Flash Fiction

He bought it originally, merely to light his cigarettes.  Marlboro, Disque Bleu or whatever was the fashion that week. It was only later that he realised its full potential, burning away little unwanted threads, branding symbols on his body and eventually, after some effort, full blown blazes.

And then by accident, in a fire of his own making, he died.

At heaven’s gate he was, again by accident, ushered through, lighter and all.  The firing continued.  There was so much more to burn.  And that part of paradise that he burned became hell.  And so, he was much satisfied.