The monster

The heat, that thick scent of smoke. Tom loved it when something burns. He stood on the gravel reveling the view. It arouses him. That bright orange light was like a hand beckoning him home. Smoke filtered the screams, leaving only the quiet and the crackling sound of burning bones. When the fire had finally ceased. Tom felt a precipitous longing. It was like watching a loved one die. As he walked across the remains of the fire, the desire to feel its welcoming heat on his skin became a need. A desperate need that his hands began to tremble as he reaches for the match hidden beneath his trouser pocket. He needs to see this fire again. It was his life. He worshipped the fire like a man worshipping the sun. Without it he is alone. He is Tom. Just Tom. A rancid sociopath walking pointlessly against the surface of the earth. But the fire gave him purpose. Tom stumbled amidst the ashes, sucking a breath of desperation. The matchbox that had once been his lifeline now faced him with blank indignation. He was alone. The fire had abandoned him. For the first time in years Tom felt a swell of emotions. His eyes that had dried from the heat blurred with unfamiliar wetness. He grasped the ashes, hoping for its scent to mark him, to be inside him. Overhead the sky bleated in mockery. Rain pelted against his back showering away scent of smoke in his skin. Tom wailed beneath the darkness, amidst the vast burnt world he made. There was no one to hear him. No fire, no warmth, just coldness and death.

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1976

Taylor Spence spent his whole teenage life in a profound solitude. His father, a factory worker who rarely ever comes home used to beat his child with his torn leather belt in the backyard where their neighbors could witness the entire scene of brutality and abused yet do nothing to help. His mother, who's glued at the rusted wheelchair, who spent most of the time sleeping and smoking pot, was either in a haze of internal hallucinations or utter indifference. It was only Taylor and Taylor alone who was too self-aware for his own good, that he boxed up his 16 years of infliction behind the dark corners of his mind and pretended to be a normal teenage boy in his School in Mcderry. He was after all a handsome child, in the haste of growing up not for the same reason his peers so loudly pronounce. But rather, he was in a haste to leave this world he desperately hated. His mom but most of all his father. They were the root of all his problems. They were the venom, the poison in his veins, and Taylor knew that sooner or later their poison would eat him whole.

Taylor Spence was a walking mask. He'd spent a long time forcing his lips to curve in front of their cloudy bathroom mirror. As he walked across their gravelly campus, the forced curve of his lips almost felt like its natural shape. He was good at this. He was good at pretending. You are normal. He'd hang on to these thoughts until his feet meet their dirty porch and he was back again to the place he hated the most.

Taylor was 7 when he first met Tom. Unlike Taylor, Tom was taller by an inch yet his narrow and slumping posture made him look smaller compared to Taylor. His knobby feet, ragged oversized shirt, and grubby face made him look like a walking definition of Taylor's life. Tom sat down on the wet grass. His eyes transfixed on the thing beneath his hands. Taylor waved, hoping to get the boy's attention. Despite the efforts, Taylor found himself ignored. He walked towards the boy taking no notice of the cold. Hey, what are you doing? Taylor asked. The boy did not move. His eyes remained staring at the orange light beneath his hands. It took a long time for Taylor to notice the smoke. A thin gray line of smoke hovered from the boy's hand. Tom laughed. It was the kind of laughter that send shivers to Taylor's knees. Why are you burning your hand? Taylor asked. The boy looked up from his hands and as if in a daze, stared bemusedly at Taylor. He stood up from the wet grass and offered his blackened hand. They call me Tom.

His brief acquaintance with Tom proved to be indelible. For the second time that night, Taylor dreamed about a fire. It was small, barely visible amidst the thick blank darkness. Taylor felt a hint of hope. In his dreams, he knew he wasn't alone. There was someone covering the fire, protecting it from the wind. Taylor moved closer desperate for its warmth. His knees shook as he walked. Closer... closer... closer. With each step, Taylor could feel his heart pumping in exultation. The fire blossomed sending bright, orange sparks amidst the darkness. Taylor laughed. It was like the fire was taunting him, mocking him with its beauty and brightness. The closer he got, Taylor noticed a body spawned in the center of the fire. A boy. His skin melts like wax as the fire began to devour him with vigor. Taylor stared in astonishment. It was like a biology class. Only the fire was his teacher showing him the methods of dissecting a human body in 300 degrees Fahrenheit.

His brief acquaintance with Tom proved to be indelible. For the second time that night, Taylor dreamed about a fire. It was small, barely visible amidst the thick blank darkness. Taylor felt a hint of hope. In his dreams, he knew he wasn't alone. There was someone covering the fire, protecting it from the wind. Taylor moved closer desperate for its warmth. His knees shook as he walked. Closer... closer... closer. With each step, Taylor could feel his heart pumping in exultation. The fire blossomed sending bright, orange sparks amidst the darkness. Taylor laughed. It was like the fire was taunting him, mocking him with its beauty and brightness. The closer he got, Taylor noticed a body spawned in the center of the fire. A boy. His skin melts like wax as the fire began to devour him with vigor. Taylor stared in astonishment. It was like a biology class. Only the fire was his teacher showing him the methods of dissecting a human body in 300 degrees Fahrenheit.