I need to start doing updates again.

None of this will be writing related.

So... Life... Love it... Hate it... It's all the same...

I've been doing wedding photography as an apprentice for a little while now and am looking for a studio to call my home for the 9-5. I just need to get on with life.

I'm about to revise "Frank" for the last time. I printed it all up, but have yet to read any of it. Once i get off of my ass and get it revised, i think i will try to get it published finally. I don't know if it is any good, i would like to think so, but it is really hard to critique my own writing and believe it is amazing.

All of the stuff i wrote last month will just sit around for a long while until i have the time and courage to actually read it again. I don't think it was anything amazing, but then again, who knows.

Anyway, Just figured i should start updating my blogs and what not.

Cheers,
-Dusty-

I’m Done!!!! if you are reading this, scroll down to day 25 to get the ending of the story

With the sun setting earlier in the horizon it becomes very hard to gauge the time. I know there have been many nights when i looked up at the clock to discover that it was 4:40 in the morning. Those mornings were good. It meant that i had busted ass and poured my heart onto the page.

Then there were the times that i looked up and it was 8:15 in the evening. I was already exhausted and had probably only written a few words. Those are the days that i loathed.

Regardless, i pushed on, even when i felt that there was nothing to talk about. Nothing interesting to say. Story line really made no sense. And here i am. I don’t know if any of those things were corrected, but in a few months when i sit down to read my book, with a fresh pair of eyes, hopefully i can correct any of my mental lapses.

So any of you who have been following my progress, i just want to say thanks. comment my blogs. Let me know if it was worth doing in the way i did. I would have written the book, but believing that people were expecting, or demanding, and update every night ensured that i would sit down, even if it was only for 5 minutes, and write.

So thanks. I’m gonna go recover for a while before i start my next venture.

Until then,
Cheers.
-Dusty-

Day 25 (goal met. Ending posted. Enjoy)

2.

Skip back a few years to where this all began. To where everything started. A few years after Pyro was born, and a few years before he went to war. A few years after his parents died. About the time he was going to his second foster home.

Foster care was not a good fit for him. He was a normal rambunctious youth, except for a few oddities that he had. Up to that point he had managed to keep most things secret. There was a reason for his going to a second foster home. The first one he lived at had been nice. The married couple that ran it were great, but some of the invalid youth that they took in were not agreeable to Pyro’s way of life. To his views. After spending a year with these children, he was tired. He was tired of people trying to bully him around. Tired of being picked on. They had no idea the power that brewed inside him, and he wanted to keep it that way.

His parent’s had known about his “special” abilities and had taught him, or at least tried to, not to use it. Not here or there. Not ever. If he was going to be a fully functional adult, then he would just have to play the game and act normal. There were a few exceptions that they allowed though. For his birthday, after the lighter was found dead in the bottom of a drawer, they did let him light the cake. Lacking fine control of his fire, he managed to set the candles, cake, and tablecloth on fire. His dad had been smart enough to have the fire extinguisher handy so the blaze was easily contained. Versus letting him practice in the back yard and hone his skills, they banned it’s use all together. He tried his hardest to abide by their rules, even after they had passed.

Jump back to the first foster home. He was frustrated. Very angry. All alone. Worst of all, tormented. He didn’t feel that he had any other way out of the hell he had been placed into. He didn’t feel good about taking matters into his own hands, but felt he had no other choice. What happened that day was not what he was expecting, nor what he had really wanted.

Pyro was not a stupid kid, but he did have some lofty ideas. He figured that if his room was not functional, then they would have no other choice, but to move him somewhere else. The hope being that he would be moved to another house. He didn’t know at the time, but the house had aluminum wiring. This would come into play later, not that anyone would have believed a young boy had set the place ablaze with his mind.

He ate his dinner. Brushed his teeth. Went to bed. Everything was normal. As his foster parents turned out the lights and said “good night.” He replied and settled into his bed. About 15 minutes later, he knew what had to be done. He started very small. He wanted to be careful. He already knew that things could get out of control if he didn’t pay attention.

A golf ball sized orb rose from his hand and hovered. He stared at it and tried to slowly manipulate it. He was pretty successful for not having done any of this in quite some time. It would pulsate and shoot little, unexpected bolts on occasion, but overall he was handling it quite nicely. After thinking about life for a while, he knew that there was no reason to destroy the whole house, just his room.

He waited until everyone was asleep and slowly looked for the best location to mount the attack. There was a outlet toward the center of the wall across from his bed. That would be the place. He wanted it to look natural. He wanted no extra suspicion cast his way. He got up and plugged in a small wall transformer. It had probably come from one of his toys, but he wasn’t sure which. He assumed that it would appear that the wiring had suddenly burst in to flames, and he’d have no query coming his way.

Sitting on top of his bed he did have a slight lapse of commitment, but it quickly passed and he hurdled a little bit of fire from his hand. The ball struck the direct center of the transformer and spread like, well, wildfire. It grew in great strides. Pyro suddenly realized that this might not work in the way he had envisioned it. Now he was worried about burning everything else down, but there was not much to do about it now. The flames were on autopilot.

He had already learned that fire didn’t hurt him so he curled up under the covers and waited for someone to come banging on the door. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion. By the time someone tried to come to his rescue, it would have been to late. If he had been a normal boy, ho would’ve been a very over cooked steak.

Everyone thought it was a miracle that he had made it out alive. His doorway collapsed, along with parts of the roof, as the firemen pulled him out. The firemen were heroes. He had been “Saved,” but he didn’t feel any different. The foster mom was a Jesus freak. She took it all as a sign that he needed to be moving on. She wished that he could stay, but there was just something telling her that it was a bad idea. So with that, he moved on through the system. He would’ve packed his bags, but all of his things had been burnt. Even his nice metal watch had melted into the foundation. So off he went to a new family. A new set of rules. A new life.

3.

Pyro made it to the new house. He was the only child being watched here. The couple reminded him of what he imagined his grandparent’s would have been like. They were older an older couple. Very sweet and understanding. The kind of household he needed to be raised in. They had their odd things as well. He had never been forced to remove his shoes at the door of any house before, but it was a requirement here. But, all in all, things were looking good.

After a year, he had gotten into the routine and it finally started to feel like home. It was a feeling that he had forgotten. It felt good. He was calm and in control of his life, at least as much as a young child can be anyway.

He had changed schools twice since his parents died. Each new house carried that baggage with it. It didn’t bother him much though. He just looked at it as another chance to make new friends. HE only had one real friend at his first school. He just always seemed to play the role of the outcast too perfectly.

The second school he attended was much worse. Shadier neighborhood. Meaner kids. Nobody that really took an interest in him. He was lonely. He did try very hard, but wondered if that was the problem. He couldn’t see changing for anyone’s acceptance, so he just did what he always did. He went to school as an invisible boy. It did afford him the time and ability to study and do well in the subjects he was interested in. Geography was one of those blessed sections.

At the time he had no idea that the makeup of the world would play a vital role in his life. He just new that it was interesting. Social Sciences were intriguing as well. The fact that there were so many different cultures excited him. He hoped that someday he could see them in person. Unknown to him was the fact that a few years later he would see all of them first hand. From the third world countries, to the superpowers that controlled everything. He was receiving the lessons that would make a major contribution to his life. He knew none of this at the time, nor did he ever think about it years later.

The third school was a new beast all together. A private school. He didn’t get the concept, or the need, but attended it all the same. The teachers here were much more attentive to his yearning for knowledge. He was so pushy at times that the teacher were a little scared of him, not that he had done anything to frighten, just that he was very insistent.

After a few months of recess, with no friends to show for it, he found a teacher who was willing to continue his lessons. He didn’t see the need to go run around like an idiot when all he would do was sit around and stare at people. This teacher would instill a desire to succeed that would follow Pyro for the rest of his life. He really liked the teacher. The teacher just felt sorry for Pyro. Sympathy was a powerful tool that he also learned during his recess study sessions.

After a year in this institution, he decided, or it was decided for him, that it was time to move on. It was not a choice that he had wanted to make, but it had been thrust upon him. During the middle of his second year some abysmal things happened which would set off the remainder of his life. He was picked up by the police on his was home from school that day. They did not handcuff him, nor were they rude in anyway, but he knew something bad had happened.

They took him to the station and sat him down with a cup of hot chocolate. They all knew they story, but were trying to find the words to relay it to Pyro.

“Pyro is it?”

“Umm… Yes?”

“How’d you get a name like that? You play with fire or something?”

“Once. My parent’s caught me playing with matches when I was three. They called me their little pyro and the name just stuck.”

“I guess that makes sense. Do you know why you’re here?”

“No. Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“We know you didn’t son. We know.” The officer paused. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but your parents are dead.”

“They’ve been dead for a couple of years.”

“They have?”

“Uh huh. That’s why I live here now.”

“Oh. You’re adopted?”

“Don’t know, but I was brought here to live with these older people.”

The officer grabbed a picture from the desk. “This them?”

“Yup.”

The officer took a deep breath. “I guess I should have done a little more research first. Either way, you new parents, or guardians, whatever, they are the ones that passed away today.”

Pyro just stared at the officer. A stone face would have showed more emotion. He wanted to cry, but if school had taught him anything, it was that weakness was not something to go flaunting around.

“I’m sorry son.”

“Can you at least tell me what happened?” Pyro’s voice was on the verge of cracking with sobs. He had really liked his new parents and couldn’t believe that they were gone.

The officer explained the whole situation. It was a mess. Apparently some drug user, or burglar, they weren’t really sure yet, had broken into the house to grab some quick items. The plan had been simple. It was the middle of the day, and they hadn’t done their research. Pyro’s parents were at home eating lunch.

