Interzone B.

1. Water Tower

At the foot of the empty water tower there is a man riddled by the breeze.  His face is a film of skin.  He holds a cigarette to the sky - a torch.  Acid rain melts the city in the distance which is exactly what acid rain should do.  The roar of a minotaur quakes the boroughs.  Good-by Chrysler.  Good-by villagers.  Good-by Empire State Everything.

Later the man weeps on a thin sofa.  The floor to ceiling windows gained cascading veins in the wake of the noise.  He closes his hands in the air and gesticulates towards nothing.  The shrill sizzle of destruction has rendered everyone totally deaf.

The man's answering machine is squelching with worry.  He heads to the foot of the water tower.

The roof of his building is littered with its tenants.  He surveys the puddle that was an island only an hour before.  The roofs of all the surrounding buildings are also packed with people.  They are screaming.

The man is screaming.

The clouds turn from the chaos and retract into the air.  Unveiled stars lend sheen to the molten lump in the distance.

2. The Other Side - A Crisis of Intention

He walks towards the intersection.  They approach from the west side, unaware.  He is clothed darkly with a smattering of tattoos.  They swing their linked knuckled hands.  He arrives and waits at the intersection, fingering a blade in his pocket.  He eyes the young couple as they cross to the opposite sidewalk.  He hears a low whistle at his inky back.  He turns and wordlessly plunges the knife into the whistler's open mouth.  He makes a clean slit from lip to groin to the sound of disjointed flesh and gurgling fluids.  Two sparrows emerge from the abdomen as the cadaver slaps the pavement.  They perch on an awning.  He continues north.