Disclaimer: I don't own DGM nor do I want to.

I can feel the heat through the glass of the shop window as the roar from the street rings in my ears. Shrieks of terror and screams of pain make up the world outside. I do not move.

Blinding yellows and fiery crimsons work together to melt the snow on the sidewalks until their angry light is allowed to view its reflection in the rivers of water. It is a greedy fire, and merciless in its quest to feed. Steam and smoke cloud my view, but I squint and to my surprise a flash of white flickers among the dancing flames.

There!

Again. A gloved hand reaches out from the black charred skeleton of the vehicle. It trembles as it reaches upwards and I realize there is something in its grasp. Something red. Like aged blood.

The red thing is an arm, and as the gloved hand pulls it higher I see that it is attached to a small child. With an unexpected yank the child is sent flying. Their trip through the scorching air is short, before they land hard in the half melted snow. In a tumble of arms and legs they stop before me, just on the other side of the glass.

I watch as the human child regained its feet and made to jump back into the flames. A man from the gathering crowd intervenes though and a blood curdling screams rips from their miniature frame. Their back is to me as they struggle in the arms of their captor but the scrawny limbs of a malnourished boy are nothing against the strength of a full grown man. As the hysteria of their screams rises so too does the volume and I find myself pressing my ears to my back in order to block out the cacophony. I can imagine the boy's face, twisted in the same soul wrenching anguish I can feel in his cries.

The hand is still now, its fingers curled tightly within the blackened fabric of what used to be a glove. The child too must realize what this means for his cries die out abruptly and he goes limp in the man's arms. Through the fabric of his coat, fabric which I realize absent mindedly is surprisingly thin for this time of year, I can see the tremors as they traverse his spine. Hunched shoulders shake, but still his head does not lower. Like I, he continues to watch the hand, perhaps hoping for some sign of movement. Selfish human. Does he not know, a quick death by fire is a rare mercy. Foolish child.

Hello, I'm sick, bored and in bed so I'd figured I'd write my first yullen story. That was inspired by bunny rabbits and The Sandman, my two favorite things. Just so you know this is written as sort of a break from my other baby, On Wings of Steam. Consequently, not much effort has been put into this but if you have some critique or comment about my writing style and how it can be improved please do not be a stranger.