Burn.

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.