"It was a special pleasure to see things eaten; to see things blackened and burned."-Fahrenheit 451. To feel the ghosts of delight twisting impressions into his face. It was naught but his sense of impeccable taste, wearing a shroud of humanity, and cowering behind a looming facade of innocence. If the facade were to be sieged, and the shroud unraveled, you would find at the core a devilish heart, relishing the fact that the world is burning and the city is crumbling around him. The cries and screams of the dying children, and the ashes of civilization cried out, and he remained unperturbed, staring motionlessly into the helpless dying face of a woman. Her face was scorched black, a steam rising from the putrid smell of her burning flesh, alight with a tickling searing flame that was quick to engulf her thin stretched limbs. She screamed and screamed calling out for mercy, for someone to end this, to wipe out the strand of life that she so desperately clung to. Her thinly pressed lips and tattered heap of once rose red hair twitched one final time, until she moved no more. Her vacant orbs of crystal blue eyes were left with the lingering ghost of her last request. The shapeless rubble around her mangled body seemed to permeate the vast ash ridden skies, which smelt of decay. His long white fingers nimbly fastened the tassels of his faded, weathered green cloak stained with the blood of his people, and he strode stolidly out of the city, his eyes alight with a smile of pleasure.