Flare

He was a man born of fire. A traveler, one who kept looking forward and never looked back. If he glanced over his shoulder, all he saw was a trail of ash.

He was constantly on the move, and if he stopped to rest, it was only for one night before resuming his journey towards nowhere. His life would fizzle and die out should he pause for any longer.

At this moment in time, he found himself in a shining field of wheat. The entire day he had walked, never stopping to eat or rest. Besides, there was no reason for him to stop. The wheat field extended out for miles in all directions, rustling and shining and brimming with life. He knew all too well that it would burn in a matter of seconds should he stand still for too long. He kept walking, leaving charred footprints on the ground.

With the sun setting in the distance, he held his hand up to block out the light, casting shadows over his pointed face. He squinted as a small cluster of buildings came into focus off in the distance. The town appeared very old, from what he could tell, but at least it wasn't a wheat field.

"That'll do," the man said to himself, making his way towards the edge.

He made it out of the field just as the sun touched the horizon. A simple, wooden sign dubbed the town "Shambles", a perfect name for the rotting cluster of buildings. Sand loosely coated the stone-paved road, shifting beneath his feet as he walked. On one side of the road was a maze of tiny homes and sheds; the other side housed what appeared to be a clinic, a general store, and a bar. At the other end of the road, the man could spot the rest of the endless wheat maze he had come from. Not eager to return to the golden death trap, he turned towards the bar.

Inside, several of the towns' inhabitants were seated at tables, most already drunk or well on their way. A crowd of six or seven old men laughed amongst themselves between sips of beer. At the bar in the back of the room was a young woman, leaning over and gazing out the window. Her black hair fell in cascades down her back, a dusty brown dress hanging off her shoulders. She looked towards the man, straightening up as he walked towards her.

"Hey there," she smiled, "Don't think I've ever seen you around here before. What can I get'cha?"

"Water is fine, thank you," the man said, easing onto one of the rusted barstools. At least it isn't wood, he thought.

"Here you go. Sorry if it tastes funny, our water system's on the fritz," she said, handing him a glass of lukewarm water. He took a sip without thinking. Immediately his throat burned, water turning into steam as he coughed and sputtered.

"Hey Lucy, you tryin' to poison the new guy?" one of the drunken patrons shouted from across the room. The woman – Lucy – huffed angrily.

"Shut your mouth, Russell!" she shouted.

As the drunken men continued their laughter, Lucy sighed and leaned onto the bar. "So, new guy- where'd you come from, anyhow? We don't usually get visitors this far out in the field."

"I'm not from anywhere, really- just passing through." The man reached over to pick up his glass again, but thought better of it. "What about you?"

"Me? Aw, I'm nothin' special," Lucy said, turning her attention to the man, looking into his eyes. "My parents moved out here before I was born, and we've been here ever since." She brushed her bangs out of her face.

"And Lucy- that's your name, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," she stuttered, blushing slightly.

"It's a good name."

Lucy, now a bright shade of scarlet, ran her fingers through her hair. "T-Thank you, I guess."

He smiled. "You're welcome. So, this town's called Shambles, right?"

"Yeah. Fitting, ain't it?" Lucy laughed, regaining her composure somewhat. "Whole place has been falling apart as long as I can remember. It's not so bad when you get used to it, though." She glanced at the man, a faint smile on her lips.

It was happening again. It always happened when he met someone new.

"I mean, the entire place is in ruins, sure, but once you get used to it, there's a lot of good things 'round here too," she smiled.
His instincts told him not to inquire any further, but he couldn't help it.

"Like what?"

Those two words launched a conversation that lasted the rest of the evening. Lucy ended up talking until her voice ached, describing everything from her friends to childhood memories. The more she talked, the livelier she became, laughing and blushing and playing with her hair like a schoolgirl.

The man couldn't help but feel guilty.

The sun outside had disappeared, as well as the other bar patrons. It was just the two of them now. Lucy twirled her hair in her fingers and glanced shyly in his direction.

"So… how long are you going to be in town?"

"Not long. I'm just passing through."

"Where are you going?"

"Not sure. Lots of places, probably. Why?"

"Well, I mean, I've lived here forever. It's a great place, really it is. But I want to see the world. And, well, I was wondering…" she said, leaning in closer. "…If you would take me with you?" Before the man could react, she leaned over the bar and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Instantly, she pulled back. Black smoke curled out of her mouth as she doubled over, coughing and choking and pounding on her chest. After a few more moments, she fell back into a chair, clearing her throat of the thick clouds of ash. When she was finally able to breathe again, the man approached her. He held his hand above her shoulder, careful not to make contact for fear she might burn.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid that won't be possible."

He straightened up, taking one last look at the beautiful Lucy, hunched over and coughing into her hands, before walking away.

"It was nice to have met you," he said, turning away and walking off. For she was but another tragedy in his life, a person who grew too attached and suffered too quickly.

He left the bar without another word, not turning back. Because he knew that all he would see was a trail of ash.