He was like the Fire Eaters.

You know those men and women at the Gypsy festivals, with the torches alight with flame? They take some alcohol in their mouth and spit it over the torch, so that a plume of smoke and fire rises into the sky.

He reminds me of them, as I watch him practicing in the Military grounds. As he raises his hand each obstacle combusts and bursts into flame. Military members and a good majority of the Secretarial pool watch on with gasps and admiring shouts as each explosion sends their hair rippling backwards.

I sit up in the building - watching from the window. I have many books in front of me, that I have been waiting to read for weeks, but they are untouched as I watch him through the glass. I wonder what he would say if he knew that - smirk probably.

He plays and toys with fire - deciding where it would go, how it would explode and implode, where the fire would turn. But every single time - unconsciously or consciously I didn't know - he would make sure the flame didn't touch his own skin, a safety necessity - I presumed.

The last obstacle awaited the snap and heat of the Colonel's flame - but I can't see it - a flagpole obstructs my view. I stand and pry open the window, leaning out of it and pulling the hair that flies in front of my face behind my ear.

He has a steady smirk on his face as he raises his hand and snaps his fingers together - the stuffed dummy exploding with an extra loud bang. For the fans - I thought dryly - as the crowd cheered and screamed.

I lean back inside but I leave the window open - so that the room fills with the faint smell of smoke - strange I should find it comforting. I finally open my book but I never finish the first page as the sound of approaching boots sound in the corridor outside the room.

I frowned; I'd have hoped that the place I chose was concealed enough. Nobody ever used the stock rooms anymore, a good place to not be disturbed. The door opens and I'm surprised as the Colonel enters the room - seemingly oblivious to my presence as I watch him close the door quietly behind him and lean against it with a sigh.

He pulls off his glove, and my eyes widen as I see the shining red burns that run across his knuckles, palm and wrist. He smiles thinly, and glances up, finally noticing me.

He hurriedly pulls the glove back on - but the damage has been done. He watches me warily with liqueur eyes, awaiting my response.

I pause, and then offer him an understanding smile.

He hesitates, and then smiles slightly back.

After all, Fire Eaters are human too.