This started as one chapter in my drabble series, but I've been persuaded to continue it...
Not betad
To Cee with love
The flames dance higher, orange and red, licking against the sky. Tongues of fire reach out to the heavens. Over heated trails reaching to the sky in supplication.
The heat is incredible almost suffocating in its intensity. Petrol and wood, burning deeply, the heart of the fire a yellow glow shining like the sun on this dark moonless night.
More wood is thrown on causing the fire to roar like and angry beast. A low noise but a powerful one none the less. A voice of warning; stay away, do not do this. A voice of serenity; its time, come here, do this.
A man stands feeding the flames. Making offerings to the sacrificial God of the pyre. This is his final act, his destiny, his end. The only thing that makes sense to him anymore, his only thought is of making the sacrificial altar burn as hot and bright as possible.
He isn't afraid of pain, of death. It is living that frightens him, living without her, living with his memories. This isn't a decision he has rushed into, he has thought about it for decades. It is all he deserves, all he can do, as an apology for sins both real and imagined.
He throws one last bundle of wood onto the fire. Sparks dance into the air carried away on the wind. One spark for each of his sins, one for each of his lies, one for each soul he took one spark for each offense he committed against a deity he isn't sure he believes in anymore.
He steps into the flames. No noise from him, only the roar of the fire. His muscle and sinews don't betray him by moving, they burn. He throws his head back and relishes the heat. He is a statue on fire, a pillar of flame. He doesn't know or care where his soul is destined to go.
He is ash, purple smoke and dying embers. Rain falls gently subduing the fire. The wind mourns him, appearing to whisper his name and that of his mistress.