There’s a moment after change called acceptance, where you begrudgingly accept the situation you’re in. Sure, you might have fallen into change kicking and screaming, but after the blows is the open road and the many miles of the unknown. It’s on you to accept your situation and make the drive.

Jasper and Omar pour down the road watching the world pass them by. Occasionally, Omar rubs his eye as details of the previous night come rushing in to devour his mind. Flashes of his fist connecting with the biker’s jaw, the shots, the cancer, Monica, everything seems to roll in and out like a wave crashing to and retreating from shore. He leans forward and runs his fingers through his messy hair causing damp strands to stick to his forehead.

Jasper glances over at Omar.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Omar lies. Inside he is more mixed up than a bottle of salad dressing, and despite physically being a man, he never felt more like a boy, unsure about his future. He has options, sure, but he didn’t know which one. Jasper leans over the console towards Omar.

“You look like you need to eat something,” says Jasper as he reaches into a crumpled paper bag and pulls out a breakfast burrito, its greasy exterior glinting in the morning sun.

Omar looks over and frowns before snatching it up and taking a tentative bite. His eyes dilate. After a moment, he bites harder and starts to scarf it down like it’s his last meal on Earth.

“Hey, this is pretty good… Where’d you get this?” says Omar, between breaths as relief spreads and mellows his face.

“The gas station,” says Jasper casually, looking straight. Then all at once, Omar freezes, shoots forward, and begins spitting it up.

“The gas station?” says Omar.

“Yeah, the gas station! What’s wrong with that?” says Jasper.

“I can’t eat a gas station burrito. Are you crazy?!”

Jasper’s head tilts back, and side-eyes Omar.

“Are YOU crazy? Why the hell not? It’s food. Fillin’ food.” says Jasper.

Omar’s face wrinkles in pain.

“Do you know what those things do to you?” says Omar as his mind races to a fart-filled future. He starts rubbing his temples.

“What?” mocks Jasper. “Satisfy hunger?”

A low rumble rings out from Omar’s stomach causing Jasper to turn his head.

“Oh no… it’s happening,” says Omar.

Omar doubles over and grabs his belly. He starts to feel his stomach twist and turn like it’s a fork wrapping up spaghetti, and a few moments later, he hears that low squeaky, eeky sound that only comes when something is horribly, horribly wrong.

“Damn boy!” says Jasper as he does a double-take, tracing the sound from Omar’s stomach to his wincing face. He shakes his head and pinches his nose, causing the car to swerve.

“Watch the road!” Omar screams and grabs the handle.

Jasper yanks the steering wheel back as the car jerks once more. Omar flies forward, the seat belt cutting into his stomach, and releases a groan that sounds like a frog dying.

“My bad, my bad. Reflexes aren’t what they used to be,” says Jasper as he straightens up the car with a sheepish grin plastered across his face. He rolls the window down and coughs wet and mucusy, before bringing his hand to his mouth.

“Yeah… I ain’t trying to crash again.” says Jasper, strumming the wheel and laughing as if nothing happened.

Omar is keeled over and holding his stomach. A few groans later, Omar speaks up.

“Dad, we gotta find a place to stop. NOW.”

Jasper shakes his head.

“We just got on the damn road, O. Don’t you want to make it to California?” Jasper quickly grips the steering wheel and glances over to see sweat beading on his son’s forehead. He shakes his head in a breezy way.

Omar just moans. “Now!”

“Alright, alright.” Moments later, a blue sign appears on the horizon like a morning promise.

“Fireworks exit 89.”

Jasper glances to his left and checks the mile marker… it’s 88.

“The road code provides again… I’m telling you O – there’s some truth to this shit.”

Crow’s feet appear on Omar’s face as he leans forward, gripping his stomach.

“Just shut up! If you don’t pull over, we ain’t gonna make it to California.” says Omar, barely getting the words out.

Jasper laughs.

The car veers right as they exit the highway and approach the fireworks store. Its faded, chipped paint, dark windows, and gravel parking lot weren’t exactly welcoming, causing Jasper to chug a Coke at the sight alone and perform his signature Coke-stomping move. But when they crack the door open, the world changed.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves overflow with fireworks of every imaginable size and shape – red sparklers that promised fleeting joy, bottle rockets that boasted a fiery ascent, and big boxes of rockets emblazoned with the names of slightly fiery, slightly sexualized mythical creatures, like Unicorn’s Horn, Ravenous Rainbow, and Dragon’s Desire. It was a pyromaniac’s paradise.

