The pen was taken from the spine of the notebook he always kept close to his heart and for the first time he decided to keep track of his thoughts instead of the routine drawings he'd used it for previously. On the front of the book itself was the image of his last time he'd been to his favorite childhood park back home in Nagoya.

Fire. Mother nature's dual edged offspring. Ask any person how they feel about it and you'll always receive a different answer. Some claim that it's a destructive force that chars everything it comes into contact with, and yet on the other side of the fence, it is a herald of things to come. A great cleanser that purifies all that it enters its lethal embrace. I often question the nature of the flame that burns the channels of my soul.

Is it my great cleanser or my darkest stain?