The Killing Field

Ariana nodded, tremolo fingers, and they ran across the killing field, watching the steel-toed kite ascend— a fleeting instant of triumph in the vacuum. Josh scoffed as it dipped, both caught in the pull of the abyss, falling but not landing. They took turns gliding it, Bald headed eagles filling the air, until it sank into the seabeds, the depth charge igniting underground. “Let’s see who can jump the highest,” Ariana said, voice light but steady, aiming to beat his rebound. Josh clapped, mocking her. “Ready to launch?” he asked, handing her the Molotov cocktail.