He had enough. He was done with hope, life, everything.

Let's burn it down while I choke on death.

××₰××

A boy's body lay motionless in the middle of the ring of raging fire. The fire was everywhere, destroying what's able to burn up.

He laid in the middle, choking up in white foam while he spasmed periodically. His will to live and desire to die was clashing, like two enemies at war. Blood was shed, lives were lost, casualties and scars were all that's left. Trauma was a constant as it throbs in his mind, creeping up on one's unguarded moments.

Yellings were heard outside, as they tried to extinguish the fire that was raging. It refused to be stopped till it had burnt everything down to the ground. The fire against the walls, devouring up anything that could be turned into charred ruins. Erasing signs of everything, making it a black wasteland. The whitewashed walls of the cell were gradually giving way, succumbing to the demon called fire that melted it all away to nothing.

Bomb. Crash. It was gone in grandeur, that flourish of an exit. He could be salvageable, only in a badly burnt corpse form. He is dead, and no one can stop him. It was the wisest choice he made, throughout his so called life.

The fire seemed to sense it had done its duty. It started retreating and allowed the liquid mess on the floors to surface, shining radiantly in a haunting manner. It would be a scene carved into the eyewitnesses for days, months, years. It was so deeply unforgettable to see all that rubble mixed in that mess of colours to look like, yet the aftermath was eerily pretty like an artwork. He himself was charred much. Peeled flesh, charred face, all destroyed beyond recognition. His body was red all over, glowing pinkish on the areas where the black didn't camouflage.

He left a legacy behind, though it wasn't pretty. The price he paid was insurmountable to this beauty in all glorified madness of the insane boy who thought he was sane.