His hands were on fire, they were burning hot. He shook them but couldn’t get them to stop burning. The flames shot from his hands and he felt the heat on his face. He had to turn his head to keep the heat from burning his face.
There were no flames; his hands were burning but they weren’t flaming, they were just burning hot and he couldn’t get them to stop their horrible burning.
He tried everything. Water. Cold air. Ice. A woman’s cold hands. He tried thinking of extreme cold, tried to get his hands to stop burning. Nothing worked. He couldn’t get them to stop. He was burning up fast.
Night came and the burning continued. The burning lasted until morning but didn’t stop. He got no sleep, no rest, no release from the awful burning. His hands were aflame but from flames he couldn’t see.
No one could see them, but he knew they were there. The invisible flames were destroying his hands. They were destroying him. He couldn’t get any of it to stop.
Days passed, the nights, he got no sleep, got no relief from the burning of his scorched hands. His hands were red with unseen fire. He left the house, he entered a crowded building, he clamped his hands onto the faces of everyone, he screamed for mercy, he pleaded for someone to do something about his fiery hands. He stood in the middle of the crowd then fell to his knees with his raised hands burning in the air.
No one could do anything but watch him burn.
Jeffrey S. Callico aka Wiredwriter writes using a different writing style that is yet to be duplicated. You can visit his eZine, Negative Suck, or his blog to view more of his writing.