The first sound he hears will be Becca’s laughter, as she realizes that what we feel is joy, and when we turn to face him, our hair will burst into flames and we will light up the empty road, our fire glinting off our knives, and we will see that we have struck him dumb, that he feels fear but, more importantly, awe, and when we stab him he will give, not like a potato, but an orange: a little resistance from the peel, but the flesh inside easy to divvy up, a bitter piece for each of us.
