Page 29 of Beautiful Nightmare

One hop, two hops, three hops, we watch it glow.

And as you burn, the sweet scent of death,

Karma came to you. Now rot with the rest.

Agatha rises.Blood continues flowing from her as she reaches up to the shelf above the forest green cast iron stove. A box of matches is gripped tightly in her hand. Sliding it open, she takes a match and swiftly swipes it in order to ignite it.

Bending over, she opens the small door next to the oven where the wood rests, then tosses the lit match onto the chopped logs.

Oxygen feeds the fire, and we keep the door open until the flames roar to life.

Once satisfied, I tell her to close the door, and we resume watching the orange and red vibrantly flicker through the glass window.

Hop in,hop now.

Burn, bitch, burn.

The main oven door opens;it too has a glass window for us to view inside. Agatha steps in as the space heats up. The fit will be tight, but I will force her in if that’s what it takes.

A second foot follows, and she begins to shimmy her body backward, placing her hands on the ground as support. My heart races with excitement as I pull Royce closer to me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The question is rhetorical, and my eyes are captivated with delight.

Agatha hunches over, squeezing her head through the opening and wrapping her arms around her bent knees that are digging into her chest. She just barely fits.

Close!

The door slams shut,then the latch follows, securing it to remain shut. The iron cylinder attached to it helps move the smoke outside as the fire gets bigger and the oven becomes hotter. Some hot air remains trapped, fogging the glass periodically as we watch her suffocate. Sweat drips, mixed with the blood. The sweet sizzling of her hands against the oven walls is soothing.

I don’t allow her to scream or beg for release.

She will sit there and fucking take it, just as I did when she suppressed my abilities.

Tilting my head, I peek over to Royce to ensure she is watching, and for the first time all evening I find her enjoying her time with me. With wide eyes, the flickers of orange reflect in her vibrant purple eyes. She still cradles her side, but she makes no attempt to rescue Agatha or stop me. My cock softens in response, which I allow, because for the first time, I feel at ease with her being content with me.

The clock ticks as we observe the glory before us.

Minutes turn to an hour.

Agatha’s skin bubbles with blisters as we cookher alive. Her internal organs boil, and in a matter of time they will give out and stop working. The smell of burnt flesh lingers in my nose, and I taste it on my tongue, but I am unbothered.

I step forward and kneel, removing the roaster pan underneath the oven where drippings typically fall, but today it’s filled with body juices, burnt strands of hair, and blood. It’s hot to the touch, but I am me, and I can do fucking anything. Smiling, I pivot my head to look behind me as an idea comes to me.

And just as I do, Royce breaks the silence we have been submerged in. “How do I know that’s true?” she probes. “How do I know you didn’t force her to say those things? And how do I know any of this is real?”

Questioning reality, wise sweet girl, but it’s far too late for that.

Rising, with the hot pan in hand, I walk over to my naive foster sister and dump the contents of it over her head. Coating her body, the liquid is thick, and once the realization washes over her, a giant scream erupts from her mouth. Her feet move frantically in an effort to escape me, but it’s to no avail. Instead they slip on the tile, and her broken bodycrashes back down to the floor, where she fucking belongs

My head tilts as I take her in. Pathetic. Then it shakes whilst I stand over her blood-soaked body. I drop the pan, and it echoes against the tile whilst I pull the legs of my trousers up. Kneeling, I crouch before her while balancing on the balls of my feet. Harshly, I grip her jaw, spitting out, “Fuck you.”

14

ROYCE

My face is buried in the comfort of my pillow while the soft comforter surrounds me, keeping me protected. It took three washes to get the remnants of Agatha off me, but the phantom feeling of her blood coating my body remains. This feeling is tragically familiar; this is how my body aches afterheuses me. The lingering touches and warm breath across my skin, and the thought sends chills up my spine.

The memory from only hours ago replays in my mind vividly, regardless of whether my eyes are open or closed, and the smell lingers over me. In the moment, as it was occurring, it was as if it were toxic waste, and as he poured it on me, I thought surely I was being burnt alive by a deadly chemical.

Sniffling, my pillowcase soaked in sadness, exhaustion looms as my eyes become heavy, but my mind fights it because it’s too dangerous to sleep.