As the Pages Burn

This flash fiction piece was written over ~30 minutes in response to the prompt "The terror of destruction with your inner self".

Everything was on fire.

Orange slithered from the windows, crawling up the sides of the Archive. Yellow tinged the entire area and grew brighter as the flames feasted upon thousands of records within.

Millions, maybe, I thought with horror. My eyes watered from the heat, but I stood rooted in place, unable to look away from what I'd done.

All will soon be cleansed! a voice said my mind. My voice? I'd never figured it out.

“Those are legal records!” I said back. I reached forward, grasping toward the fire as if I could do anything now. I was thorough. Nothing would stop the flames. “Births, deaths, marriages...now they're all—”

Ash and cinders! The people will be free of their shackles!

Shackles? The word spawned a memory. The reason I did this. Why I broke in. Why I brought the kerosene. Why I lit the match.

Let the flames eat your doubts. I barely heard the voice over my terror. My hands shook. I tasted bile at the back of my throat. Shouts echoed nearby - if they found me, they'd know this was my doing.

But this wasn't the first time. Every new town, every new life I tried to start. I'd find people suffering under beaurocracy, unable to live, their hands tied in paperwork and oppressive laws. The best way to help them, the only real solution, was to—

Rip apart the world!

“No!” The cackle of flames ate my words as easily as it ate record of this attempt at a normal life. Then I did the only thing I could. I ran. Fled from my crimes. Again.

Yet in my heart I knew. I could never truly be free. No matter how fast I ran or how far I went, I could never escape myself.

The prompt was generated mad-lib style: Everyone submitted words to fill in the blanks of "The _ of _ with _", then drew random responses from others in the group. My prompt reminded me of the Arch Enemy song "As the Pages Burn".