Jessica Amanda Salmonson

“It was night. There was a drizzle, so Emily's black Japanese umbrella was up. The two were close beneath it, walking in long strides, beautiful, sinister-looking lovers, narrow squared shoulders in dark coats. A tall pickup truck sped by and a was a phlem struck the edge of the pavement near where they were walking. Emily raised a finger, cocked her thumb, and said, "Bang."

"Got the left rear tire." said Anthony.

"The truck rolled," she added, "and burst into flames."

"He's still alive," said Anthony, "climbing out of the broken rear window, his hair and clothes ablaze, screaming for help."

"Punky boys come and piss on him," said Emily.

The discussion was very quiet, very earnest.

"They put out the fire from his burning body," said Anthony, "but he dies later in the burn ward."

"His family is relieved and happy," said Emily with stunning finality.

Twenty-four hours later the spitting driver dies on a suburban highway near his home, his pickup spinning out of control on black ice, the vehicle exploding into flame. Anthony and Emily never know about it, never guess a connection to their curse, having never thought of him a second time.”
― Jessica Amanda Salmonson, Anthony Shriek