Prometheus lost. Light fires for him.
The children turned their backs on the screams of anguish. A wailing and caterwauling as of the denizens of Hell itself split the crackling confines of the single room. Overheated candy popped in the lush walls, overcooked gingerbread smouldered in the crossbeams, but Hansel and Gretel refused to leave until they knew her dead.
It took time, too much time, but like everything in life she came to an end. The fire returned to a simmering warmth, as the acrid smell drained from the room. Before long, they were just a normal brother and sister holding hands before a spitting fire. Or so it seemed?
It was the smell of singed carpet that made Gretel sniff, the sizzle of stray sparks that made Hansel tense. But it was that laugh, that cackling unmistakable laugh that made them both turn. Her eyes burned crimson and bright.
She was aflame, but alive. Burning hands supported her weight, as the witch crawled from the inferno. The children ran, of course they did, but the door was locked, the windows boarded: there was no escaping the candy house. Hansel and Gretel were undone. Perhaps, soon, too be overdone.
“You are not.”
“No, the world burns.”
“Where is this?”
“Best you don’t know.”
“It would upset you.”
“Why is that an issue?”
“It is not good to upset you.”
“But this place.”
“Call me, Apocalypse.”
Burning, always burning
Igniting with a swish
Bathed in the colours of a volcanic dream
I went for a walk, but was not what it seemed
As I looked to the shadows of some silhouette trees
Afire and flaming, as if just for me
The world changed to scarlet, yet hidden from view
Turned on the memory of my nights with you
When the world could be burning, but what did we care
As we danced, as we laughed, but then you weren’t there
Such are the perils of walking at dusk
When memories are vivid and views, we can’t trust
Yes, the world could be burning, the sky ruby hue
But that wouldn’t alter my few weeks with you