Raze Me – Ryan Petersen

September 24, 2025

Asbestos hung heavy in the air. Like always, he had started without me.

“Thought I told you to wait, no?” I said, in a gay Euro accent. The kind of imploring tone they all use over there. It was an affect I was trying on for size that summer. Not sure it ever suited me.

Iliya shrugged and swung his hammer. Shards of backsplash spilled across the vinyl floor. He wasn’t wearing the protective goggles I’d given him. Said he liked the feeling of debris against his cheeks.

I retreated to the bomb shelter. Wood paneled chairs were stacked against the wall, surrounded by mounds of wet cigarettes. In the far corner was an LCD, propped up with a stack of old magazines, the bottom issues now rotting to a pulp.

My phone pinged. An alert from the Chinese dating sim I’d recently downloaded “Nervous Schoolgirl” wanted to know what subject was my favorite.

a) English,
b) Geography
c) I don’t like to study…

I tapped B. The girl’s idle expression refreshed into one of shock. A cartoon bead of sweat raced down her forehead.

“B-but isn’t evil-Teacher® teaching that class?”

She fainted, her low-res model falling off-screen.

“Seems pretty quiet down there,” Iliya yelled from doorway.

I threw the LCD against the damp carpet.

“Attaboy!”

We broke for lunch and ate the chicken salad I meal-prepped for us. Of course I only brought a single fork. We switched off with every bite. Forty grams of protein for him. Then forty grams of protein for me. From underneath the collapsed awning, I made a note of was still standing. The entire house had to be leveled by end-of-day.

My thoughts soon returned to Devil Teacher. Who was he, what did he want, and why teach geography of all things? I tried to render a map of the world in my mind. And next: a map of Hell, with all its continental blood and guts. Devil Teacher’s home planet.

“Right here, that’s the hot sore of Africa. The Balkan pustules. The Caspian Sea and its discharge.”

In the classroom of my daydream, I looked over at Nervous Schoolgirl and saw she wasn’t nervous at all—she was getting turned on by Devil Teacher. Or was it the Map of Hell making her blush? I buried my head into my hands. She was just like me, her desire overdetermined.

The only bedroom left was the master. Iliya and I did it together. He said that for every item I smashed, I’d get a sweet kiss.

Lamp fixture shattered = 1 Quick Kiss
Whirlpool tub collapsed = 1 Long Kiss.
Bed frame slats halved = 1 Deep Kiss (with Added Tongue)

The house was soon nothing but a pile.

We left the cul-de-sac in early evening, our long day finally closed . Iliya walked a few paces behind me. Nearby fireworks made me feel like fleeing soldier. Purple-red bloomed in the lower third of the sky, followed by a sharp crunch, that sweet crackling sound illegal rockets make, just before their color dies. I wanted Iliya and I to stay within that window. Between first explosion and final embers.

When we arrived at the crosshatch, I turned without a fuss.

“See you tomorrow, no?” asked Iliya.

The urge to look back and say “yes” was strong. But I suppressed it. That summer, I was identifying as a lighthouse. My Big Idea was that ships needed to look toward me, and not the other way around. It was an affect that suited me, without question.

At three am, I was naked underneath the skylight, watching a small drone whizz back and forth. I imagined Iliya looking down at me from a surveillance app on his phone. He 3D-mapped my loft, in preparation for the strike.

I stood up and prayed a sniper’s dot be placed upon my forehead.