The heart of a man is conniving.

What you're about to hear is based on actual events.

Listen to their discretion is advised.

The petrol station is all but empty.

Save a slumbering transport truck.

As Jean-Claude kneels to fill his old red fuel jugs.

He twists the yellow caps off, flinching as the silk of a long dead spider latches to his hand.

The doctor considers it, thinking that perhaps here's an omen of the web collapsing around him,

and absently rolls into a ball once the nozzle is in, and the pump kicks on.

It is bitter cold, but he can't deny feeling the first warm fingers of a growing fire out there in the deep January air.

Beyond all that is crisp, clean, white.

There is something orange and ugly eating up the rot beneath the trees.

The fire to come.

The big one that will consume everything.

All of the world.

Gasoline slashes and the raw chemical stench of it brings tears to his eyes.

Something that's been happening a lot lately.

Though there is nothing to be upset about.

He is a success story, a well respected and well healed member of high society.

His wife is beautiful.

His children are beautiful.

Hell, even as mistress is beautiful.

...