Burning The Memories

Prompt Day #47: Write from the point-of-view of fire as it burns a building down. Give it a motive.


Burning the Memories

                If walls could talk…They cannot of course; walls remember though. They see and they remember every moment of every life lived within them. They scream in silence “Look at us! Look at what’s happened here. Weep for the broken, the pain that reverberates within us.”

I am potential, lying with the electrical veins that give life to the room. Pain and anger and misery blend themselves over time, and together like the ancient proteins in the primordial soup, they bring me to life; a creation of destruction.

A little girl lived in this home, within walls that once knew only happiness and love. Her mother loved her fiercely and her daddy loved her too, but in a different way. And then one day, her mother was gone and her daddy told her that her mother was never going to come back. They cried and cried. The sorrow fed me. Her daddy’s love began to hurt her and her pain gave me strength. She grew to hate her daddy and her anger released me.

A feeble infant, I held fast to the cord that birthed me. I crawled along the wires until I came to the walls with the darkest memories. The walls of the little girl’s bedroom. Here I fed; I fed on all the horror and fear, the broken promises, the lies and distrust. I grew stronger. The walls gave themselves to me and like a lustful lover; I consumed them, leaving them in ashes.

A youthful adolescent, I leapt about the house. I tasted everything, the chairs and table where they pretended to be a normal family, the cupboards that held the liquor that gave first her father and then the girl herself, strength to face another day.

I sucked the house dry of all the life it once held. Older now and knowing my purpose, I crept stealthily into her father’s room. I stood near his bed and watched him sleeping. I stole his air and replaced it with poison. I watched as his breathing slowed to a stop and then fell upon him and devoured him.

My feast, now finished, I lay back among the rubble, my life too, coming to an end. I smolder with satisfaction. I think about the girl and wonder where she has gone. I wonder if she will come back to see what I have done for her. I am sleepy, my embers flicker and as I feel deaths cool hand blanketing me, I imagine her lovely smile.