Holocaust.

          Adrenaline courses through my veins like the bloodthirsty River Styx burning through the hellish gates of the Underworld, yet I am placid- oblivious to the fiery scene around me. How beautiful is this deadly, spiraling torch of crimson as it melds into the sunset! I revel in this delightful arson, this perfect crime. Pulsing heat from the embers immerse my fingertips; the intoxicating scent of smoke and moribund leaves tantalize my senses. Alas, the sharp crackling of the blaze bitterly awakens me to reality. An acrid, suffocating smell of burning rubber sears my nostrils as the combustion laps forcefully at my sneakers. In my trance, I failed to notice the rough wood bark, so tenderly guarded in my hands, turn to speckled ash. Only the velvety smooth caress of deathly gray dust remains. The cinders are so fragile, so beautiful; my coffee-tainted breath catches in the midst of the inferno. Dry gusts of heat then immediately scorch the inside of my mouth.  A cry pierces the air. It is the sound of pure, undiluted fear- the desperate fleeing cries of frantic creatures. Even pale gray wisps of serpents slither towards the sky, away from the sparks, and dissolve into nothingness. What a bête noire this conflagration must be to them! In the last, haunting notes of this spontaneous, destructive symphony, I witness the wilting death of auburn leaves as they are consumed by the inevitable- the ravenous, devouring flames.