Proud of his intelligence, he looked down at his pad, the words there in an elegant flowing script. He wasn't so proud, as he felt the pen warm in his hand. Quickly becoming painfully hot, he dropped it to the desk, where it rolled to the floor.
However, James was more distracted by the top page of the pad. The ink was smoking, a thin grey vapour rising from the page. In moments, it burst into flames consuming the page. The flames were a sickly green/yellow colour before turning back to the normal red/yellow mix of burning paper. The words consumed, he felt a tension leave the air.
More immediately, he ripped the first page from the pad, and threw it still burning into the bin. Splashing the contents with the remains of a glass of water, he smothered it. Waiting what felt like eternity, until smoke worked it's way around the edge of the bin. Cautiously he revealed the bin again. A cloud of smoke rose blocking his sight, and burning his nose. Wafting it away, he saw red embers at the bottom, and ashes, but thankfully no licking flames.
Opening the window, in desperate need of the mundane, James let the smoke circulate, thin and drift out the window. Turning his attention back to the pen. It lay on the floor, a wary touch confirming the heat had left it.
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