You lie on the ground curled in a ball to conserve warmth, thinking of the last time you ate a full meal, four or was it five days ago? You've been scrounging the trash for food, an apple core, or a crust of bread, anything to make that endless hunger somewhat manageable. But it's not enough, eventually, you will die, you are already dying. You stare at your cracked and dirty fingernails, at your filthy clothes, that were once fine and beautiful, that was months ago, when you still had many riches, before the fire where your house, family, and riches all burned to the ground. Why did this happen to you? You were good people, you don't deserve this. You've never gone this long without a proper meal, without bathing. You stare at your legs which used to be corded with hard muscle, now you are weak and skinny, you can barely stand. All this because you were obsessed with a flame? You worshipped fire, played with it all the time, but nothing like that had ever happened to you. You remember the countless conversations with your mother about the dangers of fire, back then you were just a sad fifteen year old if you thought that life was terrible then what is this? You think of the endless times you complained about how hard it was back then, of how many times you cried yourself to sleep. Sure, you had no friends and no one who really cared about you, but at least you had a roof over your head, and hot meals and access to a shower. Now you can’t even summon the strength to cry. You stare at the burns on your arms, the twisted, scarred, red flesh, the only injury you got in the fire while the rest of your family died. Now you have survivor's guilt, you should have stayed and died with them, or put out the fire. You ran like a coward, ran as you heard the sirens from miles away. Now you spend your days sleeping on old decrepit newspapers on the cold hard ground, scrounging for food. You constantly ask yourself why you haven't just given up and ended it all yet, but something inside won't let you, something inside you tells you that there is still something or someone waiting for you out there, or maybe your to scared of what comes after considering what you did, or maybe your just too afraid to kill yourself, after all, the only thing you've done to hurt yourself was slice up your arm with a razor blade, and even then it didn't hurt, just stung a little. When you did that, it was just to ease the numbness, to give you some feeling other than sadness, or numbness. Even so, this existence is pointless. All you're doing is waiting for death. You did this to calm yourself instead you committed arson, all because you needed something to make you feel better, and your selfish acts were terrible, and all of this, for what? To calm your inner wildfire.