The Boy And His Fire Poem by Sunflowe sunflowe_

The Boy And His Fire

The boy sat in front of the fire.
His hair had turned grey from the smoke, and his eyes red.
He watched the fire.
He watched the fire dance and burn, leading its red ribbons around itself, spinning and twisting every which way. The fire sang as it danced, popping the park of its wood fuel and cracking it too.
The boy stared deep into the fire until he could memorize the patterns of its dance.
The boy had never hated anything more than the fire. He hated its bright and vivid colors that burned his eyes. He hated its sharp ends and its poisonous fog that made him cough so bad. He hated the scorching heat it tickled his skin with. He hated it all.
So he sat in front of it and watched it.
He memorized the patterns of the beast, planning how to kill it. How to extinguish this fire he loathed.
He watched until his hair was stained grey.
He stared until his eyes bled.
He let his skin burn until he couldn't feel it anymore.
Because he would take out the fire if he memorized it all. Soon, he knew. Very soon.

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