The asphalt lies like a dead river through the sharp masses of pine. The road slinks back and forth around the thick pieces of forest and up and down over the slight rises and falls. The pine-trees hug the unnatural black ground on all sides. The trees don’t move, they don’t stir: they stand still as ice, like waiting soldiers, frozen on either sides of this dark and silent river, unable to cross and therefore left immobile. The light grey clouds in the sky are motionless as well, as if waiting with held breath for the opposing armies of jade to charge. The forested road is cast in that in between light, the light that is misplaced in a world that is grey and not golden, a luminance of a shadow world that will not rain or shine, it will simply sit and wait for the inevitable change of wind that will either blow all the grey away or throw the fury of a storm into the sky above. With a rush the silence is suddenly ripped open. About ten miles apart two cars are zooming towards each other tearing up the stillness as they go.

“Bitch.” His fingers tighten on the steering wheel as his teeth clench tight to the cigarette smoldering between his thin lips. His rather heavy-lidded eyes are wide and focused tightly on the road before the wheels of the shining black sports car. His hair is perfectly cut yet disheveled; the bones of his face sharp and flawless but a slight stubble plays over his jaw; the suit over his wide shoulders and slim waist is completely free of hair, lint, or wrinkles but rolled up desperately at the sleeves and the tie is loosened sloppily at the neck. Overall he seems like something that was so stuffed and stuffed with perfection, precision, and parallels that it suddenly let out a slight crack and just a drop of the ideality became to spill out the edge. “God… damned… BITCH!” he slams his sharply detailed hand against the thick leather over the steering wheel as the sound of his voice instantly leaves the interior of the vehicle and is only left echoing in his head. He lets his dark blue eyes fall for a moment to the passenger seat. The silvery revolver shines hungrily forth, shines as much as something possible can in the overcast light of the shadow-less road. It should work fine, there’s no reason it wouldn’t he thought as he slightly adjusted his sweating palms over the wheel. How could she have done it? No, he knew how she could have done it, the damned safe was blown to pieces when he found it. He didn’t have to think about the why either. What did she think it was going to be like anyway? For Christ sakes she’s- well she’s her! Claire, now Claire is a proper girl, a woman to marry, a woman to stick with. Her, well she’s a toy, a pretty toy. She couldn’t have possibly thought that someone like him could do anything else in his situation. He never should have told her about the money. There was really no choice, no choice at all. The gun shone silently off the passenger seat.

The money was safe; there was no way they would find it. The white and slightly rusted vehicle screams over the asphalt, slightly shaking the frozen pines. The pale woman’s fiery red hair is spewing haphazard from the sharp metal chopsticks holding it in place. Her full lips are set and stern as her burning green eyes stare forward. The dark eyebrows are shaped sharp and point like daggers down towards her nose. One twitches slightly at the end, like a snake darting forward. The music screams out of the speakers, crackling as it pushes them to the very limit: Paint it Black- Rolling Stones. “Bastard.” She curses through her teeth, “misogynistic, mendacious, mother-fucking bastard.” She doesn’t swear like he does. It’s a whisper that sneaks out in the deep whisky-like tones of her voice. She doesn’t flinch or smack the wheel or grind a cigarette between her teeth: she simply stares, that one eyebrow twitching slightly. Her tight, dark jeans rest over her shaped hips and legs; the words “ashes to ashes” are scrawled with a black sharpie marker furiously over the left hip. A fat handled knife sticks out of her pocket, nothing strange, she always carries it. The white halter-top clings to her freckled torso. Her body is sharp and precise, perfect and gorgeous with an almost film-noir anatomy but the strange edge to her features almost seem to dare the entranced onlooker: “go on, try it, just try it.” She throws the stick with a sharp fast movement, her eyes never leaving the road. She knows her destination. The house isn’t far now- he shouldn’t be home until later, at least an hour after she’s done. The igniter can attach easily to the door- in the lock. A slight smile spreads over her lips as she thinks of the explosion; it should be something to behold, after all the trunk is packed to the brim with fertilizer, just light an ounce of the pound of black powder also lodged safely in the trunk and it’s goodbye to the evidence all over the safe, goodbye the him and his Gucci suits and leather sofas and stainless steel refrigerator with the –oh-so-convenient TV attached to the front always playing FOX or NBC no matter what pathetic attempt at a wit-filled joy-ride of a sitcom was playing. How the hell did she ever let him- him of all people slide his way into her life. He was ruthless and bold in a sort of pretentious way. He didn’t look at anyone, never made even the slightest recognition unless you were worthy. Anyone else would have snubbed him for it but not her. He looked at her and she stared right back. She had to do this- there was no other choice. She took the money and now all that was left was destroying the evidence. She wasn’t just doing it for her: she was doing it for Claire. How many more woman will he pick up and throw out when he’s had his fun. Claire deserves more. She’s a proper girl, a woman to marry, a woman to stick with- she’s the last thing he deserves. All he deserves is smashed into the trunk of the car waiting for him. The shapely lips thin as a small smile spreads over her flushed cheeks.

