WPCA - Explosions

It's ten PM. The sky's dark; pissing rain. My trenchcoat is soaked, my fedora along with it. The streets are turned slanted under the streetlights. It's twisted how the world changes in the dark.

I hear footsteps and turn. A guy walks up on me, says, "Gotta light?" I rustle my hand through my pocket before coming up with this tarnished silver thing. He flips the top and rubs his thumb along the igniter. A spark blooms into flame and he puts his coffin nail up close, inhaling to pull the small flame into it.

It puffs up good and orange in the dark. He hands it back, smiling and saying, "Thanks."

That was when the sky blossomed down in the bay area, turning from a molded over fuzzy black to a halo of yellow, orange and white. Lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. I can see the fires from here, hear the boom of the explosion, and watch the hazy smoke floating up only to hover as if the rain is pushing it back down to the ground.

"Holy shit!" the guy next to me exclaims. "What in God's name was that?"

I shrug, pulling out my cell and plying my fingers to the buttons. A moment later and its up against my ear and I'm hearing this voice like satin, smooth and delicious; could've sworn it was expensive sweets like chocolate how silky and rich that tone was. Except that even though this is like the voice of heaven, the words coming from that sweet sounding voice are all about something downright wrong.

I hang up. I got my orders. I smile to the guy next to me, tip my hat, and wander off toward the bay area. I don't look to see if he's following me. If he is, he'll find himself with a bullet straight through his eyes so fast he wouldn't even know he's dead for the next five minutes.

My black dress shoes slosh through the puddles as I cross over pools of collected rainwater. The bay area isn't too far off, and now I can hear fire engines wailing in tune to the roar of the now nearby fire.