR THREE PERSON RELATIONSHIP BEAT ME UNCONSCIOUS AND THREW ME THROUGH LIGHTING TUBES UNTIL I COULDN'T WALK."

"..."

"NOW, YOU TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE CRAZY CAST OF CHARACTERS YOU DEAL WITH AT YOUR WORKPLACE."

In the chair, across the candelabra...

Sits...

Her...

...

...

Stand-in. Flynn's greyhound, Huntress. Who was face deep, hungrily lapping a plate full of spaghetti and meatballs as she had been the entire practice date...

"I'M REALLY GLAD YOU DECIDED TO COME TO THIS FANCY RESTAURANT WITH ME. I AM ENJOYING MYSELF."

Flynn, which his shaking terrified hands, tries to romantically latch onto Huntress' paw, both having dug claws into the table to obtain the proper leverage to never need a break from eating this spaghetti.

However, her paw being forced into the air.

Flynn turns away, shyly.

"I COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU. OR MORPHINE. IN AN ALTERNATING FASHION. FIRST YOU, THEN MORPHINE. THEN BACK TO YOU FOR TEN SECONDS. THEN TWENTY MINUTES FOR MORPHINE, FIVE MINUTES OF YOU, FIVE HOURS OF DOING MORPHINE WITH YOU, THREE MINUTES OF FORCIBLY INJECTING MOR-"

Huntress wrenches her paw back. Her snout thunks against the full glass of water say next to her plate. The glass skips, clinks across the ground, before shattering into the wall, dashed to shards, the remnants dripping down, a thin trail of water from attacker to victim.

Flynn's eyes shoot from his date to the broken glass, back to his date.

"OH! YOU SPILLED YOUR DRINK!"

Flynn's eyes dart back and forth, mind whirring trying to find the solution to this Pandora's Box.

"I'LL SPILL MY DRINK AS WELL SO YOU WONT FEEL SELF-CONSCIOUS!"

Flynn grabs his wine glass and hurls it onto his lap. The cup actually bounces off the flesh of his legs and rolls harmlessly from the chair to the floor. His pants stained red, his face turns white.

Using his sensational improvisational abilities, Flynn shouts at the top of his lungs.

"CRASH!"

He turns back to his date.

"HA, MINE BROKE TOO, I ALSO BROKE MY GLASS. HAHAHA IM HAVING A GREAT TIME TONIGHT. YOURE REALLY FUN."

Huntress had forced her face back into the spaghetti, away from her master's ever deepening hole he was digging himself into on this practice date.

Flynn decided that before he actually court 'Her', a practice date would be an effective means of shaking of the nerves and sweating that he experiences.

He decided on trying this practice date after his recent loss on Warfare...

And just after another debilitating hallucinatory fit brought in the continuing spiral of morph one withdrawal.

But not before making her a Mixtape.

It was with this bit of narration that Flynn remembered that he had made her a mixtape.

"I MADE YOU A MIXTAPE."

Flynn lunges down and rifles through a blue wrestling bag sitting by his chair throwing his well-pressed robe on the floor, firing multiple open water bottles across the room, launching pools of... Something too thick to be water onto the floor. Surrounding the table... A thin layer... Covering the floor of the storage unit Flynn lived in.

The water intermingles with the new liquid...

But doesn't mix...

Flynn finally pulls out a mix-tape...

The plastic crushed under the weight of the bag's other contents... The black tape starting to unspool from the top...

Flynn doesn't seem to notice.

"ON SIDE A I PUT THE GREATEST HITS OF ASIA BECAUSE 'HEAT OF THE MOMENT' IS THE CLOSEST APPROXIMATION OF HOW I FEEL INSIDE WHEN I THINK ABOUT YOU."

"THE SECOND CLOSEST APPROXIMATION IS THE ENTIRETY OF THE JONESTOWN MASSACRE SLASH MASS SUICIDE RECORDING."

"WHICH IS WHY THATS SIDE B."

"IF MIXTAPE'S HAD SIDE C'S I WOULD HAVE PUT TEN CONSECTIVE PLAYS OF 'VACATION' BY THE GOGOS."

"BECAUSE I HOPE YOURE HAVING A GREAT SUMMER."

Flynn sets the mixtape beside the plate of spaghetti, that Huntress had began lapping marinara sauce off of, licking the plate clean, save for the noodles and Parmesan that had become entrenched in the fur around her face.

"I HOPE YOU HAVE AN 8 TRACK PLAYER. DO YOU NOT HAVE AN 8 TRACK PLAYER?"

Flynn weighs the pros and cons, while his hand rests on the 8 track player in his wrestling bag, of pulling out the 8 track player so his date can enjoy the horrors that went on that day of recording and then afterwards listen to the Jonestown Massacre.

He shakes his head, stuffing the 8 track player deep down and zipping the bag closed.

"HAHA OF COURSE NOT, WHY WOULD YOU. ME NEITHER. LIKE YOU AND YOUNG PEOPLE LIKE YOU, I ENJOY IRONY. AND ZUNES."

Flynn, instead of submitting to his body's at-this-point natural urge to hyper-ventilate and then die, forces his quivering hand into his pocket.

"MIND IF I SMOKE?"

Flynn pulls out a golden Zippo lighter and a cigarette.

Flynn pauses. The cigarette in his lips.

The Zippo in his hand.

The oil seeping...

Near the bottom of his wooden chair...

Flynn thinks.

"BUT BEFORE THAT I SHOULD TAKE CARE OF OUR BILL."

Flynn leaves the Zippo on the table as he calls out.

"GARÇON!"

Flynn then waits a beat.

