“It’s funny.” He whispers, the sound of his voice reverbrating throughout the room. Each decibel of his words smoothly coat our few possessions, alluding to a subtle sense of ownership. “We always find ourselves at this place. This final choice.”
The black oil stretches down affectionately from the ceiling, touching his face. We bear a silent countenance, the window to our souls hidden carefully behind the dark tint of our eyes. I run my hand back through the oil coated hair of my head before slowly approaching him, the evident cause of eminent demise spilling dark secrets of our pasts through the ripples on the floor.
The lighter I bear glints innocently in the fluorescent kitchen lights as his hand calmly rests on the contour of one of the stoves switches. Eye contact remains unbroken as something shatters within ourselves, ending the final conversation, our divine ultimatum.
“Yes Matt.” I utter calmly “It’s necessary. To avoid corrupting the children, we must finally damn ourselves.”
So a fire began.