“I see a line of cars and their all painted black. My flowers and my love are never to come back.”

What the hell was he thinking in the first place getting involved with someone like her. His hand snaps the cigarette quickly from his lips and with pool-shark precision flicks it to the dashboard ask-tray. He replaces it just a fast, lighting the end with a flick of his wrist on the straight silver Zippo. She was beautiful, stunning in fact, absolutely stunning; why else would he look at her? Why else would he look at anyone? Somehow she was different from all the others, he could tell from the start, but what in god’s name was he thinking?! She carries a bowie knife for Christ sake and when you asked her what it was for she didn’t say “protection” or “oh, just cause” she said: hunting, hunting! Like she was in the outback for the love of god. Why didn’t he stop there? Why didn’t he just stop and think for just one damned second. Well, how can one be expected to think when she’s staring at you with those eyes. They practically burn you they’re so bright, staring right through you like you were made of paper and all she wants is to set you on fire. She’s made of fire, every piece of her, the freckles blazed over her face, that hair raging- gorgeous really gorgeous. His eyes slacken for a second, the pure rage fleeing for a short moment. He can see her right before him: lips parted, eyes blazing, every piece of her naked body screaming desperately for him. His jaw slackens. He catches himself with a sharp shake of the head. No, no, she’s a bitch, a pilfering wench, but she was different from all the others, different from everyone.

“I see people turn their heads and quickly look away. I’m thinking maybe it just happens every day.”

He wears suits worth thousands of dollar and wears them for that reason only, since when did she get involved with people like that? Since when did she get involved with men who check the stocks regularly and carry briefcases and buy art that they don’t even look at. Men like that are empty: pod-people, vessels going through the daily routine because it’s there and falling willingly into the great river of conformity to drown with all the rest. No, she would never be involved with someone like that. Her eyes twitch suddenly from the road; the truth is she wasn’t involved with someone like that; he seems like he would fit into the mold perfectly and yet he didn’t. He wasn’t jumping into the river, he was standing on the edge watching the others flail and scream as he smiled down at them. He knew better. He knows better. He looked at her. Her eyes are still pointed at the road but they are not staring: they’re remembering, letting images of the past flit before the definite asphalt. He looked at her. His eyes weren’t cloudy, they were bright, bright and alive and sharp like a hawk or a cat. He looked at her and she looked right back. No, he wasn’t his thousand dollar suits or those ridiculous sitcoms or the leather bound briefcase, he wasn’t even those piles of money that fell in mounds out of the safe as soon as the doors blew free, no he was something completely different.

“Its not easy facing up when your whole world is black.”

