John Terret thanked the maker that his air conditioner was working.  He hated being stuck in traffic with out air conditioning.  John shifted himself on the driver seat of his car.  He really couldn't believe how stupid he was.  Every year Skippack throws this damn thing and every year he manages to get caught in 73's Traffic.  You would think after living in this area for 30 years, he would know better.  All he wanted to do today was make a run to the acme and get a few things and now he is stuck in his Maroon '86 Buick Skylark. 
    No one was moving.  It has never been this bad.  His air conditioning may work, but his damn radio has been out for the last two months.  John sighed and began to look around.  Nothing interesting look at, just people.  He took notice of one of the shops to his right.  Up Wyth Art.  "What a fucking stupid name," he thought, "I'll show you what's up with art, it's a fucking waste of money!"
    John then looked forward, the car in front of him, a red Mitsubishi convertible, still hadn't moved!  The knuckles of his hands on the wheel went white as his grip tightened.  He hated foreign cars.  No wonder the fucking economy is to shit.  "BUY AMERICAN ASSHOLE AND MOVE!" screamed John, releasing his quickly penting up anger. The only response he got from the young dark haired man ahead of him was a single raised finger.  And then an echo of beeps.
    Suddenly John saw what was keeping him.  There were sirens coming toward him.  Slowly cause of the damn traffic.  This caused John to take another look at his surroundings…  A fire!  A column of dark gray smoke came from the Trolley Stop area up ahead.  As he noticed this, the first fire truck pulled up and into the parking lot of the closed restaurant.
    A roar of screams sounded through his door.  With out warning the Fire Truck exploded.  Debris rocketed into the air and a yellow fireman's helmet landed and broke his front wind shield!  "Fuck!"
    John jumped out of his car and was nearly knocked over by the crowd of people running.  After gaining handful of new bruises, John was able to walk forward and get a better look at what the fuck was going on up there.  Stepping around burning pieces of god knows what and through the many abandoned cars, he approached the remains of the Fire Truck.  What he saw nearly caused him to double right over.  There was another fire truck and its front was melted and charred so bad you couldn't barely recognize it.  Laying on the ground was the toasted remains of a fireman.  Standing next to the corpse was another corpse, except this one was still standing and was on fire.  Cowering before this burning corpse was yet another fire man screaming, "I don't know what the hell you are talking about, leave me ALONE!"
    John couldn't understand how a burning corpse was moving and how it was communicating with the man cowering before him.  It all seemed like a dream to him.
    The Burnt One turned towards him suddenly and he noticed something.  Attached around his head in some odd fashion was a medallion of some sort.  He couldn't get a good look at it cause the flames flickering around The Burnt One made his details unnoticeable, but John felt a strange pull towards this item.  He wanted it.
    "YOU WANT IT?" screamed some hoarse voice in his head drowning out all thought.  Finally John was scared.  "DO YOU WANT THIS?"
    John fell forward, on his knees.  How was it in his head?  "Wha-wha-what…"
    "THIS!" screamed this voice in his head as The Burnt One pointed to his head, to the medallion.
    That was John's cue.  He got back on his feet and ran, ran towards his car and that damn Mitsubishi.  He didn't look back but as he approached it. He heard a roaring sound coming from behind him and suddenly a fireball hit the Mitsubishi and it exploded.
    John felt himself dying.  It seems unlikely that he would survive having an engine fan in his gut.  A smile, small but still noticeable sprawled across John's blackened bloodied face.  "Don't buy Foreign, prick."