But I suppose it was my own fear of the cosmic balance that drove me to pull Johnny off of Dave/Dale and stifle his deafening onslaught. I knew, deep down, that Fire-Crotch didn’t actually deserve what was happening. In spite of every desire in the pit of my stomach to watch Johnny’s proliferation of drug-induced, romantic violence, I knew that Dave/Dale definitely didn’t deserve to die for me. He certainly didn’t deserve for all of Miami and southern Florida to watch it happen. And so, I used every ounce of befuddled strength I had within me to rip the rippling monster off of him, and turned all of his rage and instability back onto me.
The fists flew toward my flinching face, and in that instant, I accepted divine punishment for my wickedness and lust. In that instant, I almost wanted to die for Fire-Crotch because I knew that the pain I would feel was nothing in comparison to the affliction I had caused on the destitute man. Despite his incessant and petulant rantings and idiotic ideologies, Dave/Dale had a fragile heart that I had just obliterated in one swift motion, as well as a fragile skull that my new beau had also razed. It may very well have been Karma that just bitch-slapped Fire-Crotch, but if Karma had any sense of morality at all I would have been next.
But to my amazement, there was no contact. There was no pain. There was no blacking-out or fading in and out of consciousness.
I was still alive.
I opened my eyes to see Johnny’s knuckles mere inches away from me. He had stopped himself, mid-punch, from laying a hand on me, and I witnessed the demons within him resolving their twisted fury. It was a sight to behold: myself on the ground, slowly sinking into a world of rough quicksand while a beast of a man towered over me, covered in the blood of his adversary. The whole world was silent, yet again, until a mass explosion caught the attention of everyone. Off in the distance, green and red sparks flew in radical symphony, painting the stars with embroidered fire. The eyes of everyone around us had moved toward the light and only Johnny and I were left still staring at each other.
He just stood there, his fist never moving, still two inches away from sending my nose spiraling into my frontal lobe. The curious, rolling sea of onlookers had now channeled their combined interests in the direction of the fireworks, no longer engrossed in our gory conflict. Their resounding applause broke us from our trance, and we were deer in each other’s headlights no more. Johnny’s pursed lips uncurled, and formed that perfect smile. The lights came back on in his eyes and his fingers slowly unformed, reaching out for me to grab ahold of them. Our hands connected, and he pulled me back up onto my feet.