One Chainsaw, One Can of Whoopass

Breathing deep, she grabbed the chainsaw from her now dead boyfriends chest and lunged for the nearby can of fuel.

Blinking back the tears she refueled the reservoir, closed the cap, cleaned the chain and got to her feet.

The pounding on the door was incessant, the door shock, vibrating in its frame. She watched as it slowly began to buckle under the strain and saw the splinter like cracks forming over its surface.

She smiled, looked back at her lover, at what she had been forced to do, gunned the engine alive and opened the door.