Hey guys, so I have written a short story for a school assignment. The assignment limits the word count to 800 max, and I've gone a bit over and I'll have to cut down later, and it is a bit clunky but it's just the first draft.

So basically I'm wondering what I could do to make this better or if you guys have any criticism to share? Everything will be taken on board.

Thank you guys a lot!!

Here's the piece:


Bruce used to love to burn. It was a great joy to see things burn, a joy unique from any other. It was even more special to see the way the flames spewed from his hands like a great inferno dragon, jumping and leaping at the objects waiting to be eaten.

Houses, cars, bikes, and even people on some occasions, were all gobbled up by the monster that leapt out of his hands. Of course, he was the monster, the entity controlling the fire. He was blessed with the power of fire.

That was, until, the superheroes took his power away. When he opened his hands and the beast within was dead, he had been on the verge of tears. He didn’t even care that they put him in jail; it felt just like yesterday when the scientists ripped the fire out running through his veins and in his lungs and blood and heart and yanked it, murdered it and left him alone. That was 17 years ago of course, and now he was free.

“Take a left here please”, he instructed the taxi driver.

The taxi halted to a stop in front of a normal-looking house.

Bruce handed the fare over and hopped out, humming to himself. Opening the door, which was still unlocked, he stepped foot inside his old home.

And he did not have time to brace for when the inferno hit him he was not ready. His hands twitched, trying, trying, trying to get the fire out, but alas, nothing. His body, deprived of the machinations of gentle flame were surged with the overwhelming force of the heat of a thousand suns. And it felt good.

Closing the door, he stepped back. Sometimes it was hard not to forget his life with fire. His fire was gone, and so was his resistance to it. His home had literal fire running through out the vents, breathing heat onto him. He would renew it every week, and he would have thought after 17 years the heat would have cooled off. But there it was, faint, (finish off)

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He stepped off his porch, and walked around to the fence that led into the backyard. The grass in the yard was dying, stiff and yellow, and it crunched under his boots.

But there it was. In the middle, as beautiful as ever, was a great concoction of sticks weaving through one another with dried pieces of paper scattered around and throughout.

His bonfire, the bonfire that he would sit in at night, caressing him, grazing at him, until the fire would engulf him and he would feel content; so content in fact that some nights he would sleep there.

Bruce sighed.

Glancing behind him, the taxi driver was still there. A moment of hesitation passed, and then he strolled over, opened and closed the gate, and then after one final look at his old special place, he knocked on the window of the taxi, and forced a smile onto his face.

“Hullo! I just have another place to go!”, Bruce said.

“Sure mate, where would you like to go?”

In fact, Bruce didn’t know. “Up to the Lookout please. Just one way.”

The Lookout was a hill that, as the name implied, looked out over the town. It really held no sentimental value to him but he chose this place because it was the furthest thing away from here that he could think of. (??)

“Alright mate, get in”, the taxi driver responded.

Bruce took a deep breath, composed himself and hopped in the front seat of the car.

“How are you today?”, Bruce asked.

“Good, mate, this might be my last drive of the day and then I’ll pick up my boy from footy training.”

“That’s good.” Bruce smiled his cheerful smile.

“We’d have some mad parties up there back in the day”, the taxi driver chuckled. (fix this passage of dialogue up)

Bruce laughed.

They drove past the urban area and into the grassy plains, the farmlands and the savannahs.

Time flew.

A cow, a horse, a tree, 1,2,3, cow, horse, tree, cow, horse, tree, sun, sun, sun. Everything became a blur. Cow, cow, a horse, more cows and then a tree, farm, fire, a fire, a fire…

A light flickered in his eyes and Bruce said:

“Stop here.”

“What? Here?”, the driver asked.

“Yes, now, just along the side, near that tree up there.”

The driver swerved to the edge of the road and the car groaned to a stop.

“Sorry for the sudden stop”, Bruce twinkled. He gave his wallet to the driver and leaped out of the car.

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Bruce walked, not looking back, and he heard the car start up and turn around, heading back and around.

Up ahead, there it was.

A small fire had started in the dry grass. An urge drove him towards the fire, curiosity mixed with lust and desire.

When he reached it he had to squat to look at it properly. A fire like this would naturally fade out in a moment’s time.

Forced by thirst, Bruce scooped up dry grass and threw it onto the fire. It grew. Bruce felt a spark in his heart. Quickly now, scooping up more hay and lost sticks and whatever he could find Bruce threw it onto the ever-growing flames.

As the fire grew Bruce felt a passion that rose up in his body, rising and rising and rising and driving him further into his fervour, and the fire grew larger and larger but he kept adding more and more and more until it grew as a monster, as once he could summon at will.

The fire grew on its own now, large enough to consume whatever lay at rest.

Bruce let upon the world a cacophony of sweet smoke and dangerous ash, vicious fire and gentle flames, a great coalescence of benevolence in harmony with malevolence, all as one…

And Bruce stepped into it, the final sacrifice to create the inferno dragon that would blacken and charr the landscape for miles and miles and miles.

He screamed, the fierce scream screamed by all men engulfed by flame.

And it felt good.

Source: reddit post


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