He felt the warmth that flowed through his fingers then up and through his
arms, and up into his chest, and felt the warmth spread through the rest of his
body. It was as though he was melting in his own hands. He pressed his hands
against his chest and smiled. His face was so close to the fire, so close to it,
that he could feel it. And he sensed that the flames were going to consume his.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered,
and felt the flames engulf him.
He saw a woman’s face in his head. The woman was a woman of his dream and
memory. She was smiling. The fire consumed her.
He was dead.
In the dark, he walked to the door and opened it. He was alone and the
wall was empty.
He had died.
The door was behind him. He walked toward his room but turned back. The
door was still open. The floor was still there though. Only the walls were
“You didn’t do it?” he said to himself.