Bree Barela

Photo by Dimitri Baret on


he settles down in an expensive leather chair, adjusting his spot as he holds a glass of whiskey in one hand, a box of matches in the other. he’s fiddling with the box as he stares out the window. classical music is playing loudly in the background as he just sits there with a smirk on his face.

he’s looking out from a mountain top in his house. there is a city down below being engulfed in flames as he just sits and grins. he can’t help but feel relaxed as he watches the flames dance and the houses burn down. the black smoke rising up, overtaking the once bright blue sky. sirens sound as the fire department rushes to stop the ever-growing flames. he can’t help but laugh at how useless and hopeless they look — trying to stop something that’s in fate’s hands.

hours later, the fire has died down, he’s resting there as the last flame blows out, and the fire department and police begin to investigate. he gets up, only to get another glass. he sits back down, looking over to the right of the now-burned-down city to see another town start up in flames. the ashes of the former igniting the first flame of the newer.

maybe it’s the heat of Sol Invictus and the wind of Favonius. but maybe it is him. the man who sits in the window, smiling upon the destruction. the fires move with him, as if following his every order, creating a path of ash and soot. the black skies pursuing right behind, striking fear into the mortals that walk the green of Tellus Mater.

the smoke piling up to the clouds, the view slowly fading away into darkness as he moves on, creating more blazes of destruction.


he stood at a balcony, the matches resting on the iron railing. he looked down, a spark lighting up the night sky, a fire taking over the dried bushes. spreading like a wildfire, the ghost of Morta passed by the victim of the blaze. he let out a rowdy laugh at the scene before him, the victim screaming in pain as he burned, letting out loud cries for help. he grinned, his deep dimples showing as his bright blue eyes glistened as the flames grew. he ran his fingers through his black silk hair, pulling at the ends as he sat down, propping his feet up on the railing as he watched the fire expand through the dried brush, traveling toward the city.

he slid the matchbox open, picking one out and twirling it in between his fingers. striking the unlit match on the box, he pinched the wood as the tip was sent ablaze. he admired the ombre of yellow to red plasma, the reflection in his eyes bright as the fire slowly burned down the match, leaving the wood black and charred in its wake. he sat up, leaning over the rail, dropping the match onto the grass below.

Photo by Dimitri Baret on

striking the unlit match on the box, he pinched the wood as the tip was sent ablaze. he admired the ombre of yellow to red plasma, the reflection in his eyes bright as the fire slowly burned down the match, leaving the wood black and charred in its wake.

the grass goes up in a fiery light as he walks back into the house, grabbing his dark red leather jacket and tossing it over his shoulder as he walks out the house. he stops in his tracks, turning to face the now burning house. a dolphin forged of fire jumps up out of the flames, whistling and clicking as it plays among the passions, a splash of the red drenching the surrounding landscape, enlarging the blaze to its neighboring areas.

he smiles at his joyful pet, turning back around to continue walking. he dances with the flames, passing by trees that were lit from a single look. the dolphin jumps and swims through the flames, staying by his side as he leads a path of demolition.


he stood there, cursing under his breath as the small flame extinguished into nothing. his eyes were ablaze with anger, the leftover smoke cleared the air. he snapped his fingers, another fire igniting just feet away from the previous one. the witnesses stood in shock as the fire grew larger with every small gust of the Anemoi. he grinned, the pleasure of the burning flames returning back into his dark mind.

he sat at the small round table, observing the scene around him in the small french bakery. he fixated on one woman, as he watched the scene unfold before him. the bakers trying to extinguish the fire as the customer stared in fear. but that one woman, she sat there, unbothered by events happening. he watched as she took a sip of her coffee, turning the page in her book, The Encyclopedia of Roman Gods and Goddesses. he chuckled to himself at the title, spinning the box of matches on the table. he sat back in the chair, crossing his ankles, a smug grin plastered on his face as he watched the fire grow angry at the thought of putting it out. his fingers danced with the flames, a look of joy spreading across his fingers.

Photo by Dimitri Baret on

his fingers danced with the flames, a look of joy spreading across his fingers.

the woman watched from a distance, mentally noting his actions and expressions. she pretended not to notice him, but that was far from true. she noticed him from the moment his figure appeared in her vision. she was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. she noticed his strong cheekbones, a sharp jaw, full lips, deep eyes, full eyebrows. his shoulders were broad, and the sleeves of the tight-fitting maroon button-up scrunched up around his forearms. he wore black slacks, hemmed perfectly, showing off his deep red socks. his italian leather shoes added to the perfection of his outfit, tying it all together with black titanium rings that wrapped the index and middle fingers of his right hand.

he stood up as the flame was finally extinguished, grabbing the box of matches he constantly carried with him and his black blazer. he held the black clothing over his shoulder, walking out of the bakery he had just wreaked a small amount of havoc on. the woman watched him over her book, catching him turn to her and wink before opening the door to disappear into thin air. she glanced around, noticing not a single person had even bothered to wish him farewell, almost as if they hadn’t see him, as if he were never there.


the matchbox sat empty and open on the cherrywood desk that was placed in front of the dark red leather chair. the old, worn-down box twitched slightly, shutting closed only moments later. the small thud of the flimsy wood sticks hitting each other sounded through the office. the darkly themed room shook with a passion, a fire band surrounding the box on the table. the fire danced blue, purple highlights joining the vibrant song. the crackles and pops of the fire moved through the room, ashes filling up the large office as black smoke clouds rushed through the now-tainted air.

the fire died down slowly as the oxygen in the room depleted, carbon dioxide taking its place. the black smoke dissipated into nothing, a strong smell of charcoal supplanting it. the door crept open, oxygen immediately hurrying in to cram into the gaps. the room stopped its trembling, the box popping open as the remaining smoke left. matches were placed neatly into the previously empty box. they had a red handle, a black tip finishing it off as they were laid side by side, symmetrically.

he strode in, breathing in the smell of smoke, grinning at the familiar scent. he sat down, grabbing the small, flimsy box as he kicked his feet up onto the desk. he closed the matchbox shut. the door slammed shut, an eagle flying in through the window. the eagle sat on top of a bookshelf, its golden beak shining in the setting sunlight. he disappointingly sighed, shaking his head with a laugh. he stared down the eagle, a fire blazing behind his eyes, but he dared to show it. he let his feet down, sitting up straight and placing the matchbox into the pocket of his black jeans. he called out for whoever was there, a figure coming into view.

The author is a very big fan of mythology, most of her short stories are inspired by mythology, and she hopes to share more soon.