Itchy Feelings

May 2019

The romantic in Ruth wanted to say it was all preordained, fated, in the stars and planets and all that shit. That tragically, inevitably, they would end up in this place with this weapon and a bodycount behind them.

But of course that wasn't true. It wasn't guaranteed. It was all a fucked up choice. And Evan chose wrong. The moment she saw him she knew he was damaged.

If he didn't have a choice, she certainly did. There were so many paths where she could have turned around, where she should have sought help or left. But she didn't.

This was the last turning point.

"You're bleeding. Jesus," Evan said like it wasn't his fault. All her blood would still be inside her, all her own, if it weren't for him.

"It's time to stop," Ruth said.

"How? How can I?" he was shouting now, not concerned with someone hearing anymore.

Ruth could hardly breathe now as it hit her. Why would he care if someone heard him? He was on the edge. He was ready for the end. This was their crescendo.

"All you have to do is stop. Put down the explosive. There is still time to run."

She should have known. From the moment she met him he looked like the kind of man who could get her on the news. Good news or bad news? It had been hard to say. But there was something noteworthy about him. A future that screamed 'headlines'.

And here they were at that newsworthy event.

Evan pushed her again, harder now to get her even further away. "Get away from here, Ruth. I love you," he said, his voice rough.

Ruth took a few steps back, stumbling on her weak knees. Even after everything, the blood, the gore, she wanted to say it back. Instead, she pushed herself to add distance between them.

"You probably don't want to see this," Evan said as he stretched his arms out. The explosive held out in his hand like an offering to the sky.

Ruth closed her eyes.

.

.

.

Kaboom.