The Watsons approach the counter and set their sights on a stranger who looks to be the shining gemstone of roadside America. The first thing they notice is his mullet. It is long, with bleached-blond highlights as if the man had tried out for a redneck boy band, got cut, but never let go of the dream. Then there is his outfit. He wears a military jacket with the sleeves cut off on the side, showing off his massive red arms and a figure that wouldn’t survive boot camp. Then there are his glasses, so dark, you’d think they were painted on. Then there’s his chins, 3 or 4 powerful chins any lesser neck would strain to support. Looking at him, Omar brings his hand to the back of his neck just from the sight alone. And finally, there are his morals he wears as necklaces. A chain with a 50-caliber bullet, a peace sign, a shark tooth, and a puka shell were just the beginning of his dogma. His name is Darryl, and he is the epitome of roadside America.

Darryl eyes the Watson men down, sizing them up as they approach. In his world, people only came to the store for two reasons: one to buy fireworks; the other to take a shit. And based on that wavy-haired fella hunched over and his soft-ass, non-firework-lighting hands, this was bound to be the latter.

Darryl crosses his arms and scowls. Omar turns to Jasper. “You think he’s gonna let us use his restroom… he seems angry.”

Jasper sucks in air causing his mouth to squeak. “You’d be angry too if everyone you met asked to use your bathroom. You’d probably think the world is full of shit.”

Omar looks down and frowns as his father’s simple logic checks out, and they continue to make their way to the counter, only slowing down when they meet Darryl’s judgmental-ass gaze, his eyes tracing them up and down, as if they were opposing players on a basketball team.

“What can I do you for?” says Darryl as he lowers his glasses revealing a pair of steely blue eyes. Jasper uncrosses his arms and speaks.

“Hey buddy, I was curious, do you mind if we use your restroom?”

Darryl looks down at the counter, scowling before pounding his hand off the counter and taking a few steps back. “Sorry boys, I ain’t got one.” He smiles a fuck you smile.

Jasper raises his eyebrows and leans forward, placing his hands on Darryl’s counter. “You mean to tell me you sit here out in the middle of nowhere without a damn restroom? What do you do when you have to go?” asks Jasper.

Darryl, appreciating the challenge, gives a curt nod. “Hold it. I’m good at holding things.” He pats his belly and delivers the line with a suggestive wink that does little to reassure the Watsons. Jasper takes a half-step back and sizes up Darryl.

“Yeah, I bet you’re good at holding things.” This time, Jasper’s the one who smiles a fuck-you-smile.

A tense silence stretches between the men, broken only by the ominous rumble emanating from Omar’s stomach. Both men whip their heads around to stare at Omar, knowing the gravity of the situation that can only come with this sound. Jasper speaks again.

“Alright, alright,” Jasper sighs. “What’s the price? How much to use your bathroom? My son’s gonna erupt like a Mount Vesuvius here.”

Darryl throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Now you’re speaking my language!” He slams his hands on the counter, causing the display rockets to wobble precariously.

“Well, you’re gonna need some serious firepower if he’s gonna blow up my bathroom. You’ll need some Sky Sizzlers, a couple of Boom-Boom Busters, a handful of Fizzle Fountains, and some Whizbang Whirlers.” He gestures grandly at the surrounding fireworks, like a king surveying his pyrotechnic kingdom.

Omar’s face twists as his stomach groans once more. He grabs his stomach with both arms and hunches forward, grunting. Darryl points at Omar and shakes his head.

“Come on now, did you really think I’m gonna let him mortar my toilet for free?” Darryl chides while his eyes trace the front pocket of Jasper’s shirt, noticing his fat wallet sticking out.

Jasper’s nostrils flare. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” he challenges. “Seems like the right thing to do.”

Darryl rolls his eyes and laughs to himself. “Right, wrong, fair, and unfair are all in the eyes of the beholder, muchacho,” he adds.

Jasper mutters, “fuckin’ bastard,” and turns away, massaging his chin. “… Pack em’ up and toss him the key.”

Darryl nods slow with a stupid smile plastered across his face.

