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red splatter glinting in the licking flame.
    She pulled the trigger and a bright light sparked from the barrel of the gun, flashing like a roman candle. The bullet disappeared between his eyes and he joined his wife.

00:01, 10/31/XXXX
    IT BELONGS TO them , he thinks, his mind flitting away with his last sputtering synapse. They can have it .

RACEWAY GALERIA

O NE
    B EN FLICKED A french fry and it beaned right off Danny’s nose as his head bowed low, chewing on the edges of a hamburger. He takes a bit before he reacts as if swallowing or trying not to crack a smile. This was Danny’s idea and Danny wanted his two pals to take the idea as seriously as he had.
    “C’mon dude, knock it off.”
    “Yeah, grow up, Ben,” says his little brother, Jerry. Their parents must’ve thought they were pretty damn funny. Jerry sucked on his straw, obnoxiously hoovering up the thin pool of chilled shake-like beverage. The noise was like a drain loudly emptying; gutter sound that only teenage boys love, like belching and farting.
    “Make me,” Ben replies, indifferently. He bends one limp fry in half and pops it in his mouth. They’re cold and salty, not the best combination. He’s leaning on the back of the hard plastic chair which is bolted to the floor by a welded metal arm. Ben’s sandy blonde hair is parted in the middle, hanging over his eyes, skater style.
    They’ve been sitting in the fast food place so long their asses are sore.
    No one shares the restaurant with the three boys aside from a couple of older teens behind the counter and an old man sitting at the window watching cars pass by and enjoying the smell of coffee too hot to put to his lips. Cars drift along, their occupants surely glad they don’t have to do much more than pass through this town.
    The sky is blue-gray, like the hood of a car, the sun hazy and indistinct. It’s only a few months off from being snowed in and a few months away from walking the streets barefoot.
    This spring week off almost seems like a taunt from an apathetic school board.
    One of the more popular kids, an eighth grader named Hunter, had been bragging that whole month that he was going to go to Aspen to go snowboarding with his big brother. Many of the kids fawned over him jealously, regardless if it were true or not.
    Danny could come up with a good one if he felt like it, but he was too embarrassed. His parents were fighting again, therefore, no cool trips to the lake or Six Flags since one would just accuse the other of trying to curry the favor from the boy. Obviously, this left him almost totally ignored and reliant on himself to stay amused. Even Black Ops II turned his stomach since he had to be in the house to play it and either his keyed up mother or passive-aggressive father might barge in at any moment to involve him by proxy with their ceaseless bitching and sniping.
    “Why won’t your mom just get out of my ass?” was a common refrain from his dad, as if expecting Danny to have a real answer for his grown up problem. He had no desire or capability to be the referee, even he had to when they screamed at each other until he got a headache. He’d taken to turning his music up on his headphones just to tune them out.
    Most kids would be terrified of their parents divorcing, maybe seeing one or the other only on weekends.
    Danny was mostly sick of the cats and dogs. After all, Jerry and Ben’s parents (always Jerry and Ben, he’d refused to acknowledge the stupid pun) were divorced and they seemed perfectly happy. Sure, their mom worked all the time but Danny thought that was awesome since he could come hang out whenever he wanted.
    One time, Ben and Danny found a beer way back in the garage refrigerator. It must’ve been his dad’s because his mom didn’t drink at all, except for a glass of wine once in awhile when she had her girlfriends over to play cards or watch Real Housewives. It wouldn’t be missed, they decided, as they burst open the can with the pop tab