The End Is Here

The whole kitchen smelled of gasoline. Nico was bent over the sink. A jerry can of gasoline sat on the floor. Nico’s brother, Misha, tore up cotton shirts into thin strips. They didn’t know what was coming, but they would be ready.

The process started the night before. Both Nico and Misha, after a few pulls from the bottle, took to the streets. They scoured the dumpsters in the alley looking for bottles. Wine bottles, soda bottles, liquor bottles — anything glass. Jars were on the table, too, although not as ideal. Nico was younger, just finishing secondary school. Misha was older, working as a baker. They weren’t doing their jobs these days, though. 

As the brothers picked through the dumpsters, ripping open black plastic bags full of food, waste, and detritus, they snatched anything glass. They placed the glass in a wheelbarrow. They knew the previous owner wouldn’t miss it all that much. The building they found the wheelbarrow in was missing half of its walls. 

From there, they ferried the glass back up to their apartment where the assembly line began. Misha was in charge of creating wicks. Nico was tasked with filling the bottles with petrol. Misha went into his bedroom and grabbed anything cotton. The same hands used to knead dough were now assigned to tearing t-shirts, towels, and underwear. He laid each strip of fabric in a pile. 

In the kitchen, Nico filled glass bottles as fast as he could. He used a siphon, creating suction by pulling the gasoline through a tube with his mouth. He inhaled some fumes. It was a small price to pay for freedom. 

Once everything was ready, the brothers came together in the kitchen and stuffed the bottles with the wicks. The explosions became louder. Dust started falling from the corners of the ceiling. They were ready.