In the Pits.

It has been a while since I've written straight fiction. And I'm not super happy with this result. I'm obviously a bit rusty.
But it's a start, and hopefully it gets better than this.
If I'm not happy with it then why did I post it? Here's why:
Sometimes, when people need motivation to lose weight or get fit, they post an unattractive picture of themselves (usually nude or in underwear) online where people might stumble across it. And they don't take it down until they have reached the results that they intended to reach. Then, once they have the desired results, they post a new picture. And it's something they are not ashamed of.

Hence, this story (and most likely some of the subsequent ones) are like a frumpy picture of me in underwear. I'm not proud of them, but they're an impetus for me to get better.

Judge away. I know I am.
-CmP
+++++++++++++

It wasn’t my idea to burn down the cannery. It was MacCool’s.

No one really knew much about MacCool. I wasn’t even sure if MacCool was his real name. He’d been working at the cannery for a little over a year, but no one can remember him actually being hired. He had just appeared on the floor one day and started running the can sealer. He never arrived on time and always seemed to leave early.

He never ate lunch during our lunch break, but used the time to read. He read every book upside down and from back to front. And he never had the same book two days in a row. Some of us had a theory that he couldn’t really read, but when I engaged him about what he was reading, he offered proof to the contrary.

MacCool had a tendency to rub his eyes with the backs of his hands when he talked, giving the impression that he was either always tired or that he always had something in his eye. His voice was deep but quiet, which made him hard to hear over the hum of the canning machines.

Maybe that was why no one reacted the first time he suggested setting the building on fire. But he repeated the idea. And eventually we heard it. And, funny enough, we agreed to it. Which isn’t too hard to understand, since no one can scoop peach pits for eight hours every day without getting a little frustrated. Our wages didn’t make the monotony any easier to take. And as far as benefits go, three jars of syrupy peaches hardly cut it. So we were fed up with the cannery. And, as crazy as it might sound, were all to ready to see the place burn to the ground.

Sure, there were a few of us who dissented. A few voices that suggested a strike. They suggested forming a union. They suggested making signs with catchy slogans like “Cheap Labor is the PITS!” and “Life’s a PEACH and then we die!”. But we talked them out of it by raising the point that a picket line is not much better than halving peaches. Besides, a fire would serve as a catalyst to change our lives. The catharsis of flames would hopefully be enough to propel us forward and on to better things.

We didn’t really know how we would do it, or when, but MacCool seemed confident in our ability to pull it off. He wanted to do it as soon as possible, since our jobs weren’t likely to get better any time soon. We decided on that night, reasoning that our feet would only grow cold if we waited. MacCool said he’d bring all of the necessary materials and that we would only need to show up at the cannery after midnight.


I arrived around twelve thirty. Several others arrived with me. Most of the guys from the cannery weren’t there. MacCool was already there, dressed in black denim and leaning against the wall near the loading dock. The cannery was old. And its security measures hadn’t been updated since its construction, the argument being that there wasn’t much to steal from a building that canned peaches. The reasoning had held water until tonight. Since there were no lights to illuminate our activity, we approached MacCool without hesitation.

On the ground next to MacCool was an old, leather valise. As we neared, he knelt down and unclasped the top of the valise. He reached inside and drew out several wine bottles. Each of the bottles was three-quarters full and their necks were stuffed with cloth. The pungent smell of gasoline assailed our nostrils. Next, MacCool pulled out a crow bar. He looked up at each of us and, rubbing his eyes, said with a grin: “Welp, y’all ready for this?”

His quiet voice cut through the silence and put us all on edge. We nervously murmured our assent. He handed each of us a bottle and kept one for himself. He rose to his feet and asked, “Do y’all grasp the idea behind using one of these?”

Our silence answered the question.

MacCool sighed, “It’s pretty straightforward. Once the rag is lit, you throw the darn thing as far from yourself as possible. Ideally you’ll throw the bottle at yer target. And, ideally, it’ll hit that target and start on fire. Easy enough?”

We once again offered our subdued agreement. MacCool then extracted a crowbar from the valise and moved to a nearby window. He pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and wrapped it around the end of the crowbar. He rapped the window with the piece of clothed steel and the glass shattered. There was still a noise, but the cotton handkerchief dampened it. He moved along the building and knocked out each window he came to. We followed him silently. Our shoes crunched on the cinders on the ground, but, apart from that, we made no noise as we crept through the night.