The felon’s had broken the window to Pyro’s room and let themselves in. They didn’t realize that anyone was home, so they went searching for anything that could net them a decent profit. The jewelry box was the first thing to be impounded. They cleared anything of value while scouring the rear of the house.

Dreams of a nice TV loomed in their thoughts so they made their way out to the living room. Still not realizing that anyone was there. They found what the TV and a decent stereo. Pyro’s new dad was somewhat of an audiophile. The thieves didn’t even know the value of the audio gear that they had ignored. The speakers were worth over 10,000 dollars a piece. Even the turntable was worth more than the TV, but uninformed thieves were not the best at judging quality. They would wonder who actually listened to records anymore.

As they were making their way out, with arms stuffed to the brim, the heard a noise. Both turned to see an angry, older gentleman with a large kitchen knife.

“Just put down the stuff and leave,” he said.

They dropped everything. They weren’t scared, but had been startled pretty severely. They backed slowly into the hall and just waited to see what move he would make. He lunged and connected with one of the thief’s arms. Blood started to run from the injury and pooled around his hand. The knife was dropped in the attack and the other thief punched the dad squarely in the nose. He collapsed to the floor, not dead, but unconscious. They used him as a punching bag, or kicking bag, until his body was limp and lifeless.

They heard a scream as they were just about to leave. One of the guys just wanted to get out of there. This had not been the plan at all and he was now scared of getting caught. The other intended on leaving no witnesses. Dragging his friend down the hall, he found the source of all the commotion. There was a helpless old lady curled up on the floor. She was in tears. Sobs wracked her body. She was defenseless. Shortly thereafter, she was dead as well.

Pyro listened to the officers story in a state of shock. He was sad, but mostly anger was building up in his little mind. He couldn’t believe that anyone could be so cruel. When he had been little, Pyro believed that people were good. After today that view changed. He did not know what to do, but he did have a few ideas. Nobody would be proud of him for what he was thinking, but he didn’t know that he had a choice.

It wasn’t about avenging their deaths. Well, not completely anyway. Revenge would be the start of it, but as he would learn first hand that the underbelly of society had taken hold as the status quo. There were travesties that he could not ignore. He never wanted to hear about another murder. Another rape. Another beaten wife. He was tired of all the evil that had consumed the world. No other country was any better off. He was just tired of it.

Suddenly he knew why he had the powers that he did. He was not an evil kid, and would make the world a safer place. He didn’t know how, or to what extent the destruction would be, but he knew it would end. It would end for good. There was nothing to stop him, except for the police who he was currently sitting with, and possibly his next foster family.

After talking with the state, the officer found him a place to stay for the night. He was loaded up in the car. Still trying to fight back tears, he paid attention for any opportunity that would present itself. He needed to get out of here, but wasn’t yet ready to take the blood of the innocent. Maybe the cop would need to use the restroom. Maybe he would need gas. Maybe he could reason with him, but he knew that would never work. Would the cop get hungry? Thirsty? Anything. Pyro was not going to be picky right now. He would play it cool. He would hold all the rage inside until it was time. There had to be an opening.

Pyro didn’t know how long the ride would be, but he had a feeling that it would end early as they pulled into a gas station.

Parting

Everyone met at the flagpole. They were ready to begin their journey. Ready to start their lives. Pyro placed an arm around Mary and gave her a hug.

“You did great today,” he said.

“Thanks. So did you.”

He waved everyone forward into the sun. They marched. They sang. They enjoyed life. Their day had finally come.

Mary and Pyro took the rear. They waited for a moment and said goodbye to the watchers and to this grave that they would be returning to someday. Looking at the flag brought a small tear to their eyes. He knew that he would not return here for many years and that when the time came, it would be for only one purpose.

They had not yet learned to fly, but he knew that someday they would. And so did she.

Day 24(Almost done. less than 3k to go.)

2.

Jump back to the beginning. The beginning of the new world. The death of the old. Jump to the first leader rising from the ashes. The start of his new journey. Of a new life for all of them. The steps to get here had taken much longer than anyone would have assumed. They had fought for what seemed like days.

Some of them had sustained injuries, mostly minor, but a few decent as well. The leader had received a wound in his shoulder, which was the most serious one, The others just had sordid cuts, scrapes, and bruises, most of which had been their own doing. Clumsiness did not count as a battle scar.

It took them a few days to gather supplies, and a small task force had been sent to find the materials to make a flag. They were going to mark this ground, this world, this victory, for future generations to see. It made them feel better about what they had actually done to get here. This way they had something to show for it. Even if all that was only a flag flying in the middle of nowhere.

The scenery had changed from a few days prior. Where buildings used to stand, there were now just small mountains of debris. The streets looked like hardened lava flows. There was no vegetation or other signs of life to speak of. They were at the center of a self created wasteland. This had been the goal all along, but some where really wondering if they had chosen the right path.

Jump forward a few days. Jump to the group deciding that it was time to leave and live the lives that they expected. Marching to the south. Marching until food started to run low. Marching until they found the stream that would become their highway for years to come. The fertile land to start their new life.

Jump to a young boy almost destroying the camp with his new ability. To the leader scolding his sun and trying to teach restraint. Jump to the boy leading his tribe to the flag pole to bury his own father. Jump to a young boy asking why the sky is blue and the grass is green. Lacking a good answer, she said that it is because somebody made it that way. Jump to that boy growing up with the vision of a higher being controlling everything. Jump even further to an established, yet wildly different form of Christianity. Jump to the bronze age. The iron age. The industrial revolution. Jump to everything they had tried to prevent coming full circle.

Societies had formed once again. Nomadic tribes had settled down and learned how to build structures out of stone, wood, metal, and even glass. The crystal skies which had taken generations to clear where starting to fill with soot. Not everywhere, but around factories it was very prevalent.

Jump to the creation of the internal combustion engine. While slightly different in look, identical in function. Jump to war. Jump to famine. Watch as they would begin to tear themselves apart from the inside. Watch as the flag of the Phoenix was lowered for the last time. In it place, no flag, but a building instead. Watch as a new king takes control through force, and not respect. Watch as the flag is raised once again. The phoenix has been twisted to suit the kings vision.

The king would rape and pillage the few remaining tribes that he could find. He would claim all that he could see for himself. He would kill any who opposed. He would managed to create a successful society, built on the rage and brutality that had afforded him his power. Watch as the king would fight, vicariously, through his soldiers and their tales.

Watch as the last of the torches band together, but with the main goal of claiming power for themselves. The fact that they would have to kill the king was just a side effect. They would storm the civilizations with brutal force. Killing everyone in sight and destroying everything that had been built. They would rip the ground apart. They would command powerful rains of fire which could lay waste to entire cities. The bloodshed would go on for years. They mounted a world tour, not that it took long to deal with any one area, but without using the new technology, travel was by foot.

Watch as they rip the world apart. Watch as years later the last Torch dies. Cold, alone, and powerless. The last Torch, lacking any kin, was also the last surviving person of his, or any other, order. Watch as the events that had been sent in motion, the ancient history of the new world, had finally come to fulfillment. No more death. No more hate. No more fighting. No more people. Nothing, but harmony.

Nature would be just fine with this. She always recovered. She was never worried about being killed, but wondered how long she would have to live in a half suffocated state. She now knew that the answer was, never again. Never again would she be witness to the hateful crimes against her self and others that had plagued her lands for as long as she could remember. He trees would regrow. The endangered species, which, until recently, had begun to flourish once again. She would remake the world in her image. In all of it’s splendor and beauty. The way it had been intended originally. The way no living soul could have ever pictured it. She was happy for the first time in too many years to count.

As a whole, the plant and animal life had gone mostly unaffected. There were a few rare birds and beasts that had been halted in the rebuilding of their large families, but they knew it would resume soon enough. No plant species were extinguished, but some were found to be lacking in certain areas. Entire mountains had been stripped of their greenery. Nature’s cloak and veil would have to be rebuilt, but 1000 years really didn’t seem so long away in retrospect.

She knew that she might have a painful decision to make in the years to come. She hopped that it would never become an issue, but knew that it might. Others had interfered before, and it was not beyond them to do it again. She had to come to a decision on how she would deal with another infestation if one arose. She knew that her brother was still alive, even if she hadn’t seen him for a very long time. He had always liked to play, for lack of a better word, God. He was actually the root cause to everything that had befallen his sisters planet.

His own experimentation with the creatures on his planets had led him to want bigger and better things. He had convinced his sister to let him place a few in her world. Just a couple. Just for a few years. Just to see if it works. At least that’s what he had said, but it is obvious how that had turned out. She was pretty impressed that they had lasted as long as they did, even if they did destroy as much as they could. She still wasn’t sure if those fiery ones had been an accidental mutation, or if he had snuck some in when she wasn’t looking. At first she thought they would be great, if not a little scary, but it turned out that instead of being exterminators, they had sort of reset the cycle just so it could all happen again. She was glad it was finally over. She never wanted to deal with it again, especially not twice. Once was entirely too much.

She had seen everything happen both times. She was too concerned with what she had created to be able to ignore it. Her brother had no issues with killing off entire species in his own projects. She just couldn’t do it. They all head their own personalities. She was just too attached to them all. It felt like she had just lost a very good friend, that she ha known for years. It also felt a little like being cured of cancer. Mixed feelings, for sure, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

Life by Fire

1.

People were dying in vain. No reporters to capture their story. No photographers to archive their valiant stand. Nobody, except the small army, would remember them. They would be remembered in the stories that would be passed down, but not in a good light. Most understood though that they would either die here, today, or somewhere else in the not too distant future. The worst part was that they had been spared for this long. It was maddening. It did nothing to strengthen their moral. In fact, they were all dead the moment Pyro shot his first flames in the street a few days prior.

Some of them still tried to fight, well as well as they could fight seemingly random bolts, and fountains, of fire darting from the sky and ground. Some just couldn’t sit down and let it all happen. It would happen either way and it made some of them feel better if they fought it versus giving in.