“Pleasure doing business with yah.” He reaches down under the counter and produces a key, flinging it towards Omar with a flick of his wrist. “It’s right over there, behind the Bam-Bam Begones and the Extra Cheery Cheerios.”

Omar snatches the key, his head spinning from the bizarre firework names, and practically sprints towards the back, his desperate need overriding his confusion. Darryl licks his lips and turns his back to Jasper, as he steps behind a wall to grab the fireworks.

“Can’t believe y’all city slickers wanted to come in here and deface my toilet for free… don’t you know there’s a price to everything in this life old man.”

Jasper’s eyes narrow. “You’re damn right there is!” says Jasper as he slyly reaches over the counter, grabs a lighter, and slips it into his pocket.

Darryl bags up the fireworks, while Jasper’s eyes find a case of bottle rockets at the back of the store, and then looks down at his lighter.

“Oh… and what the hell, why don’t you add some bottle rockets too,” says Jasper, with a sly grin.

Darryl shakes his head. “Mmm. Mmm. Mmmmmm,” he hums. “I knew ya’ll couldn’t resist the power.” He waddles off, grabs the bottle rockets, and proceeds to check Jasper out, smiling the whole time.

Meanwhile, Omar rushes to the toilet and fumbles with the keys. After a few jangles, he cracks the door open and sees the best seat in the house, the king’s throne, and rushes in. There was no time for the let-me-make-sure-this-place-is-clean pleasure. This was all burrito business. He plops down on the seat, braces his hands against the stall walls, and begins to release. Unfortunately for Omar, after a few moments, he feels a strange, warm, wet sensation seep onto his legs. He leaps up, looks back, and spots it. Wet drops of fresh yellow piss, running down the toilet seat.

“DAMNIT!” Omar erupts and trips over his pants, falling forward and landing face-first on the cold tile floor. The commotion echoes throughout the store, fracturing the fragile truce. Darryl’s and Jasper’s heads snap towards the bathroom.

“Hey! What’s going on in there?!” Darryl bellows.

“You alright, O?” Jasper calls out at the same time.

The two men exchange a grimaced glance before cautiously approaching the bathroom door.

“Everything alright?” Jasper’s question hangs in the air. Then, a long, pregnant silence follows. After a tense moment, a muffled “Motherfucker!” comes screaming out from behind the door.

Darryl winces. “I gotta see what’s going on in there.”

He starts walking towards the door, but Jasper is quicker.

“No, I gotta see what’s going on in there… Bub.”

Darryl looks up as if he doesn’t believe what he just heard and starts pushing Jasper.

“Did you just Bub me?” says Darryl.

“Yeah, Bub. Whatcha gonna do about it? Charge me for more fireworks? Yah cheapskate.” says Jasper as he starts to push back. It was like two 5th-grade boys fighting for the back seat of the bus when, finally, they push each other so hard that they break down the door and fall into the bathroom. When they look up, they are hit with the senses.

First, there is the smell. A sharp smell that bites the nostrils and causes both Darryl and Jasper to pull their shirt over their nose. Then, it is the sight. The place looks like a brown-speckled Jackson Pollock painting, with shit sprayed all over the wall with wild imprecision. And finally, there’s the moan. Omar is face down on the ground, moaning, feeling lower than whale shit.

A whimper escapes Darryl’s throat, starting soft before escalating into a full-blown wail. “Oh noooooo… Oh nooooo! OH NOOOO! My… my… fucking bathroom!”

He looks around like a man surveying the ruins of his home after a tornado touched down. “What have you done?!” Darryl stands up and lunges at Jasper, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the wall with such force that a bar of soap falls into the sink. He takes a step back as his hands ball into a fist.

“We ain’t got no janitors here; I’m…I’M the one who’s gonna have to clean up all this shit!” Darryl bellows, causing Jasper’s eyes to widen.

Omar slowly picks himself up. “Sor…. Sorry!” says Omar, his voice never knew more shame.

“Sorry?! Sorry?! I’M THE ONE WHO’S SORRY!” Darryl releases Jasper and starts running his fingers through his scalp, while his eyes dance around the bathroom, surveying the destruction.

Then, out of nowhere, a sick smile grows on Darryl’s face, and he starts laughing to himself, sounding somewhere between a madman and a menace. He bends forward, his hands on his knees, as the laughs pour out harder now, husky and wet. Jasper and Omar make quick eye contact and unconsciously inch towards each other. After a moment, Darryl takes his sleeve and wipes the snot from his nose.

