Wrathful Flames
Eight Years Ago...
Something about fire appeased her. Maybe it was the various colours it could develop when correctly given the chemicals. The warmth that would exceed the tolerance of human flesh or the fact that it was the closest one could ever get to the colossal sun without an instant death.
She loved how it would start small yet harmless, but as it fed on the oxygen bound to be around it, it ravaged like a starved dog to no avail. It would consume everything in its path: man, woman, child, or whatever would dare to put up a tiny delay in its magnificent parade of desecration.
Zeralina wasn’t sure how she got to this point in life. Not that she complained. Actually, she found it quite awakening watching her targets burn… people burn. The raw, fresh skin suddenly singed to something harsher, something darker. Burned, molten, and then, with no further ado, ashes that would stick to the ground or flow away with the uncaring wind.
Her charcoal eyes twinkled with the purple flames that blessed her vision, and the tiny boiling of blood and flesh pricked at her ear like a hippie playing his banjo.
The screams were her favourite parts, though. It amazed her how deafeningly loud a sound could be from the typical human’s throat. A mini fire of its own would form there, having all the moisture leave and causing such dryness until nothing but useless murmurs could pass the lips.
Was she evil for this, though? Was she wicked for burning the only woman who looked after her and her brother as they grew?
She didn’t see herself as malicious for this at all. She deserved it. Josephine earned this. Her once full head of luscious black hair either burned away completely or got molten into her reformed skin. The once flawless skin that covered her face and body dropped like a thick pouring paste or looked as what she would assume the polar opposite of a stretch mark would be. At the rate the black woman burned, not much blood got away; it got stripped of its moisture as it came out.
This was her first time witnessing this outside her dreams and television. It smelt worse than she thought at first, but as she took small, constant sniffs of it, she quickly grew a tolerance and liking for it. It made her heartbeat accelerate to no bounds. She felt liberated—probably the happiest she had ever felt in her fourteen years of mundane life.
As the fire spread throughout the living room, no instinct told her to leave. Her joy only told her to stay, to watch it all burn. Burn to the ground. Burn to nothing, even if it meant with her in it.
The fire had other plans, though. The childish scream from her little brother yanked her out of her fascination. Her black eyes rounded from seeing the purple flame on his shirt sleeve. A new adrenaline rushed through her, not from thrill but from panic. Fast, she ran, trying to put the small flame out as she touched it… It got bigger. It was then the smoke started to bother her breathing. Her eyes watered as she picked up her frantically bawling brother and ran outside the decaying house.
It was weird how the fire would stay in one place on Zavier, but as she was too distraught to notice, she tried patting out the flame again. As before, it sparked higher, and due to the immense pain, Zavier passed out on the front lawn.
A sudden silhouette appeared, though, one that had Zera freeze—not from fear but from an abrupt calm and comfort.
It was a man. Tall, lean, and toned with only one eye. A beautiful silver eye, the other had what looked to be an old scar sealing it shut. Mesmerized by the sight, Zera only looked at the man as he lowered himself to her and her eight-year-old brother on the grass.
Gentle with his touch, he took her hand between his and then placed it on the flamed arm. Her black eyes—specked with white—bore into his single silver one while he did this. She couldn’t help it, and as the man demonstrated deep, slow breaths, she followed, not even taking notice of the sudden calmed-to-nothing purple flames she created, both on her brother’s arm and the house behind her.
When she finally looked down at her brother’s arm, the evidence of what she had done stared her right in the face and mocked her. The epidermis of his skin was gone entirely and achingly red.
An acidic tear rolled off her cheek and onto the grass, burning a small patch.
Recalling the man who helped her, she looked up to thank him, but her mouth closed right back, for he was gone.
🤔🤔interesting