Mother

Breathing a calm, gentle sigh, David Nite let himself sink into the plush seat of his grungy recliner. Relaxing his bulky muscles, allowing every nerve to unravel and become loose against the faux velvet. David stared ahead at the glowing fireplace. Enveloping warmth seeming to wrap around him like the comforting arms of a mother, protecting him from the iciness of winter as he gazed at the illuminating light. Flickering from the middle of the hearth was a small fire, its body tame, sustaining its life with several logs that were stacked neatly, slowly becoming ash. His left hand, with fleshy, long fingers, was curled around the curved end of the armrest, the other lying limp on his lap. Gaping at the fire, David never looked away.
Watching the flames with fascination as they licked the surface of the wood with rapidly moving arms, their small touches destroying the wood, David was entranced. His mouth was slack, open in silent awe. The reds blended with the gold and oranges, dancing among one another, caressing one another. It was enchanting, captivating, beautiful, fear-inspiring. Yes, he knew about the fear it gave people, even getting close to it caused you to shrink away from the heat, sending jolts of pain that overloaded your mind if you dared to touch it. It reminded him of his--
No. David's jaw tightened as he grimaced. He wouldn't think of that. He wouldn't think of her. Her face wasn't there. Her figure wasn't there, looming over him. Her words however, seeped through the cracks in the blockade he put up so many years ago.
"What on Earth have you done?!"
Shut-up.
Flickering to the left and right rapidly, the fire's dangerous, endless dance seemed to become faster.
"Why David?"
Please.
Blending together, the colors picked up their pace. The crackling turned into small, uncontained weeping.
"Don't touch me!"
Please shut-up.
The cries grew louder. Louder. Louder.
"You're disgusting."
SHUT-UP!
The flames changed, reaching out to him with gnarled fingers, a face forming, its features twisted with abhorrence.
Getting up so swiftly that it seemed to be a single movement, David yanked his body from the chair, throwing himself to the floor right in front of the hateful inferno. With a mighty cry of fury--or was it anguish?-- he lifted his bare hand and began beating the fire. The pain didn't register as burns started to form. The gorgeous, horrible flames clawing at his hands left their mark across his skin, burning through and roasting exposed flesh. The words, they just kept running through his mind, breaking and barriers in the way, images flashed before him, pictures of her face made by the blaze. Her delicately curved, heart-shaped face was contorted into a look of loathing, blue eyes gleaming with an inner light, pink lips frowning at him, ashamed of him, detesting him, the lamenting in the background. He beat harder, pounding at her in desperation, harder and harder, until they were snuffed out. Her face vanishing, the crying stopping, the words fading to his subconscious where they dwelled, David let his hand fall slowly, as if wary that the hellish fire might appear again. Smiling, David let silence consume him. Yes, this was peace.
Looking down, David's eyes widened in sudden realization as he inspected his hand. There were small patches of skin clinging onto exposed muscle, ends seared black. Red and brown blotches of meat lay exposed, the white of his knuckle bones peaking through the flesh. His hand twitched as he willed it to move. Blood flowed down his wrist in tiny trickles; most of it had turned into a sticky, almost liquid substance that clung to his scorched hand.
David bit his lip, looking away from the damage. The smell. Dear God the smell. His mouth began to water, eyes shining with gluttonous desire. Peaking at his destroyed hand, the sight held him, enticing every sense. Stomach gurgling, David looked around, making sure that no one was there. Grinning, David was caught with such confidence, so much that it fueled his hunger. Who was there to stop him? Her? No, she was gone now, no one could prohibit him from the feast that he so longed for. The feast that she had denied him of. Then, as if he were a starved child who finally had a meal to eat after so long, David bit into himself, letting out a groan of pleasure as blood flowed onto his tongue.
The taste. How he'd longed for the taste. He tore a chunk out of his hand. The squelch of crimson liquid spurting from the self-inflicted wound did not disgust him like it did her. In fact, it only made him long for the taste more. Chewing slowly, savoring the taste of human flesh in his mouth, David left the textures appease him, the outer layer was cooked, but the rest was alluringly raw. Swallowing, David let his tongue lick every crevice of him mouth before biting again, steadily picking up the pace. The second, the third, the four, the fifth, it mattered not. It tasted just as good all the same.
Finishing, David swallowed the last morsel, smacking his lips in satisfaction. Desperate, he licked at the limp remains, removing blood from stained bone. Clutching his wrist, David cradled it against his chest, the skeletal remnants wilting. The pain, it didn't matter, no, nothing mattered. It was worth it wasn't it? His other hand shook as blood pooled at the floor under him, the light fading from his eyes. Wasn't it?