“No way… no way in HELL am I cleaning up all this shit.” says Darryl, getting ever more amused with himself. He looks up to face Omar and Jasper, then all at once, his face goes dead serious. “You are!” He demands as he starts pointing at them.

Jasper throws his hands up in exasperation as if he were pushing air. “Now, now, let’s not get hasty here,” he soothes, trying to reason with the increasingly volatile Darryl. “I’m a paying customer.”

“Oh really?” Darryl challenges while raising his eyebrows.

“What do you have to say about this, you dumb motherfucker.” With a flourish, he lifts his shirt, revealing a line of Roman candles strapped across his torso, each one primed and ready to ignite. Then he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a Zippo, and lights it. The flame dances in the tension.

“I’ll blow your ass to kingdom come if you two don’t start scrubbing like Cinderella.”

Darryl pulls out a Roman candle and twirls it in his hand like some sort of redneck ninja.

Jasper then throws his hands up, as if to shield himself, and backs into the sink until his butt touches the edge while Darryl homes in, one step at a time.

“Easy… easy.” says Jasper as if he were trying to tame a bucking horse.

Darryl jerks his head.

“YOU BE EASY. Now we’re gonna do this MY way,” Darryl barks. “Below the counter are some chemicals…I want you to open it SLOWLY and…”

HUP SQUISH Omar lunges forward and slams a plunger directly into Darryl’s ear. The unexpected attack sends Darryl reeling, falling into the stall, where he slips on water and lands face-first into the toilet, sending his Zippo clanking off the tile.

His feet kick wildly as he scrambles up, clutching at his head as toilet water starts to drip down his face. “What the FUCK!” says Darryl, his eyes wide with horror.

He brushes past Omar and Jasper, looks into the mirror, sees brown water running down his face, and gags. He then takes a forceful lunge at Omar. Instantly, Jasper leaps in front of Darryl, getting knocked back into Omar, but causes Darryl to slip once more and fall on his side.

“Let’s get out of here!” Screams Jasper. He runs forward, grabs Omar by his shoulders, and they fly out of the bathroom, while Darryl rolls, trying to get enough momentum to stand up.

Jasper turns to Omar. “Who taught you how to use a bathroom?”

“YOU!” screams Omar.

Jasper frowns. “Ahh shit.”

They make it about 10 – 15 feet when the whirl of a Roman candle comes screaming by. It flashes and flares right between the Watson men’s heads. They instantly duck, falling on the ground, covering their heads while more Roman candles fly overhead.

Omar turns to Jasper. “You just HAD to get that burrito?”

“Man, SHUT UP! …Whoa!” Jasper yells as another green flare rushes past their head and crashes into the back wall.

“Come back here, you fucker!” Darryl screams and starts lighting more Roman candles as his eyes widen with wild frenzy. PHEW…PHEW…PHEW… the Roman candles continue to scream on by and bounce off the wall. Omar and Jasper pick themselves up and race to a far aisle near the entrance to the store. When they arrive, their hands find their knees as they gasp for air.

“Dad! This guy’s going to blow us up!”

Jasper looks back to see Darryl chasing after them, weaving between aisles, and taking aim. Jasper wipes his forehead with his forearm.

“I know! He’s crazy, but I ain’t going out like a bitch!”

Jasper then stops mid-run, pulls the confiscated lighter out of his pocket, takes a bottle rocket, and fires one back. PHEW… POP!

It goes straight at Darryl’s head, causing him to retreat to the counter. When he gets there, he crouches and leans his back against the paneling as if this were a saloon in the Wild West. His chest rises and falls, and he cracks open an energy drink to steady his nerves. Jasper whips out and unboxes his bottle rockets, handing them to Omar.

“Make sure you hand me these. I’ll focus on aiming, you focus on managing ammo.”

Omar’s face melts. “Dad… no. What… what are you doing?”

Jasper turns curtly and makes sustained eye contact with Omar.

“Fighting back for the first time in my life.”

Omar involuntarily smiles. Jasper nods. “And man does it ever feel good.”

In the distance, the Watson men hear a rustling come from behind the counter.

