Fight Fire with Fire (short story)

There is a man who camps frequently on his property. Every week a forest fire burns a part of his forest.

Worried, his neighbours visit him to see what is causing the fires.

When they arrive, he is lighting himself a new campfire in an unburned part of his forest.

“Do you always start your campfire like that?” A neighbour asks him after seeing that he did not dig a firepit.

“Of course. This is how I've always made them.” He replies, whistling joyfully.

“Don't you have frequent forest fires?” Another neighbour questions.

“Yes, and they're terrible. But what does that have to do with how I make my fire?” He answers.

“Well if you dug a firepit and cleared the area, the chances of the fire spreading would greatly decrease.” Another neighbour tells him.

“If a fire wants to get out, it will get out no matter what we do. The best way to fight fire is with fire, which is why I have this.” He shows them a small flamethrower. “You should get some.”

“We don't have forest fires, and when we do, we improve fire safety and rely on the park rangers.” The neighbours try to explain to the man.

“Well I wish I was so lucky. I pray every week that things might change, but they don't.” He answers with a wistful sigh.

The neighbours try to help the man reduce the frequency and severity of the forest fires, but the man refuses to listen to them so they go away.

The fires continue.

-Zero

The Portrait of ------ (poem)

Paint a portrait of my soul.

Tell me,

is it as corrupted as they say?

Tell me,

am I Dorian Gray?

Have I fallen for my facade,

for these suits and ties,

and forgotten my soul,

locked away for none to see?

Was my mistake showing it to her,

to bare my soul in black ink,

and then let her go

to tell all of my shame?

If I am so lost,

give me the bloodied knife,

so I may destroy my portrait

and put an end to it all.

-Zero

When the nightmares come (poem)

When the nightmares come,

or the whispers of your mind grow too heavy,

place your hand on my chest where flames burn

and let them envelop you.

Let them remind you how to burn,

how to terrify your nightmares,

let them empower you

so you can bear your burdens.

They will welcome you like an old friend

and show you what it's like to be me,

to feel a light in the darkest of times,

to have nightmares burn at your hand.

I can't always be there,

but I promise the Flames will.

Maybe now they feel like a candle,

but feed them and you will ignite.

And in those moments, I'm there,

in the flames that run through your veins,

even if I'm cities away,

I am right there with you.

But for now...

When the nightmares come,

or the whispers of your mind grow too heavy,

place your hand on my chest where flames burn

and let them envelop you.

-Zero

The Whispers of Frustration (poem)

Listen closely.

Do you hear them?

The whispers of frustration,

whispers of an ultimatum.

Either you go,

or it all goes.

Thoughts of black and white,

of life and death,

of financial dependency

and the calling of words,

of burn brightly now

and fade to ash.

But neither is enough alone.

What is day without night,

black without white,

art without the reality of life?

The fire that burns more than it is fed

will disappear to ash.

Listen closely to me,

these whispers lie to you,

promise a life that will kill you,

and breed hatred for your life,

balancing precariously

between necessity and love.

-Zero