Back in his small apartment, window now closed, Nahesa lay with his feet crossed on a worn blue couch. Something he found at a second-hand store and stuffed into his home when he’d only just moved to America, just to make the space seem less bare and uncomfortable. Atop his chest, a bowl of neon orange “cheese” tortilla chips sat on his chest, balanced by how still he remained and how flat- table like- his sternum was was. In front of him, casting blue-ish light over his otherwise dim room, was a television set. The smooth voice of a newsman filled the room, only interrupted by the occasional crunch of chips between Nahesa’s teeth. He watched with half-lidded eyes as a handsome man with a cold-reddened nose counted down the minutes until New Years, a crowd behind him cheering all the while.
If only they knew the kind of surprise would usher in 2021.
Nahesa had his orange dust coated chips resting on his chest, eating them awfully slowly, in wait for celebration of the fruits of his labors. Who doesn’t love having feel-good snacks on their favorite holiday? Boring and sad people, that’s who.
Within only a couple minute- if that- the bright smile of the newsman dropped to something much more grim. 11:58. What a shame, they were so close to the ball dropping. His eyes grew wide with fear and shock, with a stutter in his voice he let his audience know that an emergency beckoned for the public’s attention even more so than this grand celebration. The screen went lifeless for a moment- showing the logo for the news station with no audio.
Nahesa sat up on his couch, crossing his legs and placing his bowl of corn chips in his lap. He began hungrily munching on his food, as if in nervous anticipation. His eyes were wide, excited and anxious. Once the television showed a live video once again, it was directed right at the wondrous sight Nahesa had been hoping to see.
Firefighters surrounding the billboard, dousing it in water and diminishing the ravenous flames that’d already devoured the image that used to be. The only fraction of the awful man who used to be on that piece of propaganda was his neck and the collar of his suit, blackened with ash. He was rendered headless by the fire. What a wonderful result.
The only detail that came to Nahesa’s disappointment was that the fires hadn’t burned away the words of the headless politician. “Steven Carlyle, promising the return of American Pride.” Nahesa couldn’t help but grimace just reading those words again. Such an awful man trying to sugar-coat his ideations with vague words of encouragement. As a man born and raised in Egypt, one of the many countries this man sought to alienate, Nahesa detested him down to his core.
He detested many groups that he didn’t factor into his fantasy of the American people. One of those included another subcategory Nahesa fell into, not the one represented by the color of his skin or his hometown.
Disregarding his mild disappointment and returning to the immense pride of an otherwise job well done, Nahesa looked to the label of this news event. “SOCIAL EXTREMIST AND ARSONIST STRIKES AGAIN” Perfect. Nahesa checked the subtitle. “An act of rebellion or senseless violence?” Most of them know the answer to such a question. Each of Nahesa’s fires were unnaturally well contained-- never spreading to nearby populated buildings. Never touching the flesh of those who weren’t guilty.
After the fire was completely out and only the plumes of smoke remained, the screen cut away to the busy streets below. A microphone was being forced into the face of a policeman, asking what should be done of this fire-starting menace. If they have any leads. Why this person hasn’t been caught long before now. All of his answers were a desperate scramble to retain the dignity of local law enforcement; he had no real answers.
That was as much as Nahesa needed to see. They hadn’t captured footage of his hooded figure leaving the scene of the crime this time around, he had little to nothing to worry about. This stunt, one of his favorites he’d committed, was a blatant success. He lifted the remote in his hand and clicked his TV off, thereafter rising off his couch with a warm smile followed by the stretching of his arms.
In the days prior to this, the intensive planning of this event had him racked with anxiety. So much could have gone wrong, and yet luck seemed to be on his side. Or perhaps his own experience and skill was on his side-- he loved to indulge such a thought.
No matter the case, this success was cause for celebration. Nahesa wandered into his studio apartment kitchen with his now empty bowl in hand. He dropped it in his sink, ran his orange-stained fingers under the water for a moment, and began to scour his cabinets for a worthy feast. All the while he did this, a certain comfort and sense of relief washed over him. He was no longer anxious that authorities may be searching for him; he was safe. He allowed himself to truly relax each of his muscles, slouch his shoulders, let his pupils come back down from wide, excited black orbs. Becoming smaller as they adjusted to the light and his calm nature. Thinning, growing narrower until they were left slitted.
Nahesa turned to his refrigerator, pointed ears perking with interest, the perfect idea of what to feast on coming to mind. As he slammed the cupboard shut and swiveled on his heel, a long tail swayed behind him and draped lazily against the tile floor. It was a dark, soot black color with the anatomical makeup of a reptile’s tail, only coated in a layer of thin, soft feathers mistakable for fur.
The refrigerator door swung open and released with it a wave of cool air. Inside, the household appliance was particularly bare. A box of soda, milk, various sauces lining the doors, a few scattered take-out boxes. One clearly Chinese, another from a local Middle Eastern restaurant down the street as noted by the Arabic labeling- something that reminded him of home- and finally… The food he sought out. The holy grail of celebration snacks, the king above all other kings.
Day old McDonalds. With excited ruby eyes, Nahesa reached into the back of the fridge and clutched the box with hands bearing black claws. “Thank God I took this home,” he murmured to himself. Just two days before, Nahesa had chosen to double his meal at the chain restaurant after having taken into account his budget and the prices of the food here. Cheaply made, heartburn-inducing, but good nevertheless. Very good, in all honesty.
The fridge door sealed shut after the shiny cardboard package was in his hand. He set it down on his kitchen counter beside the sink, then reaching for the cupboard directly above it. He pushed the wooden doors open and his red eyes analyzed the content, brows furrowing and the fringe of thin feathers above them following suit. He pushed aside a tin of coffee, a box of sugar and a sack of flour, eventually found a stack of paper plates and red plastic cups. He pulled one of each out, scraping the feathers along his elbow against the wood and hissing with pain.
He did that particularly often. Never enjoyed it when he did, pulling at those patches of fur-like tufts felt no better than yanking hair. The woes of a dragon crossbreed are an unbearable bunch. Truly.
Now-- the final item to Nahesa’s fine dining. He pulled out a box of tea, nearly half empty by now, and slipped out a single packet before replacing the box. The label read in Arabic; “Dried Lime Tea.” Another item from a local middle eastern market, this one especially reminded him of home given how much he drank it in his youth. Its tart bite and bitter flavor was nothing but soothing to him, a conduit to childhood memories of sitting in bed with a book and a warm mug.
Thankfully, arranging each of these items and getting set to be carried back to the living room only took a matter of minutes. He heated his water in the microwave, heated his food in the microwave, grabbed leftover fast food napkins from a drawer, added a splash of sauce on his plate beside a healthy mound of chicken nuggets.
The only real drawback Nahesa could think of was the way fries got flimsy and chewy after he nuked ‘em, but no matter the case they were still edible.
Tail swaying behind him and smile dawned upon his face, the dragon crossbreed made his way back to his living room, set his steaming food on the coffee table, and plopped onto his couch. He practically sank into it, muscles melting as they made contact with fluffy, blue velvet coated cushions. He let out a long sigh, pawed at his couch until he found the remote beneath his palm. He flipped his TV onto something easier to swallow, that being the history and documentary channel, and proceeded to his snack.
Today proved a job well done. Tomorrow would welcome the dawn of a new year, and thus the ignition of his resolutions. The New Years aspirations of a pyromancy-wielding anarchist could be nothing short of ambitious.
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