Burn

TRIGGER WARNING: THEMES OR MENTIONS OF GORE AND SUICIDE

Something’s burning.

It fills my senses with smoke, but that was my intention.

It has to burn with me.

Burn,

Burn,

Burn.

I turned on the stove, walked to my room, opened all the windows and waited.

I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes, and fire’s already at my bedroom door, because the wind was carrying it this way. I think about what will happen by the time I’m gone. Someone will call the police, but it will take a while, considering the closest firehouses and police stations are an hour away, even if they have the authority to drive past the speed limit. I start to fidget with my hands, cracking my knuckles, and clicking my nails against each other, waiting for my up and coming mortal end. I’m interrupted by a voice coming from an open window in my room outside, “Hey! Uh, Chris?”

I walk to the window. I’m on the second floor of the building. I look down and there, I see Bo, in all his idiocy.

Liability.

I’m already wishing the fire would get to this window already, and burn this mortal body, so I may leave this painfully stupid mortal life, “I’m listening, Bo.”

“Are you aware that your house is on fire?” He asks.

An idiot question fit only for an idiot mortal.

I let out a sigh through my nose, rubbing my burning, red sore eyes. I am very tempted to walk into the fire, I fear the flames are not running fast enough. “Yes, I am aware, Bo.” I mumble.

“You seem a little calm for your house to be burning.”

I only give him a wry smile.

“You’re committing arson.”

“I’m sure it’s not arson if it’s my own home.”

Bo looks up at me with a blank face, I look back down at him, “Well?”

He suddenly screams, and supposedly realized I was going to burn to ashes. He scrambles for his phone, and dials 911, as I turn around, sitting on the floor and hugging my knees to my chest, and resting my head on them, falling asleep.

I wake up—wait, what?—in a hospital, with Bo screaming over me, “Chris! Chris, are you alright!? Christopher? Is that your name, Christopher? Please wake up!—”

“Shut up.” I groan softly. I look at him, and he smiles sweetly. Mortal joy. I look away from him, sneering, “Why would you take me here?”

This place is reeks of mortal death. I can feel it, the knowledge of their deaths running through my veins, what’s left of their consciousnesses poking and prodding my skin, some staring at me, some talking to me, some glaring. I ignore all of them, focusing on my own problems, “How did you take me here?”

“When I called 911, they told me to grab water and clear the flames, but I knew it would take too long, so I went in there and got you myself. You got burnt, but don’t worry, they look sick.” He gestures at my arms, where bandages covering my burn marks, which sting like the Seven Hells on Earth.

Common idiocy.

“Thank you for reassuring me with your mortal idiocy, Bo. And saving my life, sparing me from the Eternal—“ giving too much away “—thank you.” I grumble.

I look at him once more, but look away once again, “Are you hurt?”

Why am I asking that? Why do I care?

“Who, me? No, I’m fine.” He leans in close, his stare intense and unreadable, “Why’d you set your house on fire?”

I can see a hint of a bandage under his arm hidden by his plaid button up shirt that rides up when he moves his arm which he uses as his support as he leans against the wall. It makes him look dumb. I don’t answer his question, nor do I push his lie. I only ask, “How did you get me to the hospital?”

“I drove you.” He says shrugging, leaning away. He decides he’s doing too much and sits in his seat like a decent person.

Forgot this idiot could drive. And I can’t. It’s too complicated and manual. I would rather use my wings. It uses much less thought, which gives me more room to, well, think.

I pause, and whisper once more, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, it’s just what anyone else would do.” He shrugs once again.

No, because anyone else wouldn’t be as dumb as you.

Liability. A voice in my mind echoes.

It infuriates me how he’s taking this so lightly, like I wasn’t going to die back there.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You’re my friend, you know?” He says, smiling once again.

“Ooooh, you like him!” One of the ghosts chime, irritating me further, beyond the fact that he sees me as his friend.

I could never befriend a mortal. Much less, have one as a partner.

I sneer once again, but don’t say anything further, looking away from him, turning my head to the other side of the room, watching an old invisible woman knit what looks like a sweater. She glares at me, murmuring, “Satan” over and over again. I narrow my eyes and look away. I look, instead, at a little girl, who has been pestering me about the hospital food ever since I got here.

“So, hey, after this, you could always stay over at my place until they finish with your home.” He says.

My head snaps to him, “No.”

His expression falls, “Why not?”

Liability, A voice hisses in my head, Kill it.

I inhale, then exhale, “Because….because….well—“

“It’s okay if you don’t like me, but I figured since you don’t have any friends…”

It pities you.

“What makes you think I don’t have friends?”

“Well, I just assumed—“

“That doesn’t make it true.”

“I know, but—“

“Forget it.” I mumble, lying back in my hospital bed, sighing. “Just don’t leave.”

‘Just don’t leave’?! No, I want him to leave! What’s wrong with me?!

He smiles again, so I turn my head away from him, “Okay.”

I can’t tell him anything further, I remind myself, I almost slipped there.

To be continued?