I felt a wave of heat rush over my body as the solid concrete turned to ethereal flames and boiling gas. I watched as the sky turned orange and the screams of those I used to know were drowned out by the sounds of the earth splitting. I looked down at my clenched fists.

When had I balled them up?

I can't remember. Sometime between starting the count down and reaching my current position I reckon.

I unclenched my fist and gazed at my hands. They were trembling, but not out of fear or terror. Out of pure adrenaline. I could still feel the rush and wanted it again.

Again I clenched my fists, nails cutting through the soft flesh of my palms as my muscles pulled at bone, knuckles whitening. White hot, burning metal.

It felt good but not as good as the explosion.

It had taken me months to gather all the required materials but it had been worth it. Finally my greatest masterpiece was burning in front of me. My eyes widened despite the scorching temperatures, trying to absorb the spectacle.

A once in a lifetime sight, never to be repeated again. Not that people would want it to be repeated but those are the kind of humans who simply don't understand true art. Ignorant fools, oblivious to the beauty of every moment that passes.

Not like me. I understand. And so do those now trapped in that burning inferno.

I'm jealous.

Why do they get the chance to be art whilst I live on to be trapped in this body of human flesh?

I want to burn, to feel, to become one with my art and for a fleeting second be completely and utterly unique.

A grin split across my face helping to release the strangled laugh that was attempting to escape my throat. The laughter racked my body in waves, threatening to break my already weak structure. Even when the wind blew the smoke into my face I carried on laughing, the thick, black smog burning my eyes and lungs until I almost felt at one with my artwork.


But not quite.

The wind changed direction again allowing me full view as I watched the place I once called my school, burn into the skyline.

It wasn't until I felt someone grasp me firmly by the shoulders that I realised the air around me was buzzing with the screech of sirens. So different to the soothing crackle of a fire. High pitched, wailing.

Turn the noise off! It hurts my head!

People trying to fight the blaze were taken aback by the size and ferocity of the fire.

Admiration in their eyes. Shock and disgust but most importantly, admiration.

Maybe the saw true art in the inferno too?

I couldn't help but feel pride when I saw the shock and awe plastered across the police officer holding me in place.

Unexpected. Un-allowed. Unstoppable.

That was my art. Beauty in it's most brutal and animalistic form.

As I was escorted into the back of a police van, hands firmly cuffed behind my back, I took one final glance at my art.

It was magnificent.

Short but I like it. Besides, it's very different to how I normally write. You like?