This is one thing I could never get sick of, ever. The sound of a fire crackling. It's so calm and soothing knowing that I'm in control of a force that could destroy everything I've ever known.

I pull a piece of paper out of my sketchbook and toss it in, watching the failed piece of art distort and burn. Effort being destroyed almost instantly.

A chilly breeze wafts across the vacant lot which is across the street from my garbage hole I call a house.

Nobody has ever shown any interest in this lot, and frequently the kids of the neighborhood would have bonfires here. It was fun to watch them occasionally.

I rip out another piece and watch the once brilliant blues, turn brown with the orange flames.

I wish I wasn't a chicken and could stick my hand right into the flames, watch them lick away my skin as I watch them eat up the paper I feed them.

I actually look at my next paper. It's a special one as... it's one that doesn't belong with the rest of my drawings... it's a guy holding a knife to his tongue as if he licked the blood off.

I rip it out but hesitate. I heard that burning art releases them into the real world... do I want to potentially release this demon into the world?

I scoff and toss it in. The story is an old wives tale to keep kids from wasting paper, I try to convince myself.

Another breeze swiftly blows and I shiver, even though I feel warmth right in front of me. I pull my jacket on and decide that maybe I've burned enough tonight that I'll have some inspiration or even motivation for tomorrow.

I close my sketchbook and take some time to make sure the flames are dead, not caring really if the wind comes and picks an ember up and burns my house down with me inside.