Pyro was starting to waver again. His resolve was strong, but he had expended far too much energy so far, and there was still much to do. The flames dwindled for a second and then went out. Mary’s were still running strong.

Suddenly a report rang out. By the time Pyro realized what had happened, he was on his back. Fragments of bone were scattered behind him. His entire body was in pain. He tried to move. He screamed. Mary looked at him and screamed. Her flames vanished in a split second. Another report. Another injury. A finger was lying a few feet back from Mary’s already disfigured hand. Blood sprayed from the bloody stump and she dropped to the ground. It hurt, but mostly it was the surprise.

Pyro drug himself up with one arm. His left shoulder blade had sprouted a very painful hole and felt completely dead. He noticed that the people were starting to advance over the expanse of crisp bodies that he had laid to waste. Nothing would keep them alive if Mary, or himself, was not able to get defenses in order. He tried to raise the wall again. It failed. Not even a flicker. Not a lick of flame.

He yelled at Mary, who either ignored him, or just couldn’t hear over her own sobbing. The people were approaching at a much swifter pace. Pyro and Mary were both very luck in the fact that they fell behind rubble that block the snipers view of any vital organs. Of anything at all. He didn’t know it yet, but he would be thankful that his injury went clean through and had only nicked a bone. Most of the damage was muscle tissue. Either way, it still hurt. He tried to light again. And a third time. And a fourth. And so far, nothing.

He crawled over toward Mary. He hoped that he could calm her down and get her to concentrate. He grabbed her arm and shook her violently. She tried to light him on fire, and if he hadn’t been who he was, would’ve been roasted almost instantly. The advantage here was that her outburst had cauterized his seeping wound. She had just managed to save his life for the time being, but if nothing new happened it wouldn’t matter.

There was only one reason that both of them were still alive. The heat that radiated form their fire, and from the molten street made the air shimmer and distort. The sniper, for some reason or another, did not take this into account. So what should have been a direct shot to the head, turned out to be radically off course. He would never make that mistake again. He would never have the chance.

He slapped her a little harder than he meant to. She looked up at him with teary eyes. Eyes which said she couldn’t do it. Eyes that cried not only for her missing finger, but for her pride. She had failed and didn’t think she could regain that. Pyro nodded. He understood without her saying a word. He helped her up quickly and started to retreat slightly. He needed to regain his hold on the situation and wanted all the time he could muster. The people were approaching, but the piles of bodies did tend to be a little unstable and arguably slippery. A number of people died just trying to cross the expanse. All it took was for one to slip on a skull, or a hand, etc., and puncture their lung on any number of protruding bits of calcium. One sap even managed to puncture his left eye, but did not die from it. Surely he would have liked that much better than the oozing mess that was dripping from the empty socket on his face.

He tried again. And again. And again. This was very bad. They were approaching, and he really couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t want to go too far back and put his troops in even more danger. He had failed, but he hoped to regain the advantage if he could figure out how. He dropped his hand and waved for his troops to retreat back to the buildings. He did not want any of their deaths on his head. They paused, and considered the command. After a momentary lapse of reason, they retreated.

The people were almost upon him, and Mary wouldn’t last much longer. An unarmed combatant lunged for Pyro, and missed by a very narrow margin. This had forced Pyro to move sideways into another’s arms. This was no friendly parent or friend, but instead someone that was going to see this finished, and finished right then.

Mary tried to engulf the area in flames as she ran forward to help him, but could not muster the strength, or courage, or determination. She was scared. She made it to Pyro right before he was to be tossed into the crowd and handled. She grasped at his ankle. She could reach nothing else. This would be her last chance. Either it worked, or it was over. No other options. Not other alternatives. It was now. It had to be.

She gritted her teeth and looked Pyro right in the eyes. He had confidence. He could see it in her eyes. It started slowly. A small, almost unnoticeable coal, burning in her eyes. The blackness turned to hints of red and orange. Glowing brighter than he had ever seen anything glow. Growing brighter still, he just stared. He would be ok. He just knew it.

They were dragging Pyro towards the General and Joe. The man carrying him was actually protecting him from the angry mob. Mary hung on to his ankle and was hardly noticed. With out even realizing, she lit a few of the people that tried to snatch her away. She was back, but it would take a while for her to realize it. Pyro was still useless as a flamethrower. He tried to kick and struggle, but it made no difference.

The trek to the General’s station was a very long one. Once he saw the child captured he made sure it was known that he wanted him alive. Wanted to be able to talk to him for a while before he was executed. Wanted to see if he could learn this little trick that had killed so many of his men. Torture wouldn’t be out of the question, but only as a last resort.

The other children watched from the shadows of the building. They feared the worst. They figured that soon enough they would all be dead. Executed for betraying the country. For being terrorists. Terrorist was still a huge buzz word. No one seemed to pay any attention to them. Everyone was focused on the little leader. The little leader who was now reduced to nothing.

Nobody had anyway of knowing if he would suddenly ignite himself, or anything else, but they just trusted that the General had a clue. He didn’t, but he was not one to be cautious. His bold composure drew in others as well. While they probably should have been standing back, as far away as they could possibly be, they just couldn’t. There was a draw to this boy.

Mary squeezed his ankle. He made the slightest nod. He knew what she was thinking. He just hoped that it would work. Mary squeezed one more time. He nodded again. It was time.

The children were blinded by the sudden rage of light and force. The shaft of, what looked like pure energy, shot straight up from center stage. It burnt the looming flagpole and ate the fluttering piece of fabric. It was powerful enough to uproot the concrete located around it’s base. The shock wave deafened everyone within 500 feet and killed those within 50. Those no more arms reach, or so, away disappeared. Even the bones were incinerated with exacting force.

Joe and the General were killed instantly. Joe was actually tired of waiting. The General knew in his heart that there was never really any other end that fit. All of the other people started to run. Mary was spent. She had used everything she could to save her friend, and now it was his turn to take care of her.

Pyro’s shoulder still hurt, but he figured that he could manage. He lit a finger, to test if all systems were go. They were. He directed a serpent to surround all of the retreating combatants. He completed the enclosure just before any were able to escape. He slowly started to restrict the diameter. The casual observer probably wouldn’t have noticed that it was shrinking at all for at least a couple of minutes, but those inside of it knew almost as soon as it started. Not only was it shrinking, but the interior was getting consistently warmer. The only way to imagine it would be sitting in a large oven and then turning the temperature up to a couple thousand degrees. It was very gradual, but no less deadly. Mary and Pyro were sweating, but not actually affected by the heat. Well, mostly anyway. Mary did manage to cauterize her finger during her initial burst. Not that the minimal bleeding would have killed her, but it did make her a little woozy.

Not only were people being toasted on the dark, or even burn, setting, they were also being cooked from the inside. The people closest to the walls were having major issues with their blood, water, and eyes being boiled in their bodies. The sensation, while quite painful, did not last long. It was a quicker death than removing an arm, or leg, and bleeding to death. They would never know. They were not amputees, and their minds focused on the pain with such clarity that 20 seconds seemed like the sum of their entire lives. Every second felt like a year. Or 10. 100. 1000. Eternity.

Pyro knew that he was being cruel, but didn’t do anything to change it. It felt good. His adrenaline levels were at an all time high. He was twitchy. Excited. Out of control. He knew it. He welcomed it. He enjoyed it. This was the rush that he had been looking for since that very first time. Nothing would ever compare. Nothing would ever be the same. He could fight a lion with his bare hands. He could jump of a building, if there were still any tall ones, with no chute, and it would feel like a little fan next to a tornado. Everything from this point on would have less flavor. Life would lose much of it’s luster. He didn’t care. Even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.

The most impressive visuals, with the exception of the fire, came from a few people who had amazing deaths. One mans head actually exploded. Eyes punched straight out. Skull shattered. Brain matter squished into the surrounding victims. Most didn’t even notice, but a few did. One tasted it to see what it was, like he would know the taste of head meat right off. Another just stopped moving and started screaming. That only lasted for a couple of seconds. The sun was starting to rise.

With a final breath, Pyro brought his creation toward the center at blistering speed. It had the same destructive effect as a nuclear warhead. Picture the old military videos of a blast, and that is about how it looked. People were ripped off of their feet. Skin was ripped off the bone. Marrow exploded from every possible exit. In a split second everyone was reduced to ash with Pyro and Mary at the center of the former blaze.

2.

After the air had cooled by a few degrees, and the sun had crested the horizon, the children slowly made their way to their leader. It was a dangerous walk. There were random hot spots. There were enough bones to make some bone cabins, if anyone had been so inclined. They crowded around. Giddiness mixed with apprehension. They felt good. They felt dirty.

They talked for a few hours about everything that had happened. They discussed the proposition of being free. They were all in agreement with the original plan. Make the world into the type of place that it always should have been.

They all went in search of supplies. There were only a few buildings left, and they raided them for everything. One of the older kids decided that they needed a flag, and took it upon himself to be the creator. Hours of labor, and inexperience, paid off. They now had a symbol. A legacy. A crude flag that would ring pride in their hearts, and the hearts of their children. It didn’t matter that children would be way off.

Pyro and Mary stayed back while the others went. They wanted to honor the dead. They cremated all of the remains and let the wind scatter them where it saw fit. They returned to the pole and sat in silence. Pyro jumped at a meek voice that seemed to come from behind him. It was not a child’s voice. It sounded older. More sophisticated. He spun around and faced. Nothing. There was nobody there.

The voice told him to look down. He did, but still noticed nothing of interest. Janice, who was amazed that he could hear her, explained the whole story. She had been telling it some what frequently lately. That made it easy because it was still fresh in her mind.

