Page 68 of Like A Moth To A Flame

I knew just the place.

I’d thought ahead and picked it out for a moment like this. I needed an outlet, and I needed to keep myself grounded, or I’d end up in another bar fight.

More stitches.

More blood on my hands.

More split knuckles and regret.

I couldn’t do that to the reputation I’d fought so hard to build.

The engine roared to life, filling the truck with a familiar and calming sound. I grabbed the gearshift and threw the truck in reverse, peeling out of the driveway and onto the main road. It was a swift and urgent dance with the gears and pedals as I tore out onto the open road, each gust of wind a welcome release from my boiling emotions.

The rush of speed was exhilarating, a needed release from my pent-up anger.

With each sharp turn, I could feel the weight of my anger and frustration slowly lifting from my shoulders. I was panting, my breaths tearing out of me. I pushed the speed limit, relishing in the adrenaline that came with it. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, my eyes fixed on the road ahead as I fought to contain the beast.

More than once, the pedal hit the floor, and I had to force myself to ease back as I whipped around corners, the tires spitting gravel into the air behind me. My heart pounded in my chest, matchingthe rhythm of the engine, as I drove faster and faster, leaving behind the chaos that chased after me. I could feel the anger receding, like the tide pulling away from a sandy shore. With each passing mile, I felt more in control.

It was an old, abandoned warehouse at the edge of town–a place where nobody ever went. It was the perfect spot to let off some steam and clear my head.

The familiar building came into view, a once bustling structure now crumbling and forgotten. Rows and rows of cracked and broken windows glared down at me from the walls like a million angry eyes. I’d parked my truck as far away from it as possible, to keep myself hidden, pressed against the treeline between the parking lot and the road leading up to it. The silence of the night wrapped around me as I forced the door open and jumped out into the cool night breeze. Reaching into the bed of the truck, I grabbed my beat-up duffle bag, and the rusted, dented gas can that sat beside it, and then made my way to the warehouse.

Inside, the darkness was nearly complete. A single beam of moonlight penetrated a gap in the boarded-up windows, illuminating the dust swimming in the air. I walked to the center of the room, taking it all in. My breaths became slow and even as I surveyed the emptiness.

I could hear the faint sound of my heart, still racing, but slowly beginning to calm. I needed this place. This place represented freedom and release, a way to still the storm inside my head.

As I continued to walk through the dark, my breaths grew steadier. I felt my hands unfolding, my muscles relaxing, the tension slowly leaving my body. I could sense the rage that still clung to melike a suffocating blanket, but I knew that with each step I took, I was fighting to break free.

I stopped, reaching into the duffle bag, pulling out an old, oil-stained rag, and clenching it between my teeth. I could taste the grit of dirt and the tang of metal. It was an overwhelming, grimy taste, yet I swallowed it down just the same.

A bit of poison could keep me sane.

I approached a stack of old wooden pallets, their once smooth surfaces now rough and splintered from years of decay. The air inside the warehouse grew colder, the stench of decay and neglect filling my nostrils. It was a smell I was all too familiar with, a smell that reminded me of my past and the things I’d done.

I pulled the rag out of my mouth and ran it over my face, wiping away the sweat and grime that poured out of me. The familiar smell of oil and gasoline filled my nose, calming me. This was heaven. This was home.

I tossed it onto the ground, dousing it with gas. With a flick of my lighter, the rag caught fire and began to burn, twisting and convulsing as the flames devoured the old, tattered fabric. I took a step back as the flames grew higher and higher, consuming the rag and igniting the trail of gas that led throughout the warehouse.

As I stood there, surrounded by fire and chaos, I felt an overwhelming sense of release. The anger that had been building up inside me for weeks now was finally being eaten by the flames. I watched as they danced and consumed everything in their path, feeling like a weight was being lifted off my shoulders with every passing second.

The heat from the fire began to warm my face as I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. This was where I could truly let go—where I could unleash all of my emotions without fear or judgment. And as the fire continued to grow, so did my sense of freedom.

Dropping the gas can to my feet, it hit the concrete with a clang and I balled up my fists, folding in on myself. I could feel the emotions smolder and smoke inside of me, threatening to overwhelm me. I opened my mouth to scream, my voice tearing out of me with so much force that my vision began to flash like a strobe. It echoed in the empty warehouse, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the crackling flames.

For a moment, I felt like I was tearing myself apart, the pain and anger consuming the part of me that I could never air to the world. But then, something shifted. The smoke swirled around me in a vortex, and I reached out my hand to touch it, to feel its heat against my skin. The burn was immediate, and though my hand wanted to retract on instinct, I held it there, feeling it tearing at my flesh and covering my anguish with a physical pain that I could focus on.

The pain. I needed the pain.

After some moments of agony, I finally let go, my burned hand falling to my side and the smoke dissipating before me. In its place, a newfound calmness washed over me. I stood there, my chest heaving, but the rage that had once consumed me was now a fading memory.

I took a deep breath, and then another. The stench of the fire, the ashes, and my burned flesh became my new reality. The flames grew higher, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls aroundme. As the fire consumed everything in its path, I stood there, breathing in the smoke and the scent of my destruction.

Why was this where I found my solace?

Why was Hell my resting place?

Slowly, the emptiness in my chest began to fill with peace, the rage and anger replaced by a sense of calm and purpose. I took a step towards the fire and watched as it danced and flickered, its flames licking at the surrounding darkness.

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