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What drives the human soul to madness? From what depths of hate is this evil creature born? I do not know, but with it's conception comes a price, one that is black and holds our fears in it's heart with malicious intent. Remember, that smile, and eyes so dark...
So dark is this night that a shadow creeps across my heart, and quakes with each breath. I breathe, not for life, but in the hopes that the steady rhythm will keep this scream from escaping my lips.

What sound is this? I ask, as a primal voice tears through the silence like a two-edged sword. I look around, seeing nothing but wind and night, and feel my lungs burn from starvation and understand that this fury is my own. Moments like these, while I sit low, legs spread in a 'V' . moments when the abscence of life, of love, of feeling; it is these days I fear most.
Between my slender fingers I rub blades of dry grass and it smelled of gasoline. This withered vegetation is as dead as I am. Through my brain fire synapses erecting monuments of thought from fragmented phantoms, from what shadows do wicked dreams arise? I tried to recall, but shadows hid what shadows may.
Slowly, my fingers slide into my pocket and pull forth a lighter. It's translucent red surface has no gleam in such darkness, and had it not fixed itself concretely between my fingers, it wouldn't have existed at all. Mechanically, my thumb danced across it and like magic, a flame came forth bringing light to this void; only a spark really.
My feet sturred and found there way underneath me. My right hand, which held the few whisps of grass, dropped them and reached into my back pocket. My left hand held the force of God. For the time of a blink, I doubted myself, and cast such doubts aside. My right hand finished it's motion by retrieving the hankercheif from it's confinement, and held it to the light that danced at my fingertips. Slowly, I watched it burn.
A flame, when studied up close, is a beautiful thing. It's tongues dance magically with the wind. It's quick bright actions make for a creature with such an appetite that it feeds greedily on the air itself. Before my hand could join this dance, I tossed the burning rag onto the grass, and watched as the world burst into flames.
I watched it burn, yet still with all this light, the shadows hid what I needed. I watched the flames move across the field and to a car which looked very familiar, but what it meant still escaped me. I watched as the land around me turn from darkness to light, from cold to hot. I smelled the air grow from nothing to ash, but it wasn't until I heard that scream did I find my mind had cleared.
I looked at that car and saw that flames had made their destructive dance across the hood, and inside the windows, through smoke and ash, I could see a hand and a pair of eyes. Dear God, what have I done.
What madness drives men to commit acts of evil? From what depths of the human soul grows that need for pleasure from pain? I don't know, but I watched in pleasure, in agony, in horror as my wife burned alive inside of a cage of steel. She had harmed me in some grave way. In my head danced pictures of other men with there arms around her, and her smiling. These vivid images are only a blur in the smoke, but my heart tells me they're real. Fury, madness, hate, love, agony, and a million other shades of human emotion tackle my soul until nothing is felt but a sick numbness and deep regret.
The flames engulfed steel until it was only a burning that screamed. Once I thougth about rushing through this inferno and tearing through glass and steel to pull her free, then the memories came back, and the pain.
Still, I wanted to help her, but there was nothing I could do. Flames surrounded me, I couldn't even run away. Of course, this is how I designed it. So I could see what hell I brought. Why? Perhaps it was for absolution. To see that revenge had been sorely gained. What's done was done, all was left was to watch and wait. Soon would come fire trucks and ambulances and police. What then?
Would they find me amiss ash and smoke, the fires gone and my body a ragged figure standing beside smoking wreckage? Would they move closer only to see that it is a charred hand that hangs limp from the broken window? What will they think of me then? Will I be that monster? Perhaps, I already am.
The grass burns quickly and the fires start to fade, except for the steel, which still holds it's light like the torches of hell; like the remains of my heart. The screaming stopped moments ago, and with silence present only a shiver remains. One that dances through the warmth of burning air and crawls across my spine. A tear has made it's way unconsciously down my cheek and fell off my chin. Why should I not cry? In a brutal night I have ended my life as well as hers. She was so beautiful, with her black hair and eyes so dark.
Slowly, I turned, and saw nothing. Smoke clouded the air and the earth was empty in all directions. Slowly, I made my way across the field, once I stumbled over a fallen log half-hidden beneath grass that had made it unscathed.
Around daybreak I had reached the highway and made my way into the nearest town, by then I couldn't remember where I had been all night. My appearance (My clothes were black with smoke and my cheeks were stained from the trails of tears) unsettled the few I met on the way to a hotel, but otherwise I went unoticed. I paid for a room, and washed, by then I couldn't remember her face. Then I climbed into bed and slept till early the next day. Only once was I jerked from slumber by nightmares, and in the morning I didn't even remember those.

"You have confused the true and the real." -George Stanley

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The following comments are for "Fire from light, Fire from darkness"
by AGlassThought

fire from light, fire from darkness
all comments and criticisms welcome

( Posted by: AGlassThought [Member] On: April 27, 2005 )

Fire light/dark...
just me...1 read, you got me and I'm going back for first read, entrigued...
I want to give you more time, I'll be back...

enjoyed...just Robin...

( Posted by: Robinbird [Member] On: April 28, 2005 )

A glass thought

Nice read, however, in my opinion madness has nothing to do with evil; madness, heinous, revolting, insane, and even negative are inexplicable forces of human nature (not super-human). But unless you are a believer of organized religion (which I am not). I do not see the connection between evil and madness, unless you are using it in a different context and playing with semantics. If you believe in evil, you believe in hell and all that other stuff.

Just my five cents.

I like your story though,


( Posted by: macbeth [Member] On: April 28, 2005 )

thanks for posting.

Robin: Thanks, hope you check out more of my stuff. I'll be sure to take a look at yours

Macbeth: I'm not referencing madness to hell or evil or such. It's his thoughts that are telling him that he may be a monster and that he has done "evil" things. The part where madness enters is that he is forcing himself to repress these thoughts. In the beginning he can't even remember what he's doing, and when he realizes, he find it so horrid that he won't allow himself to remember what he's done. He has done things that he feels are so bad that he will not allow himself to face it. Now, that has to be a little crazy, right?

"What drives the human soul to madness? From what depths of hate is this evil creature born? I do not know..."

( Posted by: AGlassThought [Member] On: April 28, 2005 )

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