Gasoline
Six five gallon containers. He enjoyed carrying them inside one by one. The weight reminding him of a small child, sleeping soundly in his arms. They were carefully placed side by side in the corner of the motel bathroom. The door was locked. The windows were closed.
One by one the containers were embraced and carefully opened. A kiss for each as their contents were emptied into the rusted tub. Everything was released, even as the last tank made fluids rush over the sides and gush onto the cracked, tiled floor. The empty vessels were carelessly tossed to the side. They collided into one another, there comined sounds echoed in the tiny room.
Pale hands gripped the smooth sides of the tub, lowering himself down. The liquid melded into his clothes, clinging to him and he sat himself down. The red-head let the weight of his body take over, sinking down. His head rested itself beside the faucet. One arm stood straight out, clinging to his last earthy pleasure.
For the first time in so long he felt heavy. His skin itched. His head ached. His mouth felt dry despite the liquid surrounding him. The smell. God, the smell. His fingers twitched. The immersed hand slowly felt up and down his heavy limbs. It came up to smooth over his head. His chest. Heavy.
His other hand gripped a half-empty pack of cigarettes. His hand shook as it slowly lifted itself towards his chest. Damp fingers picking one small cylinder out, bringing it to his mouth. He reached back inside the package. Kenny had always done the same thing. Keeping the lighter in the pack didn't make much difference, really. The weight, though, was noticeable.
Kyle didn't dare breathe in. After the tremendous effort of flicking the light on he sat silently, mesmerized by the small flame. The resulting threads of smoke swam up above him. Suddenly his arm was outstretched beside him again, resting on the frame of the tub. One inhale. He closed his eyes and held the air inside. Those few seconds were all he could ever ask for. He felt heavy, full and satisfied. The lighter fell out of his lax fingers.
There were no room for senses now. He couldn't see the thousands of golden snakes as they danced around his head and played with stands of hair. Couldn't hear their roar and their whispered insults as they passed through his brain. Couldn't see his own copper flesh or the fluid bursting out in colors of beautiful blues. Couldn't feel his eyes as his hands flew up and held his face. Couldn't hear his own screams. He could no longer feel the weight. It was gone. He was light, floating and frozen. Cold and weightless, just like before.
Even in death he could never escape it.