Flames rise from the pile of papers like a sacrificial rite, smoke fills the early autumn sky. The warmth surrounds me, calls to me. I watch the flames with fascination, lighter in my hand. Usually even the smallest flames would satisfy my urges, but not tonight.
They call me a pyromaniac, I call myself the Master of Flames. It's a strange power to have control over something so dark and destructive, so powerfully corrupt that it feels the very being that is Hell. It makes me invincible, or like some sort of God, with the power to control one of the four main elements.
Nothing is safe from the fury of the flames when I feel the urge. Some say it is a disorder, something wrong with the part of my mind where other's sanity lies. But I know the real truth, that with the ability to control, to harness the sacred flame, that I am more powerful.
It's a sickening thrill, to watch enthusiastically as everything burns to the ground. Doll houses, leaves, garbage, they no longer satisfy my needs. I need to cause more damage, a fire of much bigger proportions, one that no fire department could control. For once the flames reach that extent, then I shall be the creator of something more powerful than any mortal man, while the very oxygen that is our life force feeds the hungry flames, giving them more life, more power. Anything in its path will be nothing more than fuel, feeding the destructive force.
You can't understand what that feels like, that power beyond the comprehension of the normal human mind. Yet, I am the crazy one, for seeing the thrill and power behind one of the most destructive elements. I am the pyromaniac, and today I'm burning down this town...literally.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