Pyro explained his dreams. Illustrated his vision. She had no reason to doubt his tenacity. He had proven it already. After much discussion, she finally determined that she supported him in his quest, and was happy that he was willing to make such an effort for a cause he knew nothing about.

Janice spoke to Mr. Abbot quietly and he agreed as well, but had an interesting point that she had not thought of.

“My associate Mr. Abbot, brought an amazing point to my attention just now.”

“Why thank you,” said Mr. Abbot.

“The only true friends we have our each other. We also had a friend named Joe. Don’t worry about who he his, but he is here right now. We can feel him.”

“Ok, what does this really have to do with me,” asked Pyro.

“Well, we were thinking, or wondering really, if you would permit us to watch over this place. If we are going to spend the rest of our lives somewhere, we would like that somewhere to be right here. Right on the base of the flagpole. Would you permit us that honor? Let us be the protectors of this old world? The guardians? The watchers?”

“That’s fine with me. Is it ok to tell the others about you? I think it would make a great part of the story. Who would believe that there are talking bricks.”

Janice thought for a second.

“Ok. Just remember everything you told me. And might I suggest, that when you must honor one of your fallen leaders, which hopefully won’t be for many years to come, you bring them back to this place?”

“I promise that we will.”

“Someday we will meet again. Until that time comes, take care. Stay strong and you will turn out just fine.”

“Thank you,” said Pyro and walked away with Mary in tow.

The Future

1.

Skip ahead. Listen to the stories that were told. Enjoy the songs that echoed through the canyons. Pyro had done many amazing, if not bothersome, things in his past, but he had never realized the extent of his powers until he had met a little girl by the name of Mary. She had managed to draw greatness out of him. Her selfless attention and actions had inspired him. Death had almost claimed her and that had helped summon the courage that he would need until he passed years later. He would be leader of all the remaining humans on the planet. His select group of kids.

They would all grow to be men. They would teach themselves all that their parent’s forgot to teach them about survival. About living life. About being happy. At the end of the day, they were proud of their accomplishments. It would take many years to establish a cultural groove, but once they had, they ran with it. New religions. New methods. New songs. New thoughts. New stories. A new society. It was their world, and they claimed it. Helped it rebuild. Helped it flourish.

They started small. Sticks and stones were used to hunt. Their intellect and determination were their greatest weapons. They weren’t any faster or stronger. They weren’t experts. They just tried and prevailed.

Pyro was proud of everyone. They had survived. They continued to grow as a community and as individuals. Nobody ever complained about wandering about. They had learned to appreciate the open air, and the clear horizon. There were always new treasures to discover. New streams. New plants. New animals. New breathtaking valleys and massive mountain ranges. After a few years he would not remember what a camera was. He would take snapshots with his mind, and store them there. Sometimes he would dig around and remember all of the places that they had been. The splendor of nature was overwhelming at times, but he fought through it.

Mary and Pyro became great friends. They were the only two fire users so they would practice alone when time allowed. They would talk. They would try to amaze the other with new displays of skill or power. They would both become the greatest leaders that the world had ever known. The first of a new era. Even though they would be split up years later, they decided to have children of their own. This was years after the old world had been crushed. They were both young adults. They both hoped that they could have a child as unique as they were. They succeeded.

They would have five beautiful children. The fifth would not survive do to labor complications. They performed their own ceremony for the child. His name had been Damien. He would forever be remembered by his parents.

The other four children would roam between the two tribes that had been created. Mary was in charge of the breakaway. Pyro commanded the original. They would both teach the children about leadership. About responsibility, loyalty, and honor. All four children would grow to be leaders. A few years after the tribe was split into four units, Mary and Pyro would reunite for the final time. They managed to live out their last years in happiness. They were proud of each other. They were proud of their children. Proud of their people. Just proud.

The children were better than Pyro or Mary could have ever wished for. They all had an incredible drive. Their determination rivaled even their dad’s. Their compassion was greater than their mom’s. The youngest, even as a full grown woman, still carried her mom’s bear. She had made sure to take it when she left. It served as a constant reminder of her parents and it helped to feel that they were close.

Retirement was the best part of Pyro and Mary’s life. They were able to relax for the first time in way too long. They loved to watch the kids take control. They gossiped about what their tribes had been doing over the year. They caught up on all the years that they had missed each other. They lived out their final years in peace. They were content.

Their journey to the flagpole would take months once it was started since they had ventured far from where it had all begun.

2.

Many generations would come and go before the story of Pyro would be forgotten. When that day came, it would already be too late. Their fates were sealed from the beginning. He had tried to avoid it, but everything he did to hinder the outcome, made it that much easier for the cards to fall as they did.

His parting wish is that they didn’t remember him, as much as they remembered his ideals. He didn’t feel that he deserved honor. He believed that all those who had died, on both side, deserved the accolades. They were the reason he was able to contribute what he had. He still believed that anyone could make a difference, and that he was just the first step. For his life to have been worthwhile they needed to continue in his footstep, or make eve greater strides in the right direction.

Over the years following the start, he had come to believe that people were good, but that they could be easily swayed. He knew first hand how power could feel. How revenge could satisfy even the most savage beast. He had learned to kill most of the beasts within him, but there would always be some pieces missing. Hole he could never fill.

It took a very long time to come to terms with the massive slaughter. The destruction of the human race, which he had orchestrated almost entirely on his own. Mary and Pyro both lived with those demons for their entire lives. These were the parts left out of the stories. Out of the songs and heroic ballads. His young followers, even the ones that had been there, never really knew what had happened. Never fully grasped the scope and consequences of the actions. He hadn’t left the flagpole to honor the dead, but to remind him of the consequences if he ever forgot.

Even half a world away he could still see it. He relived that, and every other night before it. Every evening when he went to bed. He would wake far too often with a cold sweat running down his spine. He could have tried to find ways to get rid of the nightmares, but he just counted then as punishment. His penance. His curse.

He never forgave himself no matter how much better off he believed the world to be. It took a tole on every aspect of his life. He had split the tribes to push Mary away. He wanted to live without the constant reminders, but it had actually made things much worse. They survived it, but not without cost. Some things could just not be erased.

Years after the passing of Pyro and Mary, the tribes outlook had changed. Their great-grandchildren were the first to start making major changes. Every aspect of life would change over the course of a few generations. It would take much longer for the effect and changes to become permanent, but that is where it started.

The great-grandchildren’s children were the last to be honored at the flagpole. The trip would never be made again, but it would be attempted by one other leader after his tribe had been sent on.

Janice and Mr. Abbot were glad that Pyro had kept his word. While they waited for years, almost alone, eventually the tribe arrived. They knew as they saw the first person arriving. Pyro had finally perished. They were mournful, but somewhat excited. They had a feeling that they knew what was coming.

After the ceremony, Pyro, Mary, Joe, Janice, and Mr. Abbot watched the congregation leave. They were all very proud of Mary and Pyro’s children. They had done admirably well. They even mused over the new flag. The missing talon had been a nice touch, at least Mary had thought so. Pyro had to agree with Janice’s decision about this place. It might get lonely at times, but he had his wife, and three new friends to spend the rest of eternity with.

An unknown perk arrived when Pyro’s children passed away. While it was sad, he was happy to be reunited with his children. Mary was ecstatic. She had missed them so very much. They also got to meet their grand-children for the first time and then again quite a few years later.

After the great-great-grandchildren came to rest, they would never meet another generation. Never see another living soul. It was probably for the better though. None of them would have been proud of the way things were turning out.

The resting place was forgotten. There the watchers, Joe, and a good deal of Pyro’s family rested. There they stayed. Safe. Secure. Alone. Nature had taken care of them. She had taken them into herself and there they would be safe forever.

Day 23(Just shy of 42k)

The Life Born from the Ashes

1.

Zoom way out. Picture a world without untimely death. A world without decay. Without war, famine, pestilence, or hatred. A world in which nature had finally found harmony with it inhabitants. One nomadic tribe, just one small group of people calling this place home. The efforts required to get to this point had been immense, and the sacrifices were painful. A new world had risen out the ashes of it’s former shell and was probably better off this way.

The tribe maintained a pretty consistent number. It was still in it’s infancy and most of the members were too young to add to it’s numbers. A few years would pass and then they would expand at an exponential rate, but that is not to say that the expansion would be swift.

Years later the tribe would split off into smaller units. There was no tension between heads, just a need to provide for all of their people and one large group had proven to be a hard thing to manage. It had taken years to get to this point, and it would take many more before there would be more divisions.

The people had learned to deal without technology. Without cars, computers, CD players, washing machines, or anything else from the old world. All of the evils had been cleansed from the world and this select group had been given the chance to start fresh. A chance to succeed. A chance to fail. A chance to do anything. This could be the age when people learned to fly. When they learned to live a good life. When they learned to live forever.

The two groups did not wander far from one another. They might not always be in visual distance, but they were never more than a day apart. This was not a safety thing, but it made everyone feel better. People would come and go between the two groups on a whim. It managed to work out nicely. They would trade goods. One group would forage, the other would hunt. They were very careful in their gathering as well. They wanted only enough to survive. They didn’t need to strip the earth to be content. All they needed was a full stomach and their friends. Everything seemed to go as planned.

These people had learned to make clothes. Learned to cook. Learned to clean. They were self-taught survivalists. Learning not out ambition, but out of necessity. They never worried about fire. The two leaders had been taught the art of conjuring it at a young age. They had been tempered in battle, and it had changed them. Greatness had been thrust upon them, or maybe they had seized it, regardless they were the most suited for the job. Their people listened to them. Respected them. Would follow them under even the worst of odds. Most already had at some point. The hope was that the others never had too.

They carried a flag with them. They had made a crest, which had been ingrained in their lives many years before. The phoenix flew high for all to see. It lived in their minds. It was a constant reminder of the struggles and loss that they had all endured and for the fights that they hoped would never return.

