The value of the soul did not increase as small hands reached out for larger ones that did not reach back.

And as those hands, those helpful hands of a hero, delved into the flames they were burning orange.

Did it not hurt to be scraped to death by fiery teeth that left no piece of you for scrap?

Did it not hurt to know you left to save the day while a child called for you-

Encased in the safety of the outside-

But so very very alone despite the frosty night hugging him and telling him that he would be okay?

Did it not hurt to look back and-

somehow you knew-

you would not return there.

How did that not hurt?

As loud noises clouded the ears of those nearby more than the smoke did the sky

the only thing echoing was your name.

The value of your soul did not increase as your name was called so many times-

He called for you like he used to in the mornings,

Knowing you would wake up and you would smile,

You would not be burning orange.

Like pavement cracked under cold pressure,

Like a rubber band snapping around a too-large object,

Like glass shattering from the strength of some ungodly force-

His heart

was

broken.

And in that moment,

The value of your soul and being did not increase...

But his need for you did

And as he tries to sleep at night with the loud shouting of the objects in your room-

Objects shouting that you no longer were there but that once you were-

All he will ever see is you

With your heroic gesture and hands that could not reach back for him

Burning orange.