It burned all his anger. That fire was blazing with bold brutal violence while stifling the cries of desperate now split clothing. The following were the clothes on until a few moments before he was wearing and, shortly thereafter, it would have become annoying gray ash.
He was attracted by the small fire which they claimed authorship and stood still, impassive, watching the way the flames greedily sucking every memory contained in the fibers of those rags.
not any strange ritual was taking place esoteric or shamanic and, of course, no unnecessary act of pyromania, he was simply giving up all memory of what material was before.
Sure, it would have been easier to throw everything in the trash, but he was determined to give meaning to their gestures and the significance of this was quite clear: sealing a "forever" on his forgetfulness.
The existence of that fire was now over. His strange destiny. Surviving through the death of others to die in symbiosis with its latest victims. Reduced to ashes the last shreds of cloth, he died with them.
While the smoke was dispersed in the air of that campaign, he would lie in the shade of a huge oak. A look at these holes of blue sky through the leafy green. A deep breath. An unwelcome visitor in less than in the stomach.
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