“Sinking slowly into the sticky, choking blackness, Fred considered his life and was filled with regret,” Marcus narrated in his best movie trailer voice.
“Marcus, please. For once, can we not do the narrator thing?”
“Fred pled for peace to God, to anyone that would listen, really, but his prayers fell upon deaf ears.”
“Marcus, we are about to die.”
“Fred solemnly contemplated his own mortality, and, announcing his inevitable death out loud, understood his fate.”
Fred sighed. “Dude, I understand this is like your ‘thing’ or whatever, but we’ve been locked inside a tar burner. We’re going to suffocate in here. Can you just, for once, stop this narration crap?”
Marcus frowned and squinted. “I can’t really work with that, buddy. Can you say that another way?”
“No. No, no, no.”
A mischievous smile ran across Marcus’ face. “Fred had already begun grieving for himself. He was now in the stage of denial.”
Fred closed his eyes, trying to ignore Marcus.
“Fred contemplated how life may have been different if he hadn’t stolen Marcus’ girlfriend back in seventh grade.”
“Fred began to wonder if any of this was real, or if it was just a cruel joke perpetrated by an uncaring God.”
“That was seventeen years ago, you asshole.” Fred began pounding on the roof of the tar burner.
“Fred finally realized he could not outrun his past but, still desperate to escape, pounded futilely on the walls of his iron coffin.”
Fred began wheezing. His vision began to go black. This was it. “I fucking hate… you, man. It’s…. your fault…. we’re here.”
Marcus, apparently less affected by the fumes, continued his act. “Reluctant to accept responsibility as always, Fred blamed his problems on unseen forces.“
“Suck… my… dick,.. dude.” Fred fell against the wall of the burner, taking his final breaths.
“With his last words, Fred confessed to Marcus, his best friend, what Marcus had known all along: Fred was gay, and had been in love with Marcus for a number of years.”
With great effort, Fred raised a middle finger at Marcus, then collapsed dead.