Write a scene based on this image

"Hey Dude, take your camera out and take a picture of this."
Dude took out his camera and aimed it. "Ready," he said.
Burying her gleeful, mischievous smile into a graveyard frown, she sprayed the gasoline into the dixie cup.
"Got it!"
"Awesome!" she said, struggling to stick the nozzle into its socket as the poisonous fumes entered her body and gift wrapped several cancers that would be opened in four years. She looked over Dude's shoulder and laughed at the picture. "Ha ha, I look like I'm so done! I can't wait to post this on reddit and get so much karma!"
"You might even make the front page!" Dude said, wondering if they were going to fuck tonight.
they didn't

I pulled up to the gas station pretty late. Time to pump, I thought to myself, smoking that Marlboro I snagged off a trucker a few miles back. I surveyed my surroundings, making sure the station was free of blacks; it was, thank God. Some old bitch was snapping a picture of me, yelling about how smoking around a gas station was a "fire hazard" and such. Who cares; I was busy taking peaks at this young blonde in some kind of bomber jacket, filling one of those frat house solo cups with gas. She looked pretty "pumped" herself. I figured I should ask her if her dad was around, but in truth, I was the only daddy in sight. Then, out of nowhere, a giant simian negroid nigger - you get the picture - pulled up, yelling his ape curses. I gotta get out of here, I thought. I hit the gas and chucked my cigarette back. The lady behind me screamed, calling me a "typical male" and threatening to call the cops. Sweet dreams are made of these, who am I to disagree?

The absurdity was always there. Her cat was burning, and throughout which she wondered why, as it burned the chemical flame danced just so. She’d been careful in lighting the concluding match—her hand still reeked of gasoline after all. As the flames spread quickly over the feline body beneath her, she felt an odd sort of hollow feeling erupt from her chest. Fleetingly, she tried to catch those emotions that fled her grasp, yet it was for naught and they dissipated beneath a cold, moon filled sky.

Her cat had died that day; at four years of age it had not been particularly old, and her neighbor, Asimov had remarked it as peculiar, and unnatural. She’s been like to agree. It had eaten just that morning, a series of small whisking from the milk jar, and had apparently acted with gusto. Nothing in its manner suggested it’s date with the Dark Lady not a few hours hence.

daddy needs his juice after all

Our antagonist just fucks shit up for a bit to spite us

“I hate you Mom and Dad!” Hedwig screamed as she pulled the lever on the pump handle, gasoline half spilling onto the ground, half spraying off the rim of the red Solo cup.

Hedwig’s father wrestled the pump handle from his daughter’s grip, petrol splashing on his face and jacket while Hedwig’s mother sobbed quietly into her palms.

“Don’t waste petrol! Don’t waste petrol! The environment will suffer because of my selfish actions!” Hedwig screamed in sarcasm and pain. “Now do you love me?! Now are you paying attention to me?! Am I your favorite now?! Look at me! Look at me!”

When the pump handle was in Hedwig’s father’s hand, the family finally noticed Sven, the petrol station attendant, standing meekly to the side.

“Is everything all right, Mr. and Mrs. Thurnberg?” he asked.

“I am so sorry, Sven.”

“Oh no worries, Mr. Thurnberg. We need to get you into the garage. There is a powder there that will begin to absorb the petrol, but you’ll have to go to the hospital to remove the residue so you don’t get chemical burns.

“I will call an ambulance,” Mrs. Thurnberg said, trying to wring the sobs from her throat before speaking to the operator.

Mr. Thurnberg fished in his pockets for his wallet, only to realize the kronor he wanted to gift Sven for his troubles were soggy and spoiled.

As Sven and Mr. and Mrs. Thurnberg we’re heading to the garage, Sven turned back to Hedwig, standing in the pool of petroleum behind the family’s Volvo.

“How about you sit in the kiosk, Hedwig. It is warm there, and please help yourself to the coffee. Go ahead and brew yourself a new pot. I was just about to do that before...” Sven broke off abruptly and sheepishly. The three of them walked into the garage, while Hedwig took shelter in the kiosk, alone except for the television, which she turned off when a familiar, pig tailed face appeared on the screen.

“I hate you Mom and Dad!” Hedwig screamed as she pulled the lever on the pump handle, gasoline half spilling onto the ground, half spraying off the rim of the red Solo cup.

Hedwig’s father wrestled the pump handle from his daughter’s grip, petrol splashing on his face and jacket while Hedwig’s mother sobbed quietly into her palms.

“Don’t waste petrol! Don’t waste petrol! The environment will suffer because of my selfish actions!” Hedwig screamed in sarcasm and pain. “Now do you love me?! Now are you paying attention to me?! Am I your favorite now?! Look at me! Look at me!”

When the pump handle was in Hedwig’s father’s hand, the family finally noticed Sven, the petrol station attendant, standing meekly to the side.

“Is everything all right, Mr. and Mrs. Thurnberg?” he asked.

“I am so sorry, Sven.”

“Oh no worries, Mr. Thunberg. We need to get you into the garage. There is a powder there that will begin to absorb the petrol, but you’ll still have to go to the hospital to remove the residue so you don’t get chemical burns.”

“I will call an ambulance,” Mrs. Thurnberg said, wringing the last sobs from her throat before speaking to the operator.

Mr. Thunberg fished in his pockets for his wallet, only to realize the kronor he wanted to gift Sven for his troubles were soggy and spoiled.

As Sven and Mr. and Mrs. Thurnberg we’re heading to the garage, Sven turned back to the abandoned Hedwig, standing in a pool of petroleum behind the family’s Volvo.

“How about you sit in the kiosk, Hedwig. It is warm there, and please help yourself to the coffee. Go ahead and brew yourself a new pot. I was just about to do that before...” Sven broke off abruptly and sheepishly. Sven and Mr. and Mrs. Thunberg walked into the garage. Hedwig could hear Sven’s calm, even voice through the cold, lonely, night air; it was kindhearted, filial even. He took great pains to put her parents at ease. He would no doubt be circumspect enough not to be a nuisance by bring up Hedwig’s sister, who was faraway on the other shore of the Atlantic.

Meanwhile, Hedwig took shelter in the kiosk. She pocketed a pack of Level cigarettes and sat in silence. She was alone except for the presence of the television, which featured a familiar, pig tailed face appeared on the screen. Greta was speaking to a crowd of hundreds of thousands of climate justice marchers in the streets, and through the television, her words would be magnified to an audience of millions. Hedwig switched off the television, and began rummaging through the cabinets for the coffee grounds. Hedwig was haunted by the hundreds of thousands who marched behind Greta. She took out the filched packet of cigarettes, 20 in all. She would smoke them one by one, their ashes scattered to the wind, until an empty box would be the only reminder of their absence.

Thanks for posting this user.

"Não bebes mais cerveja", disse ela. Encheu-me o copo de gasolina e nem fez pontaria. Não fazia ideia da pressão daquela mangueira. O rabo de cavalo dela dançava ao ritmo dos litros. Realmente já era tarde e ainda tínhamos cinquenta quilómetros por fazer até chegarmos ao castelo da Ram-ram.

>BOOOM!!!

smartphones pointing at her and recording, emily drank the gasoline and swallowed the match. her insides were ignited, she breathed fire like a dragon and lit her hair on fire. she rolled on the ground screaming and flailing her limbs violently. she vomited blood.
her friends covered their mouths in horror. they called an ambulance which transported her to the nearest hospital, where she later died in emergency care.