All I could smell was her hair… burning. The smoke of the flames began to fill the air and caused me to cough violently. Soon the fire began to devour her face and torso, however she did not scream. With what remained of her face I could see her lips curl into a type of twisted smile as the exposed muscles tried to do their best to enact emotion.
Her entire body was a flame now, the stench of burned and charred flesh assaulting my nose and senses. I wish I could do something, to put out the flame, to hold her, but it was too late, she had done the one thing she told me to never do. End it. I envied her in a way, that these were her last moments of pain. I had a lifetime to live, but for who?
I turned my back on the smoldering husk that use to be the only person I loved in this world and walked back into reality. People were dismissive of my pain, calling me weak and useless, that my love for her was not real, that I was broken. They did not listen, only judged. How to express the loss I felt?
After years of directionless living I picked up a brush and began to paint my pain, loss, sorrow, and to my astonishment the people that once belittled me, that caused me to feel worthless, were in awe of my paintings. In awe of the same pain they put me down for. Pain as human expression can take many forms, some more palatable than others. I still think of that day with her in the flames smiling. I will always think of that day.