Fire

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A little heavy for my first post I know, but the idea just came to me tonight and I decided to do something about it. It was never meant to get as dark as it is but hopefully you guys won't mind..? Anyways, its only 700 words, would really appreciate it if you could read it then make a comment. Btw the image is just something I doodled in class today and I could probably produce something better if I tried.I know this is only a literary website but I dunno, if you want I could draw another one if that's of interest? Thanks a lot, every comment helps :D

Submitted: March 17, 2014

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Submitted: March 17, 2014

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The lighter in my palm was cold, unforgiving. The chilling touch of death froze my hand and all I could do was stare. The engravings shone dark, glinting shadow in my eye. Decorative swirls that would represent all that was left of me. I manoeuvred this phantom between my fingers, marvelling at the power behind such a small contraption. It was my father’s, passed down from his. Lighting many a flame, many a fire over the years. Burning. Consuming. Never merciful. Every touch I made with the steel was entirely purposeful. I had thought long about this, hundreds of lists filled my bitter room with for and against marked all over. The rugged wheel felt dry, hard on the base of my thumb. One stroke of it brought out the spark that was hiding all that time. Red, no orange beauty burst from the heart of metal. A swarm of heat warmed my skin and eyes. Now there was a new glint, brighter than the first. It poured under me, a rising hope. The lighter was burning my fingers but the cares were elsewhere. The beauty of this light inspired many in the past, and many for the future. A future I will not see. Do not wish to see.

Liquid glinted in this newfound light. Blue as pure as the sky, green greener than any field you’ve seen, the purple of a regal thistle and yellows holier than the sun. This is the world that I live and die in. The outside, a hellish nightmare concocted by the rich and the needs of the greedy.  There are only a few that understand. Ghosts that you hear of but will never see. We are worlds apart. I will die alone just like the rest of them. The lighter hit the Earth, my earth, steel on wood, a hollow clatter. Floors protruding red spires from the ground in an instant. Papers burned in seconds, lost words never to be remembered. Forgotten, like me. 

The fires screamed then hissed, advancing then retreating. Beads of sweat crawled down my face, fear escaping my body. My world filled with a weightless black mould, rotting its insides, warding out that which keeps us alive. A single tear rolled down my cheek. Was this regret? No. The flame’s dark tendrils were only getting in my eyes, sucking the life from them. The fire got a hold of my hand. Finger tips crusted as nails fogged. Skin blistered like the flesh of a toad. The heat flayed my arm as if it were peeling wallpaper. Red rivers ran down my palms, colouring the lighter which started this all. Still, I stared.

My legs were engulfed now, fire standing tall beside me. I am a prisoner in this fury. The blue cotton of my frayed jeans was rapidly dulling to grey as patches of the fabric disappeared into the void. There lingered a smell of melted rubber, what was once a poorly crafted shoe, now a bubbling tar scarring my feet. I dropped to the floor, legs like decomposing trunks of the forest. My hands swam in the tar, fumbling for my father’s lighter. All sense of touch had been lost, there was no chance that it would be found. 

Suicide is often considered a coward’s escape,  but it is in fact quite the opposite. When someone truly wishes to end it all, it is the bravest choice that they could ever make. I had tried to make my end a brave one. I wished for no signs of cowardice. I had to show them that I was stronger than the gutless man they thought I was, but the pain was unbearable. Looking down to the glistened tar  below me, there I saw my own scorched face, barely recognisable as my own. It was then my hands cupped some of the liquid death, only for it to flood through my charred muscles and bones. I lowered my to the black abyss, mouth only just open as I went. Bloody lips gently disturbed the pool. I drank the venom, it filled my throat, replacing what little air was left. Lids closed, at last my world had faded to night.


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