After a great number of years, the leaders of both groups were dying. Their children would take their places, and since the communities had grown so large, divide them once again. All of the future leaders were taught to wield the fire. The fire of life. Of destruction. It was the mark of the leader. IT was a great honor and also a great responsibility that was placed on the shoulders of those who were taught. It was believed that only the descendants of a Torch were eligible, or able to learn to use this power.

After months of training, which covered as much of the elders knowledge as possible, the sons and daughters took their new positions as Torches and ventured forth into the unknown. The elders were reunited until they passed. No longer in a place of power, but still regarded just as highly. These two just went along for the ride and tried to make as little trouble as possible. It was nice to have somebody else leading. The last time that they had relaxed had been at a park many, many years ago. To them it seemed like another life, and it was.

They talked about their old lives and the ones that they had lead afterwards. They would reminisce about the old days. The beginning. The end that was coming. Everything. They would sing old marching songs. They would commend each other on what a fine job they had done. They would do all of this. And then they would die.

The tribes were all brought together for the funeral. They would be carried toward an old city far in the distance. Very hard to discern from the landscape, but it would be found. They would bring a new flag with them. Crafted for this specific purpose. It would take the entire trip to complete. The detail would be marvelous. The size mind-boggling. It would be perfect in every way.

As the tribes approached the city, they could feel that this was the place. This is where it had all happened. All of the old tales and ancient folklore. In this place not only was it blind faith, but confirmation that all of the amazing tales had, in fact, been entirely accurate.

Everyone observed the landmark that they were looking for. It was the only way to be sure that they were in the right place. In the middle, of what used to be a great city, stood a flagpole. Old, tarnished, and severely blackened from the fires that had started this new world. They had always been told that it put most trees to shame, and here it was. The landmark that they had been told about as children. The birthplace of this world. Their world.

On the flagpole, fluttering in the wind, was a flag. A huge mass of cloth. Poorly constructed, but still flying. All of the edges were tattered, and the colors were faded so badly that from a distance it appeared to just be a dull grey. Upon closer inspection a formerly crimson phoenix flew along a backdrop that probably used to be black. There were huge slabs of upturned concrete at the base of the pole and this would be the Torches final resting place.

The ceremony began the morning after all of the tribes arrived. Most of the younger people were giddy. They were so amazed that the bedtime stories they had been told as babies, were true. IT made them proud to be part of such a strong group. They could feel the greatness that emanated from this spiritual place.

The flag was lowered with great care not to ruin it. The flag, which had been raised to honor the fallen, had served it’s purpose and would now be replaced with the new one. This was the tradition. The Torches would be honored with a new flag, and burned with the one that represented their era. Their legacy would carry on, and in doing so, honor their comrades.

The new torches had the meticulous task of retrieving the old flag, raising the new one, placing their parent’s on the altar, and draping the flag from their era about them. Not a single one did this task with joy. Their tears turned their parent’s faces white in small patches. It was a triumphant time, but not a happy one.

They all whispered to the fallen while they were doing their work. They talked to the watchers who had been tasked to overlook these grounds. They promised to make them proud. They promised to uphold their ways and teachings. They promised to come rest here when it was their time. They finished the preparations. The hugged their parent’s. They hugged each other. They prayed and tried to regain their composure. They continued to cry, but much softer. Just a slight trickle of tears and none of those awful gasping noises.

The torches retreated a short distance and turned to address the crowd.

“Today we free our parent’s from the pains of this world.”

“They were our leaders who sacrificed everything for us.”

“Our teachers.”

“Our story tellers.”

“Our blood.”

“And most importantly, out friends.”

The Torches turned. “I love you,” they all whispered in unison. And with that the fires grew from the ground to consume their parents.

The flag waved triumphantly over the ceremony. The flag that would find a breeze on the calmest of days. The flag which had been made to such exacting specifications. A black background. Two crimson phoenixes. The emblem for the tribe. A symbol for the remembrance of the two leaders. The bigger one shimmering as if it was on fire. Looking over the smaller as a big brother would. The smaller, missing a talon. This would be their resting place from now on. They had served their purposes and established a life that most thought impossible. They had faced all odds and came out victorious. Today they had finally learned to fly.

Mary

1.

“Mary! You with me still?”

“Um, yup!”

“Good. I need your help. I really need your help.”

Pyro has managed to destroy most of the area, but there was still much to be done.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to grab a hold of my hand. This is going to scare you, but you need to trust me. If it hurts, just let go.”

“Umm.. Ok.”

Mary grabbed Pyro’s hand. She stared at him through the slits in her eyelids. She felt like she was watching a really scary movie. One with a monster that might jump out at anytime. Suddenly Pyro’s arm exploded in a burst of color and heat.

“Ouch.” Mary jumped and started to cry. “Wait, that didn’t hurt at all.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It scared me. Why, why’d you do that anyway?”

“I needed to test something. So that didn’t hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you do me another favor?”

“I don’t know. Will this one be scary too?”

“I hope not. Anyway, you see al of the fire in front of me?”

“Yes.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“I need you to go touch it.”

“What?”

“Touch it. I just lit your arm on fire and it didn’t hurt, so why would this other fire hurt?”

“I just think it will.”

He gently pushed her towards and into the massive pyre. She looked ready to scream. Just as she was about to shriek, she realized that it didn’t hurt. She wondered what he was playing at here.

“I’m going to sound crazy here, but I think you can do the same thing as me.”

“Really?” she beamed. “Do you really think so? I think it is pretty.”

“I do. Do you think you can try?”

“I can try, but don’t be mad if it doesn’t work.”

“I won’t be. Come here and let’s see if it will work.”

Pyro had an idea, and with that idea determined that he could probably teach her to wield his powers. He took a hold of her hand.

“Just focus on the flame that is going to rise out your palm.”

“Ok. I’m focusing.”

He sent a small flame straight out of her hand. It danced. It played. It went out, and so did the entire blaze that Pyro had been working in the crowd.

Pyro suddenly became very worried. Maybe he had been wrong about her. Maybe she was the opposite. He let go of her hand and relit his blaze.

“Sorry. I tried talking to it, but I don’t think it likes me very much.”

“Yes it does, it’ll just take time to warm up to you.”

He instructed her to go playing at the edge of the wall. She tried to slowly snatch individual licks of flame, but was having very little success.

“Focus Mary. That is what it is all about. Instead of trying to grab at the flames, tell one of them to jump over to you.”

“I’ll try it, but I still don’t think it likes me.”

A hole suddenly opened up in front of Mary. “Crap,” thought Pyro. He refilled the gap and continued to do what he needed to do, but with no break in sight he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go.

“I got it! I got it!”

Mary was dancing with a little flame on her hand. She was singing to it, and it looked to be break dancing. He hadn’t seen that one before, but it was cool nonetheless. The flame got bored of dancing and crawled up her arm to rest on her shoulder like a seagoing parrot.

“I guess it does like me. Well it likes me when I sing anyway.”

Pyro went back to his current action.

“Wow! Look at how big I made him.” She had managed to make a 100 foot tall pillar. She was very impressed, and so was Pyro. She was catching on quickly.

“I hate to ask this, but do you think that you could do what I am doing right now?”

“It looks pretty complicated. Can I have a few more minutes to play around first?”

“Sure.”

Mary continued to experiment. She made beautiful fireworks with her new friend. She made shapes that twisted and flowed into others. It was like seeing a living M.C. Escher painting in real life. Complex patterns. No two the same, and no one remaining for more than a breath. Pyro almost forgot that he was in the middle of a fight while he gazed at it.

“I really need you to take over.”

“Ok. I think I am ready now. Just keep it up until I am on the other side for a few seconds.”

Pyro didn’t necessarily like the idea of leaving her so vulnerable, but she seemed very determined. He hoped that she could do it.

2.

“What the hell is that,” asked Joe.

“That can’t be a little girl, can it,” said the General.

“Did she honestly just walk through the flames?”

“I think we are doubly fucked now.”

What they saw worried them to no end. As Pyro watched Mary disappear into his creation, the other side saw an evil looking little girl. She looked to be made of embers. Her teddy bear grinning like a dragon right before shooting a stream of death. Her smile was of the most disconcerting sort. Menacing just didn’t do it justice. This was the smile of pure evil. The smile of the reaper.

She created a small semi-circular column behind herself. She figured that if she needed extra protection she could close it off very quickly. The people just watched her weaving the fire in front of her face. The shadows cast from the fireworks made her look much younger, then much older. No one feature could be pinpointed.

As Pyro’s giant expanse fizzled and extinguished itself Mary just laughed. It was her time now. She waited for a moment. The people looked uneasy. It seemed they were trying to figure out what was happening. Here was a little girl, playing with fire in the most beautiful way, and the previous horror show had seemed to end.

Before many could blink, small slivers were darting everywhere at once. These were not mortal blows, but just small burns. She was playing. She was dancing with the people the only way that, right now, she knew how. She was dreading the first blow that would knock someone unconscious, or even worse, kill them, but she knew it was coming. If it didn’t they would be trying to kill her.

Pyro watched from the rear. He waited like everyone else for the melee to continue, but was impressed with her fine control skills. They rivaled his. They probably would have put his in their place. He still had the record for mass killing, but this was like watching a beautiful tapestry being created right in front of his eyes.

“Ok, now she’s just being mean,” said the General.

Joe nodded, but was too struck to actually say anything. If this was the last thing he ever saw at least he would die knowing that there was such a thing as real beauty. He had seen it. He had experienced it. Nothing he imagined could even compare.

