My name is Simon. I’m a firefighter.
I cross out a line.
Was a firefighter.
Muttering dryly to myself, I raise the glass to my lips once more.
Tart liquor meets my dry tongue. I grip the cup, tightening my hold. Suddenly, it cracks. A fracture, no bigger than a needle, shoots through the rim. I grit my teeth, feeling its sharp edge cutting deep into the flesh of my hand. Then it shatters, shards soaring through the air. Brandy seeps into the wound.
I feel nothing.
I pick up the pen again.
Let me tell you a bit about myself.
My name is Simon Seriphine. I was born in Ludlow, Vermont. Actually, I still live in Ludlow. I guess it’s nice up here. Trees and birds and whatnot.. Gives me plenty to write about. But it’s cold, and I hate the cold.
I pause, reconsidering. Then I start again.
My name is Simon. But at the station, they call me firebug.
I toss the pen aside. A single tear rolls down my cheek, pools on my chin, and falls to the parchment. It leaves a lonely little spot—I stare at it. Water seeps into my writing. The ink runs, muddling my words.
Firefighter.
A movement catches my attention, and my head swings to the door. Eyes straining, I peer into the inky dark. But there is nothing. Perhaps it’s the brandy, I reassure myself. I focus my attention on the parchment once more.
I wasn’t just a firefighter, I was the best firefighter you’ve ever seen. It’s like the flames bent to my will, smoldered under my very gaze. I was a hero.
Again, the movement. Irritated, I look up once more. I glare at the shadows, who merely shrug and shake their heads, signalling they have nothing to hide. When I begin to turn, however, a flash of light hits my eye. A funny orange glow.
I stand, and the pen sits back, exasperated. But alas, dear friend, I am far too curious to continue my vulgar self reflections! Facing the twilight, I strain my vision, and the light reappears. A spot of amber, it glistens of starlight and gemstones—a lighthouse, guiding my lonely ship through the storm. I creep forward. As I advance, my footsteps, soft and sure, echo through the deep blue night.
At the end of the hall, there is a window. It eyes me warily as I approach. Light filters through a crack in the pane. Buzzing with nervous excitement, I rip back the moth-eaten curtains, and a veil of dust descends upon me. I cough, staggering backward, and catch the fallen drapes around my ankles. I fall quite roughly on my back. Dazed, I struggle to catch my breath, eyes adjusting.
A shock shoots through my body. My heart leaps into my throat. Oh shit. I run to the window, clutching my chest. Shit.
I sprint to the front door and out to the yard, where I pivot on my heel and dash for the white fence. Fumbling with the latch, I curse and bash down the gate instead. I run as fast as I can, up the highest hill in the lush green countryside, where I stand at the very top. It is there I scream in absolute terror.
The tip of the horizon has caught fire.
Panicked, I look around for someone, anyone—but I am alone. I turn back in horror.
All at once, the night sky bursts into flames.
And what a fire it is! At once devastating and lovely, I watch as it dances across the sky, wild and free. When it brushes the clouds, they combust in a wash of red light. When it kisses the stars, they burn freely, cast alight. Even the moon is enveloped with golden flames. All around me, a sea of fire, a beautiful torment of orange and pink.
I let out a cry of agony, dropping to my knees. It is there that I, the lowly fireman, sob for my life. I understand it now. For I am no master of flame, nor shall I ever be.
I sit and wait for the burn.
Heaven’s on fire again.
Simon’s Last Entry:
Heaven’s on Fire
Cast it in flames
One man’s desire
Forever his pain
Heaven’s on Fire
See blaze burn the stars
The orange stretched onwards
Both near and both far
Heaven’s on Fire
His own heart alight
Reflecting the ruin
Of this lonely night
Heaven’s on Fire
The man, he is mourning
For all that can save him
Is cool blue of morning