flame and smoke

His hands were charred from the fire and bleeding from the lacerations.  He looked up at what he had done then back at his hands.  He fell to his knees with his head down and wept.  His face would be in his hands if it weren't for the burns.  This had happened before, but this time he knew what to do.  However, he couldn't bring himself to do it.  He sat there feeling the pull in him, but he didn't move.  The pain rippled through his whole body as he stared at his hands.  He tried not to feel the pain, he thought that time would heal them.  However, the flames got bigger, and as they got bigger, they got closer to him.

They were beautiful, and hot.  He did not want to feel the pain, but he sat still.  He was not crying anymore, and his face was expressionless.  Soon the flames would envelope him if he did not move.  They almost surrounded him, tall and loud and fierce.  But he didn't listen or feel or move. His hands did not create the fire, but they were the things that touched it.  As the flames got closer, his mind numbed until suddenly a wave washed over him.  It wasn't over the blistering fire, for it was over his mind.  He remembered again.  He remembered his potential, and how he didn't have to hurt anymore if he didn't want to. It was difficult, but he stood up, turned around, and leapt through the fire.  It took all his strength to jump, but he was free of the flames.  He ran far away from the flames, and never returned like he had before.  He tried to forget them, and instead remember love, friendship, sacrifice, and kindness.