Thrill of Fire

by Ryan Griffith

In mid-air the stereo continues to thump like a heart-beat, the car already ripped through the railing—the boys still more than dentals, more than a cop signaling two with a peace sign—still with skin and liquid eyes that move in their sockets, scars mapping their hands, the car torqued and rolling, a deep groan from the machine, and the still-living boy sees his mouth reflected in the mirror, and he loves his mouth, and the other cranking the wheel as if to steer through air, caught in that holy moment of falling, the spine's ladder still unbroken, their names still attached to the histories of skin, the throb of life amplified, like the first thrill of fire, when something plain and lovely is destroyed.

Ryan Griffith's work has appeared in elimae, Fiction Daily, and the Beacon Street Review. He currently lives in Saint Petersburg, Russia, where he is working on a novel. His blog can be found at