I want to show you something you said, and you pulled the fuse from your chest. And I stood, I did, and I watched you light it and watched it burn. Now watch you said, as I explode. I can't I say I can't stay, but what is there but to stay, to watch, what is there but to bear witness? And it burns, it hisses and sputters, but it burns. What can I do? Should I leave you alone? Is there a safe distance? is there a way to not get hurt? Should I walk away, leave you to your violent end? And of course I can't, and of course you know that. Watch this, you said, and lit the fuse. And I can't stand it, and I reach for it, I try to put it out, stop the burn, but it slips through my fingers, like smoke, like a ghost, I reach and you grab my hand and you say no. Watch this, you said, and lit the fuse. There is an inevitability to it, the inevitable explosion the inevitable end, you lit the fuse and asked me to watch as you die; I want to show you something, you ...
This is a story I wrote a while ago, for an anthology put out by my now nonexistent publisher, and it is one of my favorite things I have ever written. It is rare, but sometimes, the words come out exactly how you want them to come out. This was that, one of those magic and rare times where the song I wanted to sing just allowed itself to be sung. The title is shamelessly stolen from an 800 Octane song off of their album Rise Again, a song that set me thinking about this story and how I wanted to tell it. Paging Mr. Bronson A story by Ralph Pullins I roll over and look at the clock. 4:43. In the morning. I think of the call I received four or five hours ago, as if I hadn’t been thinking of nothing else while I stared at the ceiling and didn’t sleep. I heave a sigh, hoping, but not really believing that I can get this heavy feeling off of my chest. I sit up in bed, look over at my still sleeping wife. Hell, I decide, might as ...