The Flames Will Rise
The road was shadowy, where the leaves had not yet fallen. Every so often one or two would fall to the ground with something like the sound of a husky whisper. The entire place was aflame, and were Nathaniel to walk in it, the crackling the action would produce would seal the likeness to a world of flame, the flames in which the world would end.
The world would end. One of these dusty mornings, the world would catch fire, ignited by the sunrise, and by the time it had all burned out, hollow, the night would be unending. There was no cycle; the world would not begin again. There would be night, ashes in the darkness forever. It would be cold then, thought Nathaniel. He wouldn’t like it, then. But he’d have to live with it.
He’d have to live. He didn’t know how long. It might be forever, and then again it might be just this side of forever. His death could always be a step ahead, teasing, just out of reach. Not that there would be any days to measure it by.
Nathaniel took a step, and the flames rose.