“Listen, man, you two ain’t leaving here without cleaning!” says Darryl before he stands up and lights off a few more Roman candles, which fly by Omar and Jasper’s heads and bounce off the back wall. “That’s fucked up what you did in there. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” He adds.

“Fuck you, man!” Jasper sends a rocket screaming back. “You crazy bastard, cheapskate, lazy-ass motha-fucka!”

All of a sudden, they hear a deep laugh, almost like a madman, sailing from behind the counter.

“Yeah! Well, if you don’t do what I’m telling you to do, I’m fixing to turn you into the grand finale of my fireworks show! You think I give a fuck about this store?” Darryl sends a volley back to the Watson men, causing the store to rattle and shake. He continues. “You know what my ex-wife said about me?”

“Yeah you’re an asshole!” Jasper rifles.

Darryl laughs and slams his hand on the counter as he stands up. “No… she said I had an explosive personality.” He sends another wave of rockets, screaming towards the Watson men.

Jasper and Omar are pressed in behind the aisle, shoulders touching. And for a moment, they lock eyes, and a smile appears on their faces. They were having fun. True fun for the first time in decades. They look down towards their shoes, then up, taking in the atmosphere. Omar hands Jasper a rocket. He clears his throat and leans over his shoulder.

“Bitch, don’t lie, you ain’t never been married!” Jasper sends a firework screaming back. POP!

Darryl bellows a deep guttural sound, as his primal brain takes over.

“Oh yeah! You want to judge me? You think I don’t know how to love. Well then, get ready, I’ll introduce you to Cupid’s arrow!” Darryl roars.

Jasper and Omar hear rustling and the sharp crack of glass. Behind them, Darryl busted open the glass counter and pulled out an extra-large firework aptly named “Cupid’s Arrow.” It has a tacky image of Cupid with devil horns on his head, surrounded by a busty blond in a bikini. An image only the most firework faithful would love. Darryl laughs loud and slow.

“You know fellas, I was gonna save this one for my own personal show, but this seems like the right time for some LOVE!” Darryl yells.

Omar and Jasper look at each other and hear the sizzling of the fuse, tensing up in preparation for the explosion.

“Get ready, bitch!” Darryl screams, “’Cause HERE. IT. COMES!”

BOOM! A monumental firework goes off in the store and shatters the glass casing of all the surrounding fireworks. Mortars, whizzlers, and star-spangled stunners fall onto the floor and start rolling around on the ground. Jasper and Omar shield each other.

“This guy’s fuckin’ crazy!” yells Omar.

Jasper nods. “What gave you the first clue?”

Behind them, they hear loud thuds banging from the checkout counter.

“You think I’m messing around?! I’ll blow your ass up like your ass blew my toilet up!”

BOOM, another firework comes roaring by, bouncing off the walls, sending a thick billow of smoke in its wake. And then, to Omar’s horror, he notices something. A red spark flickers near the back wall where one of Darryl’s rockets had landed, dancing ever so close to cardboard packaging. The flame licks upward, as if it were tasting the cardboard, and appreciating the taste, decides to stick around.

“Dad…” Omar’s voice carries sharp and ragged, but Jasper is narrow-eyed, focused on Darryl. Omar tugs his shoulder, but Jasper knocks his hand off. By now, the flame has grown, gaining momentum, charring away the cardboard. Omar’s eyes bug out of his head.

“Dad!” Omar bellows into his father’s ear.

Jasper turns sharply.

“WHAT?”

Omar points his chin at the flame.

“LOOK!”

Just then, the flame finds a display of sparklers, and they catch instantly, hissing and spitting silver sparks, which only feed the fire. Then—

BOOM!

The fire sets off a few Comet’s Climaxes, and they howl throughout the store.

“Ahh fuck!” Jasper screams as he takes Omar’s head and covers it with his arms. In the back, Darryl lights another fuse as he digs in for his last stand.

Fizzle… whoosh! Another firework comes, this time closer to the Watson men.

“Dad… Dad… DAD!” Omar starts yanking Jasper’s shoulder. “We got to go… we got to go!”

But Jasper brushes Omar off once more, too focused on the fight, as he sets Darryl in his sights. But right as Jasper lights the fuse, Omar knocks the bottle rocket out of Jasper’s hands, and it explodes right beneath their feet. They both jump.

“Omar! What the hell are you doing?”

Omar shakes his head and grabs Jasper’s shirt.

