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Smoke and Ash

Short story By: Kalika997

A short story about a pyromaniac

Submitted:Sep 9, 2012    Reads: 13    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   

The heat is in front of me, almost too hot to bear, I can feel my face turning red from it. In my scorched and blackened hands, some matches and a silver chain. I sit on the burning, blackened grass and hum a familiar, haunting tune, smiling at the night's work, watching the flames flicker and dance. The screaming has stopped now, so I don't have to ignore them now they've stopped. I lie down, content, and close my eyes. The chain is so hot it's glowing red and burning my hands, but I don't mind. I fall asleep peacefully, while the fire rages on, consuming everything around me.

When I wake, there's no heat, and I wake to a grey and black world. Ash falls like snow, and covers everything, including me, but what do I care? Smokerises upwards like twisty, swirly fingers. The remains of the building look like a skeleton eaten by salamanders. This is what I wake to, this dismal scene, all that's left of my greatest achievement. Finally, I'm rid of it all, in that glorious blast of heat and flame, beauty in its own right. But I don't care about it anymore, it's boring now. There are no falmes left. Nothing but smoke and ash.


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