The inquisition was inevitable, yet maddening. The jig was up; his attempt to brush off the disquieting conversation had been met with even more disquiet. He gave up and walked away.
His Jeep was a streak of green through suburbia. Camouflage against the grass, but stark contrast against the picket fence. He eclipsed the speed limit. Bright red octagons were ashes in his mind, and curves were excuses to leave behind a layer of tread.
There was no need for brakes upon arrival... the facade of the house stopped the Jeep well enough. Its metal and plastic melted, jagged, into the vinyl siding. Pieces of the fenceline emerged from the twisted wreck. The scent of burning thoroughly permeated the area, yet nothing burned. The ground had become mud.
The entrance crumbled beneath his soiled boots. Inside, it was stark, entirely unfinished concrete. He stared at a few of the surfaces, sizing them up, but they were all equal in the end.
As his skull bifurcated against the north wall, its contents trickled out, forming into the same color as his Jeep. The inquisitor was answered.
