Home > Uncategorized > It’s possible this’ll get me put on a government list. Well, shit.

It’s possible this’ll get me put on a government list. Well, shit.

Nothing Lasts Forever


“What the hell are you doing down here anyway, Sil?”

            “Making a bomb.”

            “Oh, what the shit?”

            Silvia opened a sealed container and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She carefully scooped a bit of the powdery substance into a test tube, corked it, and resealed the container. “God, sulfur is such nasty stuff,” she mumbled. She slowly tipped the test tube back and forth, mixing the substances within.

            “Why are you making a bomb, Sil?” Tracey asked.

            “Because I’m going to blow up a truck.” She pushed her safety glasses up on her nose with the back of her hand and shook her hair out of her eyes. “What kind of stupid question is that, anyway, Trace?”

            “I think it’s a legitimate question,” Tracey scowled.

            “Yeah, but it’s still stupid.” Silvia opened the next container of powdered chemicals.

            “Well, regardless of its stupidity, you could at least answer my question.”

            Silvia set the container down on the workbench and began to dig around in her purse. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and fished around in the pocket of her torn jeans for a lighter. She placed a cigarette between her lips, set her safety glasses down next to her would-be bomb, and lit the cigarette. “Remember that time I broke up with Johnny Greenberg?”

            Tracey made a face at her friend. “Yes. I also remember that time you quit smoking.”

            Silvia sighed. “Nothing lasts forever, Trace.”

            “I see that. Ok, what about the time you broke up with Johnny Greenberg?”

            “So I caught him cheating on me, right? And I swore I’d never speak to that asshole again, right?”


            “Just like I swore six months ago that I’d never smoke another cigarette, right?”


            “And yet here I am, smoking. And there I was, a week after the breakup, with Johnny Greenberg all in my pants again. I mean, it was just a one-night stand, but there I was! And there he was! And we were naked and fucking again!”

            Tracey’s face paled. “You’re not going to bomb Johnny Greenberg, are you?”

            “No. Of course not. Again with the stupid questions, Trace.” She took a long drag on the cigarette before tossing it to the concrete floor of the basement and grinding it out with the toe of her boot. “But I found myself thinking about his stupid ass last week when I got that huge splinter stuck in my thumb.”

            “Wait, why did a splinter remind you of Johnny Greenberg?”

            “Because he was kind of a thorn in my side for a long time. And, you know, he poked me a lot,” she giggled.

            Tracey narrowed her eyes and sighed. “Well?”

            “Oh. Yeah, the splinter. It wouldn’t come out, but then I remembered this one time when I was little, and I had a splinter, and my mom made an Epsom salt solution and had me soak my finger for a bit, and the stupid splinter came out like magic. So I went to the store, and I bought a big bag of Epsom salt and a pack of smokes, but the line was super long so I had to wait forever to pay for this shit. Long story short, it gave me time to read the label, ponder the explosive properties of magnesium, and decide to make a bomb.”

            “With Epsom salt?”

            “No, of course not. There’s not enough magnesium in that shit to make an effective explosive. That, and a magnesium bomb is nothing more than a flash bomb. It makes a biggish noise, and it lights up the immediate vicinity, but it’s not terribly destructive. And I want a huge noise, not a biggish one, and I want an out-of-control exothermic reaction, not just some light.”

            “Uh-huh. Sil, whose truck are you going to blow up?” Tracey asked.

            “Johnny Green—“

            “I knew it!” Tracey shouted.

            “Lemme finish. Sheesh! Johnny Greenberg’s younger brother’s pickup.”

            “Wait, Greg Greenberg? Why?”

            “Dude, who even names their kid something like that? If he lived in Georgetown, Georgia, he could be like, ‘Hi, my name is Greg Greenberg of Georgetown, Georgia, and I’m a gigantic douche bag.’ He should probably move to Georgetown.”

            “What the fuck?”

            “I know, right? His parents must love alliteration or something.” She lit another cigarette and gazed at the chemistry set on her workbench. “Also, he hit my sister. She won’t admit it, but I’ve seen her checking herself in the mirror and globing way too much foundation around her left eye. So I’m going to blow up his truck.”

            “Oh, my God!”

            “I know, right? She, like, won’t even talk to me about it. But I can tell she’s terrified of him, so I figure I’ll, like, put the fear of God in him, or something.” She balanced the cigarette between her lips, shoved her glasses back on her face and returned to her chemicals.

            “Isn’t it dangerous to have an open flame around that stuff?” Tracey asked with a smirk.

            “No. Yes. Probably. That’s why I’m a chemistry student drop-out and not a chemistry graduate.”

            “Well, as long as we’re clear on that….” Tracey rolled her eyes.

            “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

            “You have your back to me! How did you even see that?”

            “There’s a mirror over here. That and I’m, like, psychotically psychic, or something like that.” She hummed to herself as she began mixing substances again.

            Tracey bit her lower lip and shifted uncomfortably.

            “What, Trace?”

            “You’re not gonna blow the truck up with him in it, are you? ‘Cause I think I have to call the cops if that’s what you’re going to do.”

            Silvia began packing the mixed powders into an empty canister and laughed. “I’m not going to murder him, Trace! Jesus Christ! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m gonna blow the stupid truck up tonight when he’s asleep in bed. He usually parks a few doors down from their house on the street. No one’s gonna get hurt. Well, his pride will be hurt. I guess he saved for that stupid thing for two years. It’s a piece of shit, anyway.”

            “What are you gonna do if he finds out it was you?”

            “Punch his stupid face like he did to my sister. Actually, I think I might do that anyway. I think I might beat him up just for, I dunno, posterity or something.”

            “So how do we make this thing go off?”

            “A fuse, duh.”

            Silvia tossed a coil of wire into her bag, wrapped the homemade bomb in a towel, and carefully placed it on top of the wire.

            “You’re fucking crazy. You do know that, right?”

            “Yeah, but, you know, family first and stuff.”

            “Yeah, ok. Are you still gonna see Johnny Greenberg after all this?”

            “Nah. My resolve around him didn’t last forever, just like my broken resolve won’t last forever. And I think this’ll be my last cigarette for a while, too.”

            “What about your sister. Won’t she figure out that you were the one who messed up Greg’s truck?”

            “She probably will, and she’ll probably be pissed, but that won’t last forever, either.”

            “Is that your new mantra?”

            “I guess so. Come on, let’s go blow up that stupid truck. You know, before I lose my resolve on this, too.”

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