The Flames Lament

         The flames called to him, as comforting as the voice of his deceased mother. She too had heard the call of the inferno, which she had passed down with all the ritual ceremony of some heathen cult. “From fire the world was born.” she had said, “In fire so shall it end.”
         In his childhood, he wanted nothing more than to be normal. The life of a musician was what held his attention. “Blasphemy!” his mother had said. He was intended for much greater things.
         The time had come, the Cleansing they had called it. His weapons, nothing more than gasoline and a lighter, his cross, the words of his mother. They gnawed at his mind as he prepared himself for the end and the beginning.
         She had told him that to bring down “the idiotic masses” was not to deprive them of their basic needs, but to rob them of their unholy habits. Thus, he went forward into the night, first stopping at the local television station.
         The flames roared high into the sky. He watched for a moment from a nearby hillside. The smell was different than any other time before. He wondered how many people were smacking their T.V. and cursing.
         His next stop was the radio station less than a mile away. With the ease of many years of practice, the blaze raged uncontrollably. The parking lot half full of cars held no sway over his mind. He strolled away as if he had just been bird watching in the park.
         He stopped into a diner to grab a bite to eat. It was busy and all there seemed to be contented with their meals. Within ten minutes it too could be seen ablaze from a mile away.
         Becoming tired from all his walking, he decided to hit a nearby club. A local band was playing and the crowd was ecstatic. He thought about this for a moment. That could have been him on the stage. That could have been him playing the guitar and the crowd hanging on his every word. Tears of rage welled up in his eyes.
         He went back outside to begin the deed at hand. He used more fuel than usual this time. It had gotten all over his clothes and dripped from his boots. An eerie smile crept over his face as he lit the exterior and walked back inside.
         The smell of gasoline drew the attention of a few nearby. “This is my ode to my mother!” he yelled as he lit his lighter and held it close to his chest. He burst into flames and ran towards the stage. The fire from outside had now made it to the door, and blocked it.
         He stood for a second on the stage, watching the pandemonium through the flames, knowing that he was the star of the show. There was searing pain, unparalleled pleasure, then darkness, from which he never returned.

(word count: 491)

This story was written for the "Flicker of Madness" flash fiction contest, using the prompt "Ashes of Old Wishes." Thank you for reading, I sincerely appreciate it.