Claire was who he was supposed to be with, Claire who’s clean and sweet and raised to smile and have dinner parties. She was what he needed. He needed to marry her and be with her and fall into that lifestyle that he always knew he would. He lets his deep eyes fall on the gun again. It’s all he had to do, he just had to do this and then it would be over. The money would be his again and he could have his perfect life. Why in God’s name did he let himself fall into a situation like this. He throws his eyes back to the road as his hands tighten again on the steering wheel but her eyes won’t leave his head. “DAMNIT!” He screams again. Stop it; he had to stop thinking about her, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her! She’s a bitch a goddamned bitch who stole his money. He’s seen beautiful woman before, Claire is beautiful, she’s stunning, but somehow she isn’t the same. Suddenly his hands slacken on the wheel and he lets his head fall back against the headrest as his eyes widen. No one’s the same as her, no one in the world. What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t want Claire, he didn’t want his perfect life, he didn’t want to be just another suited face walking back and forth from home to work every goddamned day to his ideal cookie-cutter bride. That’s why he let himself fall for this flaming redhead, that’s the only reason; it wasn’t because she was beautiful or because she was interesting. The realization smashes into his countenance as the road continues to speed under the wheels of the sports car: she made him free.

“I look inside myself and see my heart is black.”

She didn’t feel bad about the money; she didn’t feel bad at all. He was asking for it, asking for someone to break in there and blow that safe open. He owed it to her, he owed it to every one of the woman he had picked up and thrown out like trash over the years; he owed it to Claire. How could he possibly think he was good enough for someone like Claire, someone so perfect, so good, so sweet with that honey hair and pink lipstick smile; how could he think that he deserved her? What would he do if they were married: go to work everyday, buy new furniture, have children, take them to soccer practice, go through everyday like everyone else. How could he do that? How could he possibly just let himself fall into the conformity like there was nothing to it? He couldn’t do that; she wouldn’t let him. He’s too strong, he’s too sharp, he’s too- her eyes suddenly fall off of the road, as her mouth closes sharply: she wasn’t trying to save Claire from him, she wanted to save him from Claire. Why the hell should she care about him? Let the son-of-a-bitch fall into the river and drown with all the rest, let him walk down the street with his stocks and bonds like a mindless zombie with all the rest. She didn’t care, she didn’t care at all; let him die, let him disappear and fall away and never be there to avoid glances or smile down at her with those clear eyes or hold her tightly with those hands like there was nothing else in the world except for them. Suddenly she gasps. She can’t lose him, there’s no way she can let Claire grab him and pull him down into the river with her. She had to save him: she had to take him away.

The cars rip down the road. He sits there: eyes wide, suddenly realizing the truth as his cigarette hangs loose and forgotten on his lips. She stares ahead, not looking at anything but her own emotions as her eyebrow sits still and the music continues to blast.

“No colors anymore I want them into black.”

Suddenly the army of still pines parts and time stills: standing there, as if it had always been there, as if it appeared rather then traveled is a massive creature. It stands perfectly still as if it was a part of it all rather then separate, as if it, the black river, the pines, the sky, were all one unit of perfect calm. It stands tall above the cars, tall above the road, its still existence almost quietly asking time to stop for it. You can’t see the eyes, just the oblong shape of a head, perched upon the great skeleton covered in the shadows of the pines and the dull of the clouds.

His head spins sharply, suddenly seeing the creature.
Her bright eyes lock onto the beast’s presence.

The moose stands still, waiting with the road, waiting with the trees, waiting with the clouds, holding the eyes of the drivers, holding them tight for only a moment.

“I see a red door and I want it painted-”

With a rush the cars smash straight into each other. The metal screams over the road as the flames explode over the metal bodies and the plastic crumples backwards with the shear force of the collision. The flames spread fast and hungry over the cars consuming them in an instant. With a flash they reach the trunk. The explosion blows through the scene and then: silence. Pieces of metal, plastic, leather, blood, dirt, lay motionless over the road. The flames lick silent and hungry over the remains. The moose stands still. Slowly it turns, its motions thoughtless and fluid as if it is a liquid marionette, a lifeless creature being moved by the spirits deep in the pines. Without a shudder the pines close behind its presence, sealing it back into the darkness. The road sits still. The trees remain frozen. The flames quietly dance. Slowly, steadily, the rain begins to fall.