Thursday, January 21, 2010

A Good Servant, But a Poor Master

He was unlucky. The window would have melted to slag, but he struck one of the steel support beams instead. It bent out of true with a clang, and shards of glass and drywall fell around him.

He stood, a dribble of fire leaking from the corner of his mouth. Tongues of flame licked from a dozen small cuts.

“Why?” she rasped, crouching low as he collected himself.

He spat. It flared across the ruined tables and ignited on the countertop.

“This is what’s inside me,” he said, his mouth painfully bright to look upon. “What can I do except burn?”

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