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The Fire

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The heat was reaching ferocious peak, the once delicate wallpaper curling and falling in black threads amongst the blistered and warped flooring. The windows, already melting in upon themselves, cracked under the huge pressure and blew out, adding a sharp crack to the roaring of the flames. Licking at the soles of his feet, the flames had a horribly delicate touch, boiling the tender flesh. He let out a scream, cracking the skin of his lips. The fire crawled up his legs, burning off the hair, and leaving blackened masses of tissue and yellow pus in its wake. It had gained strength in the climb, and enveloped his torso completely. He closed his eyes against the agonizing pain, the terror, though he could already feel his eyes beginning to bubble up, preparing to burst. At last, the flames grabbed at his hair, igniting it within seconds. His eyes finally gave out, forcing his lids open and spewing out the pieces. The last thought to pour into his mind, as the roof caved in with a great cry, was one of the realization that when this piece of destruction was done, no one would notice that he was among the smoking black remains, his bones burned to ash.

Perhaps it was best that way.





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