For KarotsaMused.

Somewhere, there's a small pile of wood. Over the pile of wood, turned upside down, hangs an umbrella. It's filled to the rim with a mixture of corn, sugar and butter.

Busy hands use a lighter on the faded newspaper of three days ago. The firestarter knows that the working lighter and the old newspaper are sacred to their owner, but here in the open countryside between nowhere and the End of the World, it doesn't matter. All that does count is that the flames engulf the wood, catching dry cinders so that amber sparks fly through the air.

Heat radiates from the fire, rising, rising - until it's caught in the fabric of the umbrella. Energy transfer allows butter to melt, the wet mass soaking corn, sugar and umbrella fabric alike.

Hungry eyes stare at the fire, hoping that the deed will remain unnoticed at least long enough to make up for the sacrifice he had to make. There will be hell to pay for his transgression later on.

Flames lick fat-drenched fabric. Suddenly, the umbrella is ablaze. Busy hands and hungry eyes are shocked into immobility, fixed to one point.

Voices, curses, a shot. The smacking sound of paper hitting skull, and more curses, then more shots, a rapid series of them, blackened projectiles that make everyone dive for cover.

When it's over, hungry eyes look remorsefully at the charcoaled mass caught between the metal skeleton of the burnt umbrella.

"Goku." Gentle amusement fills both voice and eyes of the one with the healing hands. "That's not the way to make popcorn."

End