Pyro was as awestruck as everyone else, but he had nagging thoughts in the back of his mind. What if it was too early? What if something happened to her? It would be his fault for sending her out there unprepared. The only comfort he took was knowing that she was able to do this for a reason. It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t coincidence that she was the first friend he had made in years. She needed him just as he needed her. She was the little sister he needed to protect. He was the big brother that Mary needed. He quieted himself and accepted the fact that everything would be ok. It just had to work out. He was sure.

“You done playing around now?”

“I think so. This is really fun though.”

Pyro walked through Mary’s flames and positioned himself right beside her. He gave her a hug and told her to be careful. Wished her luck. Told her it was finally time to end this.

Her beautiful dance twisted itself into a startling aberration which struck out at the closest people it could reach. It danced in their hearts and devoured their souls. Pyro sent wave of light in haphazard directions. This would be the beginning of the end.

When Mary had been an even younger girl, she had been in love with the idea that she, someday, could be superwoman. She never had any powers to speak of, but she figured someday she might if she tried hard enough. She tried to fly. She tried to punch holes though walls. She hadn’t gotten to the point of dodging, or deflecting bullets, but she would have at some point. That much is certain. When her dog decided that her thumb would be a tasty snack, her dreams of being invincible were crushed. She knew that she could never be a superhero because she was too weak. Too pathetic. Just not worthy. One day, when she was four years old, all of those dreams seemed to be possible again. The power which had come into her life, had awakened her desire to do good. To a protector. To save lives.

The reason that she had been dancing with the flames before really hurting anybody came down to that point. She couldn’t see how a superhero would kill this mass gaggle of people. It took a lot of soul searching to finally come to the conclusion that they must be bad. If they were good people, Pyro would not feel that they needed to die. So it ended up being done out of mercy, nit anger or hate. The fact that she had been an amazing weaver had bought her the time she needed to make up her mind. Determine her course of action. Set that plan into motion. Execute it.

The fun had really just begun. The other children watched from a bit of a distance. They trusted Pyro, but they had not had enough experience with Mary to trust her form making costly mistakes. It was probably wise, for she did make random fountains at the wrong locations. She was still learning, but catching up quickly.

Pyro was proud of her. She was doing very well, but he did worry about her being able to control herself after this was all over. He knew from experience that this was a hard thing to control. Fighting off the need for more was a constant struggle. That was the whole reason that they were here today. IT wasn’t the call to power, but the destruction of it. He had no problem being a leader, but he could not abide the leaders that had claimed the world. He didn’t know why it bothered him so, but it did and he couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard he tried.

Speaking of leaders, the President had managed to make it far away from the conflict. He was cold, hungry, and alone. He hadn’t been moving for an insurmountable amount of time, but he felt that he had. He sat down to rest, not knowing if he would wake up. Not caring much either. He would sit there for days. Long after the conflict was over. He was afraid and locked into a mode of inactivity. He would die of exposure a few days later. The local animals welcomed the food, even if the meat was tough and tasted somewhat tainted.

The Tribe

1.

The tribe would continue life in the same way it had for many years. A few generations after the original Torches died, they rediscovered the wheel. It wasn’t that the original founders didn’t know about things as simple as this, but that they discouraged it. They wanted a fresh start for their people. They wanted as little of the old world as possible.

When it was rediscovered, they thought it to be a very new invention, because the currently living people had never seen, nor heard of, one. It would’ve been considered ancient, lost history. It fell in the same category as God, the Devil, microwave ovens, and anything else that existed in that long gone time. The only hope, which was unknown, was that they would not go back to how things used to be. Their leaders had spent too much time perfect this world to let the old one return.

People were very impressed with the wheel. It is unknown how they decided on that name for it, but it happened. They started small. A fallen tree was the first incarnation. When they found a second one they discovered that they could roll thing on top of it. After much experimentation, and discoveries in tooling, they learned how to cut a single tree into many wheels. The axel came next, and was the pivotal point for the first cart. They finally had a way of moving more food and supplies while on their journeys. It could have been viewed as the beginning of they end, or the best thing to happen to them. Life became a little easier, but they still had to lug the cart around. It was not abnormal to see the people pulling the carts, piled high with food, as well as lugging bulging backpacks.

It would be years until any other groundbreaking discoveries would be made. Light bulbs would be on the order of 1000 years of more. They were starting small, but eventually technology would emerge. They had no monetary system. No running water. They also had the need for neither. Being nomadic afforded them the luxury of requiring almost nothing from the old world. The only thing that had been required was people, which had obviously been provided.

As the tribe grew bigger, they kept dividing and growing farther apart. The Torches always seemed to know when another of the leaders had passed, or was preparing to. During those times all of the tribe would converge at the flag pole once again. The tradition stayed the same. A new flag was always posted. The old always went with the fallen leader. The speech changed every time. The Torches would say whatever they felt was right. Their goal was to pay homage and send off their comrade to a better place. Send him back to the earth. The new flag always represented the Torch or Torches who were being left that day.

It was always a somber occasion, but it came with mixed feelings. It was a reunion in many ways. The tribes would meet up with their old friends. They would talk about everything that happened since the last time. They would trade goods. The would dance. They would go back into the world as friends, but would not see each other for a very long time, if ever again. Overall they were pretty good at living the life of the original vision. Hard work and honesty was all it had taken to get here, and all it took to keep them moving.

After the few days for the funeral the tribes would separate and go their separate ways. Some went north into the colder parts of the continent. Some went south towards the desert. Others went east and west to the oceans, or the plains, or the mountains. Every tribe has staked their areas, not that others would be refused from roaming the same neighborhoods, it was just never an issue. They had learned to deal with their environments and had actually excelled at it. They had become masters of survival over the years. They didn’t go hungry. They didn’t die of exhaustion, exposure, poisonous plants, or any other naturally avoidable thing. That is not to say that it had not happened in the past, just that it wasn’t an issue any longer. They were finally in harmony with nature.

But, perfection could only last so long. Generations later some of the old ways were being replaced with the newer and better. Newer ways of gathering food. Better ways of traveling, or eventually the lack thereof. The seeds of dissent had starting budding into beautiful little saplings.

As each subsequent generation started to take power, the tribes stopped traveling as far, and as frequently. They started to lose touch with nature and began to exploit the land. They would gather enough food for three communities, when most of it would go to waste. Hunting was becoming much more of a sport than a means of survival. New weapons were developed. Instead of the sharpened stick and the occasional rock-tipped spear, they were learning how to stretch fibrous strands across a tense, curved piece of wood. They were discovering better ways of sharpening stones. Faster ways of forming them. Ways to prepare for a massive assault on something, even if they didn’t know what yet.

The sins of the past were starting to arrive at their feet. They had not yet made a mockery of what their ancestors stood for, but they were well on their way. The altruistic views were dying away and being replaced with greed. They had enough land to provide 100’s of acres to each tribesman, if not much more, but they felt that they needed more. They wanted control of it all. The land was there to be taken. To be claimed by something. Just as well if it was them who claimed it.

The future, which had started out with such hope and promise, was starting to look grim. The path to self destruction was upon them, they only had to walk down it. There were greatly varying views on the proper way to conduct business. Even the Torches were starting to lose their say in their peoples affairs. The respect was diminishing. A few of the Torches decided to show their people why they were the leaders.

Some of the tribes lost more than half of their people in very short periods of time. There was no plague. No famine. No disease. Just greed. Greed, and an enveloping fire that consumed enough people to send a very clear message about who was in charge, and why. One tribe tried fighting back, which just ended in misery. The entire tribe was killed except for the Torch and his youngest son. After reexamining the actions he had just taken, he sent his son off to the east in hopes that he would find another group to take him in. After his son was gone, the Torch took his own life. There was no ceremony. No homage. No memory. No flag. No honor in his actions.

Day 22(Whew!)

He didn’t want to delay too long though. Just enough. He figured he would know when it was time. Maybe there would be a sign or something. Anything to tell him that the timing was correct and his course was straight. He knew he was still out of range for any attack they would make, or at least he hoped he was. If there was more coverage on the ground he might have been worried about someone trying to sneak up, but this city was a wasteland. He had been sure of that. There was only a small section of downtown, and of course all of the parks, that had survived so far. He planned to keep the parks, downtown was a different story all together.

His soldiers were still preparing. Some of the older boys were painting their faces with ash and trying to convince the younger ones to follow suit. Their views were met with varying degrees of acceptance. It was time to be soldiers, and they wanted to feel like soldiers too. All of them were worried, but there was comfort in playing the part.

Pyro waited. He had no necessary preparation. He would go in there like a human torch. It was all he needed to do. It was all he knew how to do. He was just waiting on that sign and it looked like it would be coming any time now.

2.

Pyro’s sign arrived in short order. He was amazed at how beautiful this one happened to be. The sun had started setting, and the air was filled with ash and soot. It was the makings of the perfect sunset. He could do nothing but stare in awe. It was beautiful and as the other kids saw him staring, they all followed suit.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” said Mary.

“I know. It tells me that we’re doing the right thing. Until all of this started I had never seen such beautiful sunsets. Now each one is prettier than the last.”

Pyro had never quite put together the fact that all of the fires he had started were the cause of the gorgeous scenery provided by each and every sunset. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t doing the right thing, but it doesn’t mean that he was either. Regardless of that though, he took it as a sign of a job well done and the permission to continue on.

“Everyone ready?”

“Yes, sir!” They were all ready for their movement. Good or bad, this was it.

The kids began the final part of their march. They sang their songs. The ate a quick snack. They soldiered on. They knew that they would be facing people they knew today. Their teachers. Some of their friends. Their families. People they would have never attacked before, but today was different. They were determined to do what they had to do.

