A cloud of toxic smoke fills my lungs, as the last drop of water goes down my throat. 

Bass comes up loud from the distance, like a war close approaching. Sonic vibrations traveling through the soil like hungry worms. 

She looks over at me. It’s almost time. She’s got fingers on triggers, she’s got barrels ready to spill lead, she’s got violence ready to happen. She smiles at me, and she bites her own lip out of the fucking sensuality of the whole thing.

She bites her own lip, like she’s biting me when we kiss, or when we fuck. 

Electronic feedback squeals through my headset, over-excited electrons bouncing like bad checks. Electronic feedback fries every fear in my head, and replaces my doubts with an urge to fuck and kill. 

She looks at me like I’m bleeding from a hole in my head, like she can see straight through me, into tomorrow.

And tomorrow comes up like a mean little girl on a fistful of hard drugs. 
Tomorrow is coming up hard.