“Dad! Now! We’ve got to go!” Omar screams and yanks Jasper’s shirt so hard it nearly rips from his torso.

“You think that’s all I got! I’m just getting started muchacho, get ready for this!” says Darryl.

The Watson men hear another fuse light, as the fire grows around them. It sounds like a low, angry rumble that echoes throughout the fireworks store, causing Omar’s teeth to vibrate.

“Dad, look!” Omar points.

Jasper finally turns. His eyes widen. The fire has consumed an entire corner of the shop. Flames start to char the ceiling black, and a shelf of Roman candles begins to glow red.

“Shit,” Jasper breathes, “Just one more shot.”

Omar glances back at Jasper, who is already halfway out of the aisle, with a new bottle rocket taking aim at the enemy ahead. Omar’s eyes are wide and wild with a manic glee as he sees the box of Roman candles ignite. He runs out of the aisle and tackles Jasper.

“Let go of me Omar! I’m gonna send this giant back to his beanstalk!” Jasper cuts.

But at that moment, the world went red. Not the cherry red of a safety fuse, but a deeper, angrier crimson, from the box of Roman candles.

BOOM!

The balls shot out from the box like a shotgun and spread all over the store. Omar notices one ember land behind Darryl and set fire to the counter. Then all at once, a loud pulse was felt through the smoke, and the counter glowed bright orange through the cracks like it was a portal to hell.

Omar watches in horror as the flames race beneath the counter, feeding on boxes and boxes of fireworks, Darryl had in his stockpile. The heat intensifies. The air shimmers. And a chorus of high-pitched whistles begins—one firework’s fuse catching, then another, then a dozen all at once.

Omar squeezes his eyes shut, picturing the fiery aftermath of misplaced anger. But they soon snap open as a loud explosion rings out, now just five feet away from them. Omar looks up from his father to the exit and can see the flame working its way towards the door.

“Now, Dad, now!” Omar grabs Jasper and physically pulls him out of the store; all the while, Jasper hops on one leg, struggling to get one last shot off.

“Stop shooting, stop shooting! The store’s going to blow!” Omar yells into Jasper’s ear. They make eye contact, and Omar motions to a case of mortars next to a burning fire. The color instantly drains from Jasper’s face.

“Shit!” Jasper yells.

They kick the door open, and smoke pours out, followed by another firework shot from Darryl, and they make a beeline straight for their car. When they arrive, Omar practically knocks the door off its hinges, and they hop in, covering their ears. But what Omar hears isn’t a loud boom. It is a strange silence that suffocates the air. A pregnant pause stretches on for what feels like an eternity, punctuated only by the ragged gasps of his own breath. Then—a crack. Not the sharp crack of a firework, but something deeper. Structural. The sound of the building itself beginning to fail.

“Get down!” Jasper yells.

Another crack, louder this time, and the front of the store bulges outward, as the walls strain like a balloon about to burst.

“Oh FUCK!” Darryl screams and runs out of the store. It may have been the fastest he has ever moved in his life.

Shortly after, the windows shatter, sending glass exploding outward in a glittering wave. Then the roof lifts—actually lifts—rising a full foot before slamming back down.

Omar peeks through his fingers. The floorboards beneath his feet seem to ripple like someone tossed a stone into a pond that kicked up waves, and the air outside the car grew thick and hot, smelling not of gunpowder but of singed hair and something sickly sweet, like burnt cotton candy.

And then the big one happens.

BOOM!

The sound roars like an elephant’s ass being split in two.

Omar throws himself back, burying his head under his arm just as a blinding white light fills the world in an instant.

It wasn’t the gentle glow of a sparkler or the fleeting brilliance of a bottle rocket. This was a supernova in a shoebox, 4th of July everywhere in the world, all at once. The heat slams into Omar like a freight train, momentarily stealing his breath. He squeezes his eyes tighter, gritting his teeth against the deafening roar that seemed to vibrate through his very bones. Sparks of color illuminate his closed eyelids.

When the light finally fades, Omar finds himself staring at a scene straight out of a fever dream. The store was gone, replaced by a smoldering crater ringed by twisted metal and broken bricks. Smoke billows into the sky, carrying with it the fading embers of a thousand explosions. And Darryl is on his knees, throwing his hands to the heavens above, begging for mercy. His baby gone in an instant. Jasper and Omar are frozen with disbelief when, finally, Jasper breaks.

