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Simmer

When you leave a stove on simmer for too long, slowly, slowly, the gas slinks into the room, staying low to the ground, slinking into the air, whipping around your legs, never tangible, never there.

And at the wisp of smoke, a strike of a match, it happens. In the split of a second, a blink of an eye.

An explosion, all at once, a single sonic boom, a flash of red. Debris slicing through skin, flesh, bone. Air moving so quickly, it sucks right out of your lungs, the pressure ripping you to shreds.

Devastating.

This is what you must be: a stovetop on simmer. Let them keep you on low, don’t try to flare, keep simmering, quietly boiling. In the end, you’ll get them.

Slink into the ground, hands in your lap, head down, yes sir, no ma’am.

And when they turn their back on you, you’ll simmer, simmer, simmer, until you’ve exploded. A flash of red. A single sonic blast.

Rip them to shreds.

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Photo by Stephen Radford on Unsplash

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