The Dying of the Flame

I remember it well : the day that I died. It was also the day of my birth. I emerged into this world as a simple flame. Looking back, I appreciate the beauty of my birth. How something so simplistic can have such depth, such raw emotion. I was new to this place so I wasted no time in exploring it. Every movement I made caused for me to grow at a rapid rate which led me to a great discovery : I could not cease to grow, which made me the superior lifeform of this domain. I made my way around the room. Small pastries and other eateries made up the decor of the countertops and cooking appliances lay scattered across the room. It was empty but not useless. I decided to call it my throne room. Surely whatever life forms existed in this world could not compare to the untapped potential that existed within me. I made my way down one of the hallways, every step I took left a smoldering crater where my foot had been. Passing by a window I found myself gazing into my own reflection. I was awestruck by the magnificence of it all. The mere existence of such a marvel astonished me. It was then that I devoted my essence to godhood. It was then that I devoted myself to my downfall.
I created a throne from the remains of a fallen wall. I positioned it at just the right angle that gave me a view of all four corners of the building. I soon overpowered my throne and was forced to find comfort elsewhere. The bells continued to ring and I was irritated. Not just at the bells, but the fact that the bells seemed to be the only things that took interest in me. Everyone else ran as I made my evolution. They were weak, refusing to pledge their attention to me. I was constantly growing so I figured that I would be found eventually. As I made my way back to the first level I heard the sound of sirens. The confirmation that I was at last going to have company.
The cavalry arrived at my doorstep, forcing me to ponder my next course of action. To engage the enemy would be to play by their rules, to sink down to their level playing field. But if I were to evade confrontation (a battle that I would most certainly prove victorious) I would be deemed a coward. I figured that it was better for me to fight and die than live with the knowledge that I had run. I swooped down, striking out at their front line of defense. They were startled by my attack but hardly unprepared. They revealed to me my fatal flaw : my inability to resist water. I knew that time was on my side and I had the passion and the pride. I wanted it all but I had to be realistic. It was one versus several attacking rebels. They stood against my forceful hand. It was the classic story of man versus god. Day versus night. The ying and the yang. I was yet to discover that I was the lesser of the two forces. They burst into my temple and reclaimed much of what I had taken. I fought until I could no longer grow. In fact, I was shrinking. Both my motivation and my physical form. As I saw my doom approaching I decided to give these men a final declaration of my authority.
“I and the alpha and the omega; the beginning and the end. I am that which is, which was, and is yet to come. And you will know my name as merely the flame as I lay my vengeance upon you. I am unrivaled perfection! An unmeasurable storm that will sweep the Earth up from beneath and bury those who defy me in the ashes of their allies. So go ahead, strike at me as you wish. You hold no sword against me! I am a god that can not be defeated by-”
It was over. Finished.
Now I’ve dissolved, like an ice cube left out in the sun. I had a foundation, a temple of solitude, an empire that I stood in the center of. I realized that the spectacle of it all, my blaze of glory, my grand ascension towards godhood, were all just hollow theatrics. An exercise of provocation. This was me trying to get people’s attention. I know, ‘Why should I care? They are beneath me!’ I guess the simple fact of the matter is that I wanted to show a display of power. What is the purpose of having great talent if you never expose it to others? Each and every person that I have come to notice on this planet (truthfully only a few as I lived for only a day) has a sort of uniqueness to them. Be it a skill or a simple act of optimism. I was gifted with the touch of a flame and I abused my power. I confused acting as god with acting as a tyrant. If the world thinks you’re a monster what does it matter? The world is wrong! But when you think yourself a monster everything falls into place. You find yourself looking back on your life wishing you could take it all back. You find yourself longing to redo events that portrayed you in a dim light. With labels such as “good guys” and “bad guys” I’ve discovered that you yourself cannot choose a side. Your legacy is what defines you, and it appears as though I have fallen onto the latter of the two terms. So with my dying words I ask that you do not look at me as a villain, a power-hungry war monger. I want you to think of me as a fallen hero. Think of the tragic savior who fell from his former glory. And please, for the love of all that is holy, heade my advice : if you are willing to play god be prepared for the devil.