The Psychosomatic Nature of Man

The chorus of a song written by Prodigy played back through his head, “I’m a fire starter, twisted fire starter.” He walked casually amongst the mighty trees, his scratched brass-colored Zippo twirling in his hand as he hummed the tune. He clicked open the lid to his trusty sidekick and knelt down to hold it against the parched undergrowth of a dieing tree. The aroma of naphtha swirled in his flared nostrils. Unable to resist his urge any further, he flicked the flint wheel and watched intently as the orange flame licked over the arid leaves. A crackling noise began and grew increasingly louder as the fire spread. He stepped back to admire his latest masterpiece. The vicious flames engulfed the foliage, emitting an ominous amber glow from between the trees. The intense heat pulsed from the raging fire, warming his pale skin. Grey smoke plumed up from the forest as if it were the spirits of the trees writhing in agony. White and black ash escaped the flames who reached infinitely upwards, floating down in a pathetic attempt to blanket the charred timber carcasses. Fading embers lay scattered on the ground, the blood stain of nature. Chuckling, the man strolled away from his malicious deed.

Are you a fire starter?
~Chiko!