By Definition, A Crush Must Hurt 7

"...if they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire..."
- Milton Waddams, Office Space

September 23rd 2025 Perth, Highgate – Ophelia Lang’s Resident – 3:00am

Tarquin breaths, the thick rain pelted on his back, his body like a dog’s, his hands burn, everything burns. He puts his hand on his stomach; it itches to the point of pain. His brings his oily fingers to his eye; it’s dark, black even. “Tarquin!” she yells, through the sound of the fire and rain. “Tarquin!” her hands grab him pushing him off balance, she yells at him, ordering him, Tarquin wonders who she is. Tarquin is so tired; he’s been through a lot. Things you haven’t seen yet. Soon Tarquin will stop feeling the heat of the fire and the cold of the thick rain. He will die. “Tarquin! Somebody! Please! Fuck you Tarquin you can’t...” He can see her. She is crying, she touches him and screams at him, he can no longer hear her words, she lingers then fades. He is dead. She still screams but no one comes.

July 3rd 2025 – Gin Gin – Pine plantation – 3:00am


The flames rose high, nearly reaching the crown of the tall pines. Tarquin stands, a bottle of cheap whiskey in hand, the heat irradiating the thick darkness of the pine plantation. He takes a swig and feels something in his pocket; a photo; the one from Ozzie’s house. Tarquin pulls it out, and has a mouthful as he stares into the frame. Ozzie seemed different than what he remembered growing up; the smarmy mommy’s boy grin had frayed, heavy, sad. The woman looking at the photo, red haired, smiling. “You were the last person to be with Ozric” he whispered to the girl in the photo with the fiery hair. Throwing the bottle into the dying fire Tarquin got back into the car “What do we do now?” she asked, starting the old Chrysler.

To be continued...