And leaves the table...

Stumbles past Huntress.

...

A kick.

A broom tucked into the arms of a rolling office chair beats a path...

Before stopping at the center of the table...

"OUI MONSIEUR?"

Flynn expertly throws his voice to the broom to fool his date, who is currently lapping at her own noise trying to get the last of the marinara sauce lodged in her nostrils. Flynn lights his cigarette before setting his Zippo back onto the table. He chews on the end as he replies, calmly. Loudly.

"GARÇON! THERE IS A FLY IN MADAM'S SOUP!"

Flynn then turns the face of the broom from himself to Huntress then back to himself.

"PERDON MONSIEUR! BUT MADAM, ZHE ORDERED ZE SPAGHETTI! ZER EZ NO SOUP ON ZE TABALL!"

Flynn throws the tableware in his lap onto his Zippo lighter.

"HOW DARE YOU SIR ACCUSE ME OF LYING IN THIS FANCY RESTAURANT! I AM A FANCY MAYOR IN THIS CITY AND THIS IS MY FANCY WIFE!"

Flynn waves his right arm towards Huntress, while with his left arm, twisting the broom waiter towards Huntress. He winks at Huntress, who whines for more food...

"AH, BUT OF COURSE, MONSIEUR! I DEED NOT MEAN TO EENSEENU-“

“AND I DID NOT MEAN TO ASSAULT A FRENCHMAN TONIGHT BUT I WILL TO PRESERVE THE HONOR OF MY WOMAN!”

Flynn then dives onto the apparently French broom, latching onto, the entire chair collapsing back under the weight of both parties, assaulter and… broom.

Flynn keeps the cigarette held between his lips as he throttles the metal between wood and straw.

Then, checking his date’s vision and seeing it is currently focused on a meatball stuck in the fur above her eye…

Then slips a $20 bill into the non-existent front pocket of his non-existent patsy, patting it firmly onto the wooden bar until it slips off onto the floor…

“Thanks, Pierre. Flawlessly done.”

Flynn then takes the cigarette out of his mouth and presses it in Pierre’s face.

…Which sets the straw of Pierre’s face on fire…

Flynn turns back to his date. And picks her up, Huntress squealing… whining…

They sit down together in Flynn’s chair.

…The flames gathering in the straw… Catch fireas they touch the oil spread on the floor…

…The flames crawl up the walls…

Flynn looks deeply in Huntress’ eyes. And pecks her on the cheek.

…

His hands then shoot up around her snout. Snapping it shut…

“…I’m going to kill you now.”

…The inferno makes a circle of flame around the table…

The fiery walls climb up the ceiling…The leg up the table’s center becomes engulfed as the top heats…

Flynn sighs. His hands loosen but stay on Huntress’ nose, rubbing her face…

“…”

“How was that? Any thoughts? Constructive criticism? It's been a while since I've done this.”

"I'm dying for feedback."

Huntress’ eyes lock on the fire…

Consuming their eight by eight home…

She whines… terrified…

“Really? You think so?”

Flynn’s hands travel down her neck, itching her, trying to get her calm.

Huntress then shoots into Flynn’s arms.

“Well, guess there’s nothing to do then but take this show on the road.”

…The wood in the walls weakens… turns to cinder…

The entire structure… Slowly crushing in…

Flynn reaches in his wrestling bag…

His robe… His overblown robe he’s had since he’s started in the XWF.

Now dissolving into ash… The fine silk serving as a dutiful accelerant

Flynn pulls out a small remote device… With a red button…

Click.

The sliding door to the storage unit opens…

The flames jump toward the new source of oxygen!

…Just in time for the sprinkler system within the storage unit to turn on…

…

Flynn picks up Huntress as the water sweeps away the fire…

As the smoke and vapor begin to merge…

Flynn walks out the door.

And pauses several feet from his storage unit.

He inhales deeply.

And smiles…

“All right.”

He clicks the button again.

The automatic door of the storage unit whirs and clicks, slowly dropping back down…

…

Before the screw slips off the hinge…

The door hits the ground…

And the entire unit collapses in on itself…

…

…

Huntress looking over Flynn’s shoulder, still terrified as metal clatters against metal, as the storage units on their own’s left and right cave at the sides, pinning their home as it sinks into the ground…

“Smell that girl?”

Flynn inhales deeply again. Everything he’s ever owned. Crushed. Burned. Destroyed.

“It’s a new day…”

The sun climbs over the horizon…

“No more darkness…”
***
The automatic door…

Of the Petsmart store slips open as Flynn steps down on the sensor mat.

Whistling.

Huntress trailing at his heels.

Following Flynn’s right hand like a serenaded serpent, even though no collar binds them together.

“This will be good for the both of us. You could use some sunlight. All you do is stay cooped up inside..."

Flynn snaps.

“Here. Come, Huntress.”

Huntress shakily, wearily, paws her way into the car door, onto the cushion, and climbs into the kennel, a beige box with holes in the side large enough for her to press her snout through, and little else.

Flynn shuts the wire door and clicks the latch shut.

“Road trip!”

Flynn shuts the side door of his 2011 Toyota Prius.

And walks around the back of the car, to the driver’s seat.

He steps inside, pulling himself in by the handle, lets himself sink into the cushion, reaches up to buckle seatbelt.

And turns back to Huntress, sitting in the kennel calmly, staring back at Flynn.

“First place we’re going involves that whole ‘Wooing her’ thing I told you about. Kind of a priority.”

“After that…”

Flynn stops…

And loses his train of thought… Swinging in and out of withdrawal.

“…”

“Nothing…”

The ignition turns over…