Her naked feet hit the frozen ground; book in one hand, gasoline
can in the other (at this point, it was too late to put on shoes). She’d tried
several times now to set it alight, but she was sure this plan would work.
The book fell to the earth with a soft thud and the fluid
flooded the cover. To make sure it lit, she opened it and spilled among the
pages, too. She struck a match and let go.
The heat was shocking, like a sudden chill in the winter, but
she composed herself and quickly moved back, taking the gas can with her. The
flames waltzed with the wind and the pages began to curl and shrink like
melting Plexiglass.
After a few quick moments, the book had the likeness of a large,
white rose that had been lit on fire and was blooming in reverse. For fear of
her feet freezing in the evening, she splashed more fuel on the flames, her
distaste for the cold eventually outweighed her desire for distance from the
book.
She got tired of waiting, so she decided to let the fire die; it
was good enough. Stubborn as fire is, it persisted, forcing her to employ a
metal pipe to stamp it out. Of course, this only encouraged the embers into
revolution.
The previously untouched pages were next. As if tending a
campfire, she prodded and shifted the ash and ember around until more flame was
exposed.
The last small pieces were eaten away and the pages began to
squeal softly in pain. A life, if you could call it that, had ended. Now the
dilemma was turning the glow into soot without making her frozen feet work too
hard. She returned to the ashes with the metal pipe, flicking up dirt to settle
the tiny city of lights. It was the pipe’s turn to be headstrong, as it tried
to take bits of the flame hostage. Soon all that was left was like the dollar
you find in the pocket of your jeans after you do your laundry, and it crumbled
in the wind. If ever a word was read again it would be sorely out of context.
On her knees, she patted the pile of soot down with her hand, with a slight
tremble of fear for being burned.
She was satisfied. She threw the pipe, carried
the canister, went inside, and looked at her hand. She questioned the irony of
the ash on her hands as she turned on the sink. As she washed the demons away.
