An Impossible Prediction

A Story by Michael Howell

This one's actually a short story about some relationship troubles I had with a previous girlfriend... And, yes, there is some song lyrics in here, but here ya go ;)

An Impossible Prediction

Mike Howell

He slowly stood up and looked out at the wasteland he had created. He held a crumbled note in his hand.

Black clouds billowed over the rolling, yellow hills, casting a blue-grey pall over the once beautiful landscape. Dust, ash, and scorched embers swirled through the air and settled amongst the cracks in the ground, the buildings, the air. Blocking the sun. No shadows grew off of the wrecked buildings, who now lay in ruins over the parched, black ground. Buildings, shattered glass, metal, paper. Fire was slowly eating its way through the rubble on the ground and leaving nothing in its wake. He could hear a singular cry of loss emitting from the rubble. The longing sorrow of the wail shattered the barriers in his eyes and tears rushed out of them. The unclean water carved down his cheek and dropped to the ground, where the parched ground swallowed it whole. The wail cried our again, louder and stronger than ever before. The cry struck at his knees. He fell to the ground and stared off into to the distance, pressure building in his sinuses. He let off his own cry, shouting at the top of his lungs one single word.

He slowly stood up and looked out at the wasteland he had created. He held a crumbled note in his hand.

His footsteps echoed among the ruined buildings, the remnants of fire and ash now smoldering and dying. His dragging feet pushed and shoved paper out of their way. His eyes searched and pondered, all dried now from the ash. They found nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Not even his heart could conjure up images of what he destroyed. Nothing. His hands started shaking, and his tear ducts started dry-heaving nonexistent tears. The note in his hand gave way as he clutched his fists tighter, steadying them. A crash came from a building to the right. He turned quickly, hoping, praying. A young woman was standing in the rubble, ash clinging to her exposed skin. She wore scorched black clothing. She was beautiful beyond words. He blue-grey were filled with pure white tears. She was glaring, attacking as she yelled:
“You!”, her voice an uncontrollable growl.,
“You brought this upon us! You did this! You took my dreams and you destroyed them and YOU DON’T CARE!” her voice was now at a fevered high, shaking and rattling the buildings, the man’s ears. A single tear rolled down his face.
“You’re wrong,” he said, looking down at the note in his hand. Another tear. He smoothed the paper in his hands and stared into it for time. He could hear the labored breathing of the woman, swinging in the wind like a pendulum. He choked out these words:
“the problem is that I do care.”
He dropped the note.
It fell through the ash.
Landing on the parched ground.

Man and woman stared at the paper on the ground. The woman looked up with confused eyes. The man gave a final glance at the ruins, the smoke, the parched ground, the woman. He turned and walked back down the road he came from, head held high. He never looked back. The woman wandered over to the paper on the ground. Ash, blood, and tears covered the front side. The other was pure white. She crouched down and unfolded it. The text was written in red, completely readable. He had written :

I never meant to set the world on fire.
I only wanted to start and flame in your heart.

She slowly stood up and looked out at the world she had helped create. She held a crumbled note in her hand.