He threw the log onto the dying fire and watched as the flames flared , the light reflecting in her still bright eyes. Lying beside her now, he gazed at the flames as they suggested different shapes. A game from childhood, when dirigibles, tanks, Indians on horseback, all could be found contained within the fireplace.

Tonight, his children’s faces came flickering forth, Danny and Deanna, both doing well in their adult years. Palm trees from vacations swayed  through the dark along with  panting family pets.  Smiling to himself,  he thought about the good years of their marriage. Both successful, respected and faithful. But, like a fire out of control, the winds of life had shifted and innocence was burnt in its path. The ashes of the marriage cooled on life’s hearth, smoldering and sparking occasionally as the years melted away.

As he put his arm over her, the weight of it caused a little gasp from her lips. The last breath she had taken in, now dispelled. She felt cool to his touch, despite the warmth from the fire and her eyes, now cloudy, no longer reflected the flickering light. He smoothed her hair over the wound .  Soon the log with her blood and hair on it would be completely consumed. The evidence would be gone and, after a final kiss,  so would he.

It was thirteen minutes past midnight. A cold chilly wind gushed through the open half of the window and made him shiver. Unable to sleep, he got up and closed the window firmly. He pulled the curtains to ward off the least speck of light that came from a far away skyscraper. He thoroughly inspected his small one bedroom-kitchen flat and ensured that nothing can wake up his three year old daughter who was fast asleep.  Feeling satisfied, he went to bed.

He was feeling uneasy that night. It was not unusual, but that night the intensity of uneasiness was higher than other nights. That night he was thinking about his whole life. How luck had deserted him at every step in his life. How throughout his life he had struggled for every penny.  A deadly typhoid during the final year of his college exams made him repeat a whole year. Getting a descent job became almost impossible. His father’s friend gave him one.  He married and soon had a beautiful daughter. But peace in life was difficult to find.  The recession crept in and he was the first one to lose his job, even though he was the most diligent one. Others had contacts and perhaps were not so naive. He tried very hard to find another one, but it was worse than finding water in Sahara. Someone suggested starting something of his one. He tried, but lost most of his savings in the process. Finally, unable to bear the pain of sitting at home when the whole world was going to work, he settled for a low profile job of working at a Gas station. But expenses were mounting with the rise in prices and the burden of life started appearing unbearable. His friends also stopped providing credit as he was repeatedly defaulting on them. Finally that morning, he heard that the Gas station was on fire. He rushed to the spot. He could not go nearby because of the tremendous heat. Hundreds of people have gathered. Police had cordoned off the area. The traffic was being diverted. The fire-fighters were trying their level best. Everything was on flames. Nearby he saw the owner sitting down on the road with his head bowed down. Ruing over the loss, he was crying “Everything’s finished, everything’s finished”.

That night was the first night of hunger. It was a day without money and night without food. Whatever they had was fed to the little child. He and his wife decided to go to bed without food.  He woke up and slowly went to the kitchen. He turned on the knob of the oven. His whole life flashed in front of his eyes as they filled with tears. He felt the futility of battling a life which could not provide the minimum to his child whom he loved so much. He was horrified to think of the day when his daughter would also have to go without food. What a father would he be? The words of the owner echoed in his ears “Everything’s finished, everything’s finished”. After an hour or so, when the whole house reeked of gas, he took the matchbox in his hands. He went to the room and kissed his daughter’s forehead.  Taking a last deep breath, with trembling hands he struck the matchstick.

There is a beast in Aiden’s house. Its presence arouses fear in his family. From his room, Aiden hears the shrieks and screams as they try to make their escape. The heat in the room is incredible. Through his open door, Aiden sees the creature burn its path up the stairs. They cannot escape it. It is a beast of smoke and flame. It roars at its prey, and flashes its mane of black and red. Yet despite the intensity, a chill runs through Aiden as he recalls the day.