Once all of the windows were broken, MacCool put the crowbar back into his valise, closed the clasp and threw the valise far from the building. “We’ll be throwing these cocktails through the windows and we want them to explode inside the building, not outside of it. Plus, all of the broken windows will let in a lot of air for those oxygen-thirsty flames.”

We nodded dumbly.

MacCool drew a silver lighter from his breast pocket and flicked it open. The small flame cast a rich, dancing light on all of our faces. There was no guilt in our eyes. “Now,” MacCool said, “once y’all throw that bottle, it’s going to be in yer best interests to run away. And don’t look back. This will go off without a hitch and we’re all going to get away. Just go home. We’ll regroup in a few days and figure out where we go from here. All clear?”

We nodded dumbly.

Following MacCool, we positioned ourselves around the building. Then he came around to each of us, paused for a moment and lit the rag. I was the last in line and I watched as everyone lobbed their cocktail into the building. I felt the heat grow as fire coughed out of each window. I smelled the burning machinery grease within. And then MacCool was in front of me. “Yer sure you want to do this? It ain’t too late for you to just run away. Trust me, you’re a lot less culpable if you leave now.”

I shook my head and held out the bottle. MacCool grinned and flicked the lighter open. He lit the wick on both my bottle and on his. We turned towards the building and threw. “Now run!” he urged quietly from beside me. I turned and ran.


Of course I didn’t see him. A person can’t be expected to look for transients when they’re running from the law. But he was there nonetheless. Lying on his side in the fetal position to conserve warmth. And if I had just looked forward, instead of down at my feet, I would have seen him. He wasn’t easy to miss, a beached whale that had crawled up from somewhere, only to get stuck on the middle of the sidewalk. My feet hooked under his side and I went sprawling, ass over teakettle, onto the concrete.

At that moment, as I lay there by the homeless man, the sirens started. I didn’t know if they were the fire department or the police, I assumed both, but that didn’t matter much. I needed to be anywhere other than where I was. The transient rolled over and groaned in pain. He looked at me and said: “What’s the big idea? Watch where you’re-whoa. That’s a big fire!”

I pulled myself to my feet and looked behind me. It was a big fire. I started to move away, but the homeless man grabbed my leg. I tried to tug free but he wouldn’t let go. And then MacCool was there. Without breaking his stride, he kicked the homeless man under the ribs. The man let go of my pants and turned to face his assailant. MacCool kicked again, this time connecting with the man’s shoulder. The man yelped and tried to get up, but as he got to his hands and knees, MacCool’s foot connected with his chin. The transient flopped to ground and did not move.

MacCool stood there looking at me. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Let’s go.” I didn’t move. His hand tightened and he repeated, “Let’s go.”

I stared blankly back. I didn’t move.

MacCool’s broad palm slapped the side of my face, throwing my world into Rorschach blots and me to the ground. He loomed over me, “Wake up! I need you here, not in some dream world.” Then, causing me to flinch away, he reached down his hand to help me up.

Pain crashed in waves throughout my head. I took his hand and allowed myself to be pulled to my feet. Through gritted teeth I said, “I’m here. I’m awake.” I flexed my jaw as I gingerly prodded it with two fingers.

“Good, then let’s go.” He started to run away from the prone figure. I ran with him.

“Is he dead? Did you kill him?”

“Hard to say. It all depends on how hard that last kick was. And on how hard his head hit the concrete.”

“We should go back. Just to see if he’s ok.”

MacCool stopped. “And then what? Wait around until the police show up? There’s nothing we can do.”

“Jesus! Are you hearing yourself?”

“Yeah. I’ve said it before, so it’s not too hard to believe.”

“What?”

“You don’t listen, or you don’t think. That bum back there, he wouldn’t be the first.”

The sirens were louder. And there were more of them. We were only two blocks from the fire and not even 100 yards from the homeless man. “But you maybe killed him. I didn’t sign up for this.”

MacCool looked at me, then over my shoulder at the body, and then back at me. “I’m going to go this way. You should go another way. If they get me, I won’t rat you out. I expect you to do the same. Just forget that you ever saw it. It’s better that way. It’s easier on your conscience.” Then he turned and disappeared into the night.

I turned then also. And ran back towards the fire.