Firestorm (Micro-fiction)

I saw the flames lick the houses clean–slowly, devouring through the utter madness of it all. The firestorm went up into the air in a triumphant show of its victory, and with it, I tasted the sadness of the people who lost their homes to the feral blaze. The fire was as red as blood, which dripped through the obsidian night under the veil of a waning moon. With poison in my lungs, I turned back, away from the chaos, but all I could hear was the roar of the disquiet darkness–ripped to pieces by the rapacious inferno, scattered, with edges sharp enough to stab through my unhealed heart.


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