Pyro lead the way toward the former White House. He could sense people in and around the still standing buildings. He figured that they weren’t his friends. He decided to keep an eye on that. He wanted to do his best to protect his army, as well as himself. As the cleared the inside corner of the buildings, shots rang out. Most of them were headed directly for Pyro, but a few were aimed at other targets. They kept walking to the sound of screams coming from the buildings. His party was still unharmed. More shots ended with the same result. He wanted to wait a little bit longer before demolishing the buildings. He could let them try and have their fun, it would all end the same anyway.

The first two groups of snipers had been taken out of commission. Not all of them were dead, yet, but they would be soon enough. Pyro wondered how he would fight himself if he had to. Water was the first thing that came to mind, but he seen the ineffectiveness of it. Not only did it steam and make everything hazy, but it would burn just as easily as wood. At least it did for him.

The shots had startled some of his entourage, but they continued on. Now confident in the fact that Pyro would protect them.

3.

“Are any of you still alive,” radioed the General.

“A few of us sir. I don’t think for long though. I see smoke and I can’t go anywhere. He shot through both of my legs.”

“Hold tight. We will try to get you out of there.”

“Don’t bother. It isn’t going to matter anyway.”

A few more shots rang out. Nobody answered the radio call from the first two buildings.

“What are we supposed to do against that?”

“Well Joe, I don’t really know. You have any bright ideas,” asked the General.

“A fire hose,” said the President.

“Two problems with that, sir. Number one is that I’m not sure where to find one right now. Number two… Do you really think it will work? It’s not like he is on fire,” said the General.

“So what about gasoline,” asked Joe.

“Huh,” asked the General and the President simultaneously.

“I figure it is like this. He isn’t on fire, but everything else will be. What if he was on fire as well?”

“Now that’s an idea. Here, tell my guys,” said the General.

Joe explained the idea over the radio. The soldiers started to find all the combustible liquids that they could find and spread them on the ground.

There was a sudden pop and burst of flame from one of the troops. The gas can had suddenly exploded, drenching him in petrol. This in turn sent him running and screaming toward another guy, who subsequently caught fire as well.

Watching this all take place was something like watching the deadliest game of dominoes in slow motion. With each piece falling, the next ignited. So on, and so forth. Joe, the President, the General, and Pyro all watched this display in awe. There was such a beautiful dance happening here. It was like a ballet on LSD. The screaming, flaming guys making the perfect soundtrack to this exquisite display of brutality and mortality.

Pyro hadn’t expected it to play quite this way. It worked out to his advantage, but that didn’t make it any more normal. And gasoline… He would have never even thought about it, not that it would hurt him anyway, but it could hurt his followers. He’d have to keep an eye on that then.

Both sides could hear the ticking. The ticking of life’s clock counting down. The ticking that was leading to a resolution. The ticking leading to death. The ticking of tank treads.

“Oh, shit,” said Pyro.

The tank fired a warning shot. Pyro tried to deflect it, not that it would hit anyone, but it would be good to know. It seemed to veer slightly off course, but not by as much as would have been hoped.

“Run! Go! Behind the building.”

The children scattered like cockroaches. They divided themselves in the sudden panic. They had time, but not much. Pyro’s building shook violently. Glass sprayed in all directions. He had not been prepared for this, not did he have any good offense. The tank was out of his offensive range.

The next shot was lobbed. The children were scared. None of them knew what to do.

“Try your fire on the next shell,” said one of the entourage.

“Huh?”

“Just try it.”

Pyro tried it. The shell burst and sent shrapnel screaming in all directions. The building protected the young army, but many of the other men were hit. Screams rose and clouded the air.

“How’d you know that?”

“I love tanks. I just figured they might be using explosive rounds, but I don’t know if it really helped any. Either we get blown up, or we get cut to death. Pretty crummy either way.”

Pyro was trying to think, but was constantly interrupted by the clamor. Chucks of concrete were falling from the building. Most of them were small, but he knew that soon they wouldn’t be so lucky. He didn’t think he could manage control over 100’s of piece at once. 10 or so was an easy feat, but the shrapnel seemed to be much too great in quantity. He was running out of ideas.

It seemed to be about two seconds from the time he heard the tank fire, to when it impacted the building.

“When the tanks fires next, everyone run for the other building.”

They all nodded. The tank fired. He counted. One. Two.

“Run!”

They sprinted just as the round caught the structure. Pyro was too busy to notice the piece of concrete which impacted his face with sufficient force to knock him unconscious.

“Grab him. Let’s go.”

He was drug to safety just as another round was volleyed.

“Is he dead? I don’t want him to die,” said Mary. Her eyes began to water, on the verge of tears.

Pyro stirred, but did not wake. He had a nasty cut which was oozing sooty, black blood down his face.

“Please… wake up. Please…” Mary started crying.

“Ouch,” said Pyro.

The boys, who had drug him in, grinned.

“So I guess you’re still with us? We were just about to go throw up the white flag.” The boys beamed.

“Afraid so. Any brilliant ideas now?”

They discussed some tactics among the bombardment. They figured out that if they could make it to the next building, then the damage from the tank would cause massive collateral damage to the opposing troops. It sounded like a good plan. The main points, like run to the next building were relayed to all. They were told to start making there way around the back and to the corner where they would be running from.

Pyro took the lead and rounded the corner. A soldier jumped, squeezed the trigger on his rifle, and almost instantly dropped to the floor. No screaming, just blood discoloring the ground. He looked like an angel with a crimson halo. That is if an angel would be missing the top third of his skull. He had been sent to creep up behind the children, and had almost made it.

“That guys scared me,” said Mary.

Pyro nodded and continued. He still had no real ideas. He knew there was no way to get around everyone and come up from behind. If he hadn’t destroyed most of the city then there might have been. Just chalk it up to experience. He never actually expected to be here, like this, especially not with an army at his tail.

“You said you knew about tanks?”

“Yeah,” said the kid.

“How fast can this one shoot?”

“About as fast as it is.”

“Hmm… And how fast can it turn it’s gun?”

“The turret? It could track an A-10 if it needed to.”

“Meaning?”

“You can’t outrun it.”

“Well there goes that idea.”

4.

“We are losing a lot of people with this tank,” said Joe.

“Well, if they would step a few feet back from the building, they would be just fine.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but I think it would be hard to step back with that many people on your heels.”

“True enough,” said the general.

The children had made it to the next building, which was slowly being reduced to it’s foundations. They couldn’t stay there forever. In fact a few more minutes might be too long.

“So… Are we just going to keep shooting at the building or do you have an idea here,” asked Joe.

“We can’t shoot for too much longer. Tank is almost out of ammo. I don’t know what’ll happen when it is empty.”

“Great. So you’re basically saying we’ll be dead in a few minutes?”

“Pretty much. It bought us a little time anyway.”

“No other tanks or ammo in the area?”

“Nope,” said the General.

“Super.”

“I thought so.”

They were running out of ideas. Tank ammo almost depleted. Crazy boy that could light things on fire. This had the makings of a perfect day.

There was a sudden crash, explosion, and shit storm in the middle of the crowd. Screaming, flying body parts, and a whole lot of dead people.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said a voice over the radio.

“Sorry ‘bout that? That’s all you have to say?”

“Collateral damage sir. Computer changed the target, fired the shot, and went offline.”

“That’s real clever,” said Joe.

“Isn’t it though? I think they just took out a third of our force,” said the General. “Is it going to be back online anytime soon,” the General asked over the radio.

“That’s a big negative. We are actually in the process of evacuating. There is way too much smoke in here. It looks like the computer decided to hinder our cause by lighting itself on fire.”

“Perfect,” thought the General.

“So… Now what?”

“Well Joe, why don’t you come up with something. I think we are pretty much screwed.”

They both stared at the field of dead and dying. Out of ideas. Out of options. Anything done now would just be for show. They could surrender, but realized that there would be no point in that. If they were going to die, they could at least go out trying.

The Jump

1.

When Pyro was a little boy he had some crazy ideas. About the time he discovered his powers, minimal though they might be, he had dreams of being a superhero. A fire flinging, flying, upholder of justice. It took him a little while, but not too long, to find the scope and limitations of his abilities.

He, like 99 percent of the populations had always wanted to fly. He had tried multiple times to just do it, but nothing ever happened. See this little kid. See him standing with his arms raised to the sky. Watch him jump as high as he could and then return to the ground. Sometime he would jump so hard, and believe so deeply, that he would touch down and then go tumbling. He sprained multiple ankles that summer. His left wrist would ache for the rest of his life from an untreated hairline fracture. It wasn’t bad enough to cause major pain, but a decent amount of discomfort would be normal for him.

After months of trying to be a space shuttle, he decided it might be easier to be a bird. He would run as fast as he could. He would flap his arms, or wings, whichever was more fitting at the time. Moving as fast as he could, he would jump, flap, and sometimes, land on his feet and keep running. Other times he would land and create a spectacular display of cartwheels and summersaults.

He was determined that his lack of success with the bird method was due to his lack of speed. Next it was the skateboard. When that didn’t work, and nearly killed him in a headfirst dive for the pavement, he upgraded to a bicycle. The results were even worse than the skateboard. He was even nearly run over by a car backing out of it’s driveway. He wanted to try to hood of a car, but his parent’s had told him no and he had no other ideas of who could drive him.

So after the bird thing had failed miserably, he decided to try another tactic. Maybe he needed actual vertical propulsion. Not being put off easily, he devised a simple lever from some scrap wood. He built a very rickety, makeshift seesaw. On the roof he positioned the largest stone he could lug. It turned out to only way about 15 or so pounds. He had attached a rope so that he could stand on the plank and pull the weight down onto it. The hope was that it would fling him up and then he would fly away into the sunset.

The first attempt went amazingly well. He tugged the rope and sent the mass tumbling through the air. It accelerated at roughly 32 feet per second, which is pretty standard. When it should have struck the plank, it actually missed. He had positioned his launching pad too far from the house. The rock had fallen about a foot short. Try two went better. The rock struck the plank in the perfect place. The lever placed force against Pyro’s feet. It was going to work. Then the plank broke at the fulcrum, but wouldn’t it have been impressive if it had worked? Even if it hadn’t broken, he wouldn’t have flown very far. The amount of force generated was far too low to amount to any measurable vertical movement.