“Damn! Now that’s a firework show,” Jasper says, laughing.

Omar starts laughing too, out of pure shock.

“What a crazy fucker… who lights fireworks in their own store?” Jasper gasps between bursts of laughter.

“What the fuck?” Omar wheezes, struggling to catch his breath. He looks over at Jasper and feels their bond strengthen and harden like iron. They had just shared the deepest kind of connection two people can have: bonding through chaos. The kind forged only by shared trauma.

“I love you, man,” Jasper says, turning toward Omar across the car. “I really do.”

But something in the back seat catches the corner of his eye. The suitcase. That damn suitcase. Jasper’s hands tremble slightly as he stares at it, his mind locking up at the sight. He glances back at Omar, who is still laughing and ducking as the last fireworks go off, then his eyes drift back to the suitcase like it’s a black hole. His throat tightens. Slowly, Jasper’s smile fades as tears begin to gather.

Omar ducks as another round of explosions erupts. He lifts his head again, just peeking over the window. “I love you too,” he says in rushed breaths. “Shit!”

A large firework kicks up bricks and sends them flying. One bounces off the rear bumper with a sharp CRACK. Suddenly, Omar starts hyperventilating.

“We… we gotta go… We gotta go!” he screams.

But the car doesn’t move. Jasper is still staring at the suitcase, with a single tear tracing down his cheek. Omar whips his head around from the store to look at him. “Dad? Dad!” His voice cracks. He starts shaking Jasper. “What… what are you doing? We gotta go!”

BOOM. More fireworks pop off.

Jasper remains frozen, jaw slack, eyes fixed on the suitcase. Omar shakes him again.

Jasper finally glances over and sees not the man beside him, but the boy he once had. A lifetime of regrets, missed moments, and what-ifs floods his mind. The brush with oblivion had ripped the curtain back, revealing the fragile, irreplaceable nature of time. It had fully dawned on him—really, truly dawned on him in a way it never had before—that there wouldn’t be many more memories left to create. That this might be one of the last times he and Omar would laugh together like this. That the suitcase behind him held not just letters, but a countdown.

It was sudden. It was devastating. It was permanent.

“Sorry,” Jasper says, shaking his head and snapping back into focus. He grips the wheel.

He starts the car, the engine roaring to life, but it still doesn’t move. Instead, he clutches the steering wheel with short, ragged breaths. In his peripheral vision, Omar blurs in and out. Jasper grips the wheel tighter and starts coughing.

“Dad. Dad! DAD!” Omar yells. “What are you doing? We have to go! We’re gonna get arrested if we stay here!”

Tears blur the road ahead. Jasper takes one last look at Omar, then stares down at his own hands, turning them slowly, wondering how much longer he will have these tools.

“I just want to live,” he whispers, his voice choking. “I’m such a bad father.”

Omar lurches back in his seat as if the words had sucker-punched him. He has never heard his father sound like this—broken, defeated, scared.

And suddenly, everything clicks into place.

The letters. The road trip. The urgency. The way Jasper keeps looking at him like he’s memorizing his face.

This isn’t just a road trip.

This is his goodbye.

BOOM. Another firework explodes.

Omar’s vision blurs, and his chest tightens. All this time, he had been obsessing over his job, his schedule, his life. But his father—his father had been counting down. Every mile, every moment, every laugh. Counting down to the end.

The weight crashes over him. He grabs the side of his head as a single tear slips down his cheek. He glances once at the suitcase, shakes it off, and turns back to his father.

“It’s okay, let’s go! Let’s go!” Omar screams. “Now! He’s gonna call the cops!”

But his voice cracks. Because it wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. His father was dying. They were running out of time, and Omar had wasted so much of it being angry and afraid.

Jasper wipes his nose with his sleeve and takes one last look at his son. Then, all at once, he throws the car into drive and pulls back onto the road, one thought echoing in his mind:

Memories. How fleeting.

 

Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think! I know I shared this chapter a bunch, but I like it- changed the ending, added a bunch of details. Honestly, I’m doing one last reread of my book, but it will be out within 2 weeks. I hate asking, but I am asking for your support! If you like my writing, I would be honored if you bought a copy of the book, and left a good review. If I ever make it to the top, i’ll take as many of you with me! God bless!