It had been quite a while since he had seen his street. The brisk winter day was icy on his bare arms. Aiden had hitched a ride back home in the bed of a truck that contained only a weed-eater, a red plastic gas can, and himself. Night was in full effect when the truck pulled onto his suburban street. Aiden signaled the driver where to stop, and then walked up to his house.

The windows were all darkened; his family must have fallen asleep hours ago, ready to wake early for presents. What a surprise his parents had in store for them when they would wake to find that he had returned! He plucked the key from above the door jam and stepped inside. The lights from the Christmas tree twinkled bright in the darkness of the house.

Aiden stepped around the presents placed under the tree. None for him, of course. Who would’ve expected him back, after all? He made his way up the stairs and listened at his parents’ door. The soft snores proved their slumber. Aiden continued toward his sister’s room. Sweet Emily. He missed her most, and would always miss her most. He placed a hand on her door, and kissed the hand. A tear fell to the floor with a splash as Aiden stepped away. His trail marked, he descended the stairs to his room.

The memories fade away as Aiden traces his sight through the black smoke filling his old home. The beast had already done damage. The tree blazes brighter than before and the presents beneath it add to the ember glow. Sweat drips down Aiden’s brow as he looks around. His life is burning around him. The beast rakes its burning claws across the walls and the symbols of his youth—his posters, paintings, photographs—they burn in the beast’s rage. Having seen enough, Aiden makes to leave, but comes face-to-face with the beast, itself, blocking his exit.

The shadow monster became, in Aiden’s mind, his father from the year before. He remembered the way he had stood there, quaking in fear, as his dad yelled at him in the door’s frame. His mother watched, from behind, and his sister, sweet Emily, had been crying at his father to leave Aiden alone. The cat had been cold, Aiden argued. It was freezing! But his father rejected his argument. The cat had perished because of Aiden, true, but he was only trying to help. He reasoned that fire warmed the family, and therefore fire would warm the cat. But his father was greedy, and punished him for trying to share the family’s warmth. By his father’s rule, only the family could live. And since he tried to break the rule, they sent Aiden away.

And now he is back, but the beast had followed him. Its fiery feline eyes gaze at him as it creeps forward. Aiden stays still and calm as it brushes against his leg. The beast reaches up and licks Aiden’s left hand, scorching skin and bone. There was no pain greater though than the pain from his father’s betrayal. So Aiden stands with his beast, satisfied in revenge. The white gown from the ward burns fast on his body until it catches fire to the red gas can still in Aiden’s right hand.

The boy watched intently as his father worked on the tiny metal pieces laid out on the heavy anvil.

“Bellows, boy, bellows” barked the father. The flames whooshed up through the charcoal, intensifying the heat as the son pumped the leather lung.

Many times the boy had watched as his father with the massive biceps and forearms glistening with sweat from the heat of the forge hammered large pieces of metal into horseshoes, wagon wheel rims and weapons for battle.  This time the ham-sized hands ending in sausage shaped fingers was creating the most delicate iron links imaginable.

“Whatcha makin, Pa?”

“Goin’ away present for yer ma.”

“Ma never said nothin’ about goin’ away.”

“No, my slow lad, I’m goin’ away, not your ma. As you may know, I’m in the Blacksmith’s Reserves and my unit has been called up for another Crusade into the Holy Land.  These fine lords and clergy keep tryin’ to teach the heathen the error of their ways. So I’m makin’ this for your ma to remember me by while I’m gone.” He held his creation up for his son to see.

Staring, the boy’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he blurted out, “Dad, you made Ma some metal underpants!”

“Yessir, boy, thread these links through some velvet tubing and it’s gonna be real comfy for her to wear. Called a chaztity belt. All the rage now.  Don’t know why it’s got the same name as that kid those two troubadors, Sunny and Pro Bono just had. Anyway, this lil’ garment will make sure that you’re an only child, leastways till I come back with the key.”

With a wink of his eye, he turned back to his anvil and forge, “Bellows, boy, bellows!”