So feeling defeated, and downtrodden, he decided to give it one last shot. If it didn’t work this time then he would never try again. Maybe believing that he could do it really wasn’t enough to make it happen.

For his final trial he figured that maybe he had to actually be going toward the ground to kick in the flight mode. So along those lines, he climbed to the roof. While climbing, he almost slipped and fell, which would have been bad. It probably would’ve hurt pretty badly.

So here was Pyro. Staring at the ground from 12 or so feet above it. Nervous, but convinced. He knew he could do it. He wasn’t worried about hitting the ground because he wasn’t going to. After a few deep breaths, he jumped as hard as he could. He was doing it, or at least he thought so until he reversed direction and saw it rushing up at him. He concentrated on going up, not down. He kept falling. He concentrated harder. He slammed into the ground and rolled. The roll would have been perfect to if he hadn’t caught his leg oddly and snapped it in three places. So while he lie there, a screaming bloody mess, he learned that determination alone was not enough to achieve everything. Sometime it would be enough, but not always.

2.

When the General was a young boy he used to go hunting with his dad. On one of the trips he mistook his dad for a deer, or at least that is what he told the authorities. He shot his dad in the left shoulder.

When Joe was much younger, he used to pretend that he was videotaping everything. His camera was a taped together conglomerate of a Pringles can, a tape recorder, and a Coca-Cola bottle. He videotaped a neighbor killing his wife. It would have been compelling evidence if he had actually had a real video camera. Oh, and if Joe hadn’t been a five year old with an active imagination.

When the President was a young boy he asked his parent’s for a dog. They got him a cat instead. He named it Fido and it died a few years later. He learned that cramming it’s mouth full of peanut butter was not a good thing for longevity.

When Mary was a young girl her dog ate her finger, but you probably already knew that. What you probably don’t know is that she never figured out why there was a crunchy hotdog in her macaroni one night after.

When Janice was a young girl, well… You already heard about that, but I bet you didn’t know that she was born with red hair.

When Mr. Abbot was a young man, his parent’s told him that he would never amount to anything and that he would just end up as another bum on the streets of New York. Boy were they wrong. He died in DC.

The tank commander had managed to destroy over 199 computers in his life time, just by touching them. Today he made it to the big two oh oh.

When everyone woke up this morning they assumed that they would live to see tomorrow.

[Unknown, yet again. Always with the unknown]

1.

“Tank’s down,” thought Pyro, but then he wondered. Was it a ploy or was it really out of commission. There was only one way to find out, but he wasn’t ready to take the risk. He figured he’d wait it out and see what happened.

He made the rounds to ensure everyone was still accounted for and to make sure everyone was still in serviceable order. Except for a few cuts and scrapes, and the other preexisting conditions, everyone was doing just peachy. Just getting tired of waiting. They were ready for it to be done so they could go play on the swing sets. Or have tea parties. Some of them just thought it would be nice to eat some dirt for old times sake.

It had become time. The sun had set. Pyro stood and motioned everyone up.

“I want you guys to stay back here. You can watch, but I would feel better if you don’t put yourselves in danger right now.”

This suggestion was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He didn’t care as long as they listened to him.

Pyro turned and walked toward the edge of the building. As he rounded the corner a solid wall of flame grew ahead of him. He stood looking at it for a minute. He noticed the intricate patterns that the fire would make and also realized that they changed, or disappeared, just as quickly as they were created. He took a deep breath and walked forward.

The people on the other side saw the wall suddenly appear. They were scared. They tried to run, but the sheer number of them made it impossible.

Pyro walked into the wall. His eyes were burning brighter then the fire that he controlled. Untouched by the flames, he stood in the middle of the controlled flare. He scanned the horizon and all of the people that stood before him. This would get messy, but he had done as much before. He would have mountains of people to climb here. He didn’t think those shadows wanted to play with him so they probably wouldn’t clean up after him either.

He dropped his head and with a slight gesture of his hands the inferno grew to the sides. He played the role of conductor, and directed a tune of his own design. The wall grew thick around the edges and shot straight out. With one fell swoop both side were consumed. He hadn’t taken anybody out of commission yet, but it would not take much.

He still couldn’t reach the tank, but it didn’t matter much. The General and Joe were still out of range, but he would make his way there soon enough. He didn’t even know their names, just that they were on the highest ground and the furthest away, so they must be in charge.

The screams destroyed the air, but did nothing to slow the situation. Pyro could not hear anything except his won heart beat. The flames died down for a split second and then suddenly leaped forward, from his position, straight into the crowd. Those who were unharmed choked on the burning air and the smell of roasting flesh. He had cut an almost clean line down the middle. As he lowered the torch, the gaps filled back up immediately.

He decided to be playful here. Magic would be happening. His orchestra would play harder than it ever had. He shot bolts out at 45 degree angles. Once again the gap filled itself as soon as he relented. He wondered how long this could go on, and more importantly, how long could he do it before he became too bored with it. He guessed quite a while.

A column went up right in front of him and expanded to form an impenetrable barrier. As he slowly walked forward so did his wall, consuming all that were in it’s path. There was a lot of ground to cover and he had moved very little since beginning.

The sky was alight. If one didn’t know any better, and was looking the other way, they would think it was daylight. As the wall moved forward it formed little darting tentacles. They would randomly spear people a few rows back. The slithering tongues of medusa’s snakes. The people didn’t even try to run. They seemed to be made of stone. Too shocked. Too awestruck. Too frightened. And shortly after, too dead.

Blazing columns shot from the ground. To an observer it would have looked like one of the dancing water fountains. There was a reason for this too. Pyro had gotten his inspiration while he was storming the Olympic park in Atlanta. He had watched that dancing fountain for hours. Memorizing every transition it made. He had even learned how to move around on it without ever getting wet.

His victims were not as lucky. Every shaft took more lives. There would have been such beauty in Pyro’s control if things were different. His delicate manipulation of his element was astounding. He could claim one person or 100 at will. The possibility of taking out everyone at once was there, but there just didn’t seem to be a good reason for that.

Even the shadows were afraid. They were not as immune as they would have first thought. The screams that they released were torturous. They pierced eardrums. Many people were deafened suddenly. The others were suddenly disheveled and tried to stay on both feet with only marginal success. Even Pyro was affected by those screams. When his concentration would break, the flames would falter for a moment. With his composure regained they would return with even greater intensity.

Every step forward would find his feet sinking into the pavement. The ground was becoming increasingly slippery, which among other things, made footing very unsure. He marched on, but with greater care to keep from falling. That just would not look very professional.

2.

Picture a wasteland. A vast expanse where buildings used to strike at the skies. Where people worked. Where they played. Where they had fun. Picture all of those people. Permanently encased in the asphalt that they used to drive on. Hands raised in anger. Charred bones covering empty sockets where eyes used to be.

See the little army marching thorough the street. Not paying attention to the bones being ground below their feet. Focused on the action before them. Walking on their teachers. Their friends. Their families. Watching the wall that consumed all who crossed it’s path. Smiling as their fates constantly evolved. As their dreams became one step closer to realization.

Half of the opposition had already been dealt with. With vengeance. With fury. With an unwavering lack of remorse. The other half had started to retreat to the best of their abilities. It was slow going. Too slow by far.

The children were singing “99 Bottles on beer on the wall.” With every step, the funeral dirge continued. The opposition could barely hear anything over the noise of shuffling feet, screams, and the crackling flames.

Pyro was having fun now. Tormenting the runners. He would lick their ears. Tickle the back of their necks. Pat their asses. Stab them through the heart with a glowing spear of light. Remove their feet with a sword of glowing embers. Up heave the earth under the crippled combatants. Make them pop like hotdogs, overcooked in a microwave. There was no end to the amusement. No end to the fun. No end to the games. He knew it would be over someday, but not for a while. He could take his time.

Exhausted. Everyone was exhausted on both sides. The children were stumbling along. The other side was trying to run, but it turned into more of an awkward stumble. Some of them were too tired to even manage that. Some would just lay down and wait for their fate to finally be sealed. It was much like abusing ants with a magnifying glass. There was nothing they could do.

There was no point in retreating. Joe and the General understood that so they stayed where they were. They watched. They waited. They accepted their fates. The President ran as soon as the rage had started. There was no telling where he actually went, except by following his footprints, which would be covered by a fresh layer of soot before too long. It would not change his end, just adjust the time scale slightly. He might also just expire do to hunger or lack of hydration, but that was yet to be seen.

Joe couldn’t help but sing “Another One Bites the Dust” in his head. He couldn’t explain it, but it made things slightly more bearable. The General heard him humming the tune and joined in, but it didn’t help his disposition in any way. In fact he now thought about terminating Joe himself, or at least breaking his legs, for getting the tune stuck in his head. He decided against it due to the amount of effort that it would require. He did hold onto that rage though.

Some of the children found themselves wishing for marshmallows. Not that they were particularly hungry, but the sight of such a huge blaze, coupled with the singing, brought thoughts of camping, s’ mores, and other fanciful thoughts. If they didn’t know any better they would’ve been able to imagine a friendly camping trip in the middle of a forest fire.

The General watched the events and was starkly reminded of the World Trade Center. He had been quite a bit younger when that had happened, and it was why he had stayed in the military for as long as he had. He remembered digging victims out of the rubble. Working so many hours that he was lucky to get a cat nap, or two, for days at a time. Explaining to family members that their loved ones had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was something that he had tried to drink away, and here it was again. Even if he managed to make it out alive, he didn’t think he could handle it again.