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Kosovo

Burning Flying Man

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(Note: the following is pure fiction. Any similarityes to any place or person from the past or present is purely coincidential)

First off, let me tell you one thing: I am a *happy* person. Literally. I smile, I'm funny, charismatic and pretty attractive if I do say so myself... I had just finished my school year and broke contact with most of my friends... It's a great way to make new ones you see: with 6-7 billion different characters out there, you'd be surprised how little they vary. I know 5 guys that think, dress and act as if they were clones. I once read somewhere that there are only 20,000 different personalityes out there... then they stop varying... weird, huh? But anyway, back to the matter at hand. I'm a fairly popular person. I know that from the fact that people gossip about me. If I wasn't well known, why the hell would anyone talk about me? Anyway, I won't stand and prove that theory, you'll just have to try and cope with it.

I woke up this sunday morning a little late. It was 9:30 when I got out of bed... I stumbled across my banged up skateboard, got some socks on- I have very bad circulation in my lower body- and gone to the bathroom... I stared at the feet of the people on the street while going through any man's regular morning habbits- this includes the yawn, the backstretching and the gargling- then turned on my mobile phone to see what new mesages had cropped up during the night.

Stacy: "Come to club Burn! The party is wild here"

Jon (foreign exchange student): "Come to practise tomorow! We need to reherse the new song I wrote yesterday!"

Stacy: "you should of been here! there was a foam fight and everything. we had the time of our lives!"

etc.

As you can deduce, I'm in a band and I have a girlfriend that likes to party. She usually tryes to make me write something about her, but that just pisses me off: I'm not the one with the writing or composing talent! Jon is!

Anyway, it seemed as the day was clear of any programmed activity. I went to the skate-park "Hey Josh!" "Hey Bill!" "Yo dude!" "Jim! What's been up? Haven't seen you in a bunch!" etc. I exchanged greetings with everybody and did a few simple tricks at the half-pipe. It was too hot for skating and it had just gotten hotter: Stacy arrived. Her golden hair was all messed up, lips red and full as usual, she had a tired look about her, but her vibrant way of being overwhelmed this. There was a reason I fell in love with her. Not beauty, nor the fact that she was a very smart girl. She was full of life. As I said a few lines above: vibrant. You could feel her presence as her blood seemed to boil in her veins. She could be fearsome if she wanted to, and that drawn me to her.

I'll talk more about her later... she's important for my story, but I feel it's better if I clarify something. When I said "simple tricks" (at the skate-park) I meant some 720 summersaults 3 meters above the ramp, a speed above 50 mph,960 pogos, and more. I meant simple, for me. I never crashed on my board, or on my rollerblades. I was always one of the best, if not THE best. As long as I hanged on to the board, there was no chance for me to fall (Tony Hawk's got nothing on me!). I never knew why this was, why I could skate so good, but I always blamed it on talent and training from an early age.

When Stacy asked me to take a walk with her that day hot summer day, I felt as if I could fly. We walked away slowly, I was carrying my board, she was smileing slightly. We walk, we talk a little, and before I know it... she dumps me... well, that's life for ya'! No matter... lots of fish in the sea... I hope...

"I found someone else" she said "last night at club Burn"

(If I had only been there!)

"I sent you a mesage"

(Yeah, I got it)

"I have been seeing him for over a month now. I wanted to tell you last night at the club"

(and ruin my whole night you mean bitch!)

"And... well... I love him... I'm sorry!"

(I've kept quiet untill now... what's your' next move, huh?)

"I guess I'll have to be going now"

(*she rubs the back of her head and bites her lower lip*)

"Please say something!! I can't stand it when you don't say anything!!"

(she starts screaming and crying)

"I HATE YOU!!"

(she bangs on my chest with both her fists tears falling down her pretty face)

She runs away and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

"What now?"

"I... don't know... find another?"

"Who?"

"There are none to match her..."

"So?"

"I need to blow some steam..."

