I wasn’t sure why they wanted to burn the clothes and snowboard so much.
Both brothers said they held memories for them: memories they wanted to forget.
Whatever. It wasn’t for me to question their intentions. I did have a slight hesitation with burning fibreglass because of the environment…but:
It is what it is.
I wanted to burn things too. Emotions.
I built the man. My thoughts flew back three years ago. Same place. Different time. Different people. Sticks for the legs and a cardboard tube for the body and head.
He didn’t have to be perfect.In fact, he was far from it.
He just needed to burn.
The younger brother stuffed paper down the crotch and lit that part first, then the shoes next.
“Do you want to name him?” He asked me.
“Yes.” I whispered.
The same name.
What is justice?
For a barbaric act against someone, perhaps a barbaric punishment.
But history shows many witches who were burnt at the stake for their beliefs without doing anything wrong.
And the truth is, he is walking around free even though the system should have put him in prison.
There is no justice.
This is all I can do.
Three years in hell.
Let it go.
Breathe, and let it go.
It’s all I can do now.
Because if I don’t: it will consume me.
The cardboard funnel acted like a chimney, and soon flames were shooting out of his head, while the rest of his body had barely started burning.
The dogs ran around, some excited, some scared, because off in the distance fireworks started shooting into the sky.
It was a new year: 2015.
The Burning Man at The End Of The World.
We were three. We were sober. We were strong.
We watched the Man burn to the ground.
Fuck you. Burn.