Junk Love.

two.

Her hair is a purple pastel halo hovering over an angel. Flickers from the nearby raging fire paint her skin splashes of amber. The regality of the scene is akin to a descent from hell instead of heaven.

That day, Mel Bing had been feeling blue. She woke with a pounding headache and fresh blisters on her feet that ached as badly. Ghosts from a love shattered possesses her -- burning thick in her nose once she tips her head back and waits for her legs to go numb.

While shadowed by blue mornings, she doesn't wander far. Catching a buzz is exhilarating, usually she'd be able to walk for miles, but today's hit was a brief upper to convince her to get out of bed.

Walk straight, Mel.

The wiring of her mind has always been off. It's like a thousand ton sad Eeyore nesting in her brain and sucking out all the happiness. Mel knows the streets, navigating that world feels natural to her. Or maybe she just doesn't know any better?

Today is an off day in every way. Her fingers bleed as badly as her feet squished in worn out canvas sneakers. From morning to evening she's plucked at sharp guitar strings only to earn a measly twenty dollar tip.

Sunset recedes into neutral violet tones while Mel plays her last song. Even with her teeth gnashed at raw fingertips she has a weightless heavenly voice.

The surreal evening tranquility is ruptured by a shrill howl of rubber burning into the asphalt. Then preceded with a symphony of shattered glass and grating metal as a car barrels over itself, flipping three times, across the road like a spinning bottle cap.

The wreck doesn't last long. Mel isn't able to shut her guitar case properly before another burst from the mangled vehicle erupts orange tinged black. Blistering flames devour the carnage as mouthy as a dragon.

A chemical mix of adrenaline and amphetamines are as effective as rocket fuel launching her across the street. Getting too close is a mistake. Within seconds Mel's skin is hot.

Someone is encased in the twisted metal, almost resembling a mummy preserved in a tomb. After Mel latches onto a handful of his jacket the heat is intense enough to imprint leather onto her palms. Regardless, she tugs his body until he's sprung free.

Both of them topple backward onto the asphalt. His broad chest awkwardly squishes below her rib cage and the rest of him sprawls out from between her legs. Mel holds him like a Mother would cradle an overgrown child, gasping for air, until her adrenaline withers.

He's laughing. A practically manic cackle that echoes into the velvet twilight. Their reality is different, their motivations too, but in that moment both him and her are mutually exhilarated.

☯