When I reached the gym, it was full, I went home, my father was lieing in a pool of his own bile and filth. Drunken bastard. No place for me here. I take my rollerblades and go downhill. Against the traffic as usual. It's safer. I had a tremendous speed, but I walked away uninjured, as usual. Metallica's music was howling in my ears, St. Anger was the sound of gods playing the drums.

I arrive at a gas station. The advantage of knowing many people, is that you know everybody important in every small way.

"Hey Jim!" I say to the guy in charge.

"Josh! How are ya'?"

Jim's been real nice to me since I skated as a commercial for his gas-station... I did it as a favour, but he's always given me free stuff ever since... The earnings were high enough for him to remodel the place.

"Wan' som'in from the pub?"

Normally, you don't drink and skate, and I wasn't gonna' make an exeption... I thought about revenge, and since "Burn" had given me so much trouble...

"Can you give me some kerosene, Jim?"

He blinks and smiles from a corner of the mouth.

"I need it for a school project! To prove the uselessness of water against raging fires..."

Jim is a self-made man. He knows the value of a good education. Naturally I got the stuff... and even in some large quantityes!

For thouse of you who don't know, kerosene is a fuel, more volatile that normal gas, it's used on airplanes... and when you need to start a fire with some wet wood.

Anyway, I'm heading home, rollerblades on, highly explosive substance in my backpack... It was a hot day. It was going to be a lot hotter. I grap the hinge of a truk to speed up... I've always used this tactic up-hill. Truck-drivers don't have rear-view mirrors to see me, so I hitch a ride...

BOOOM!

Nope, not the kerosene. I just saw my girl with a freak next to her.They were *smoking*. Her smile melted away. I let go of the truck , dazed, confused. The car behind me screatches to a stop. I don't hear it. I feel afloat. She didn't just cheat. She didn't just dump me in a stupid manner. She *insulted* me. If she would have left me for a 20 year old (I'm 17 by the way) I would have been happy for her. If she would have left me for an 18 year old, I'd have been jealous, but not completely angry. But... this... this... mutated freak, this disgusting nuclear residue? This was far enough!!

"Josh!" she blushes and seems scared, the backpack I had looked frightening, I think.

"Hee, ex-guy! How's it hangin'!" he snarls while sqeezing Stacy to his deformed chest.

I punch him. He goes down. Bleeding. He spits out a cavity filled tooth and kicks one of my blades. I fall on my back... I get up quickly and start kicking him in the stomach, as he was still down. Stacy was pulling on my arms screaming something like "STOP! STOP!". She was crying again. When I felt that the freak wasn't moving anymore, I grab Stacy and pull her close to me. She was sobbing. I felt like I was burning. Of anger, of hatred, of frustration. I sqeeze tighter and kiss her on the lips, and feel my life flashing before my eyes. The kerosene. The fall. The sun. The ciggaretes. An explosion. I was burning. The pain was horrifying: I felt my skin peeling off. My lungs filled with my own hot ashes. My spit was boiling inside my mouth. My blood was so hot it was turning to steam and exploding inside me. I was flying. Towards the heavens, I was flying like a human fireball. Melting away slowly. I knew it wasn't the blast, it was me. I could fly. My brain realised this while it was being cremated. I flew 20 feet into the air, twisting, twitching, screaming. Throwing kerosene everywhere and igniting other people. When I had fallen back to the ground, the screams were no longer emmited by my lungs: I was already a burning piece of meat, but by another's: Stacy's. Her face was burning away, her full lips had melted already. Tears, spit, and cold sweat. I died that day. I died in a more cruel manner that you could ever imagine. In a more cruel manner than words could describe. I'm happy she didn't though. I truly am.

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Good story, though I'm going to insert a little wit.

You know if you changed the title to "Burning Running Man" It could be about Richard Pryor (get it, 'cuz he got loaded up on God knows what, set himself on fire and ran through Central Park (it was Central Park, right?))

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