Molten earth runs along the crevices of this once thriving city. Bodies buried but no service is held for the ones now covered in the devil’s wrath. This red flower melts into something of a beauty but deadly to the touch. One can never bare its burning passion that runs through my very veins. One can romanticize the thought of playing with fire but can one even fathom the thought of swimming in lava? I think not. I drown every sense with the liquid fury, the words of Lucifer whisper in your ear and tell you to bend. Bend to his will for you cannot deny his power. We are God’s creations but it is the devil that controls us.

To think such words come out this boy’s mouth when his family are a bunch of bible thumpers. He holds a Christian name, Ezekiel, with a grandmother symbolizing the nurturing properties of earth and a mother and father that raises him with a firm fist. They attend service every sabbath and read their gospel before bed, neither he or his parents spoke a word of contempt to each other and that is how it has always been since his birth.

Now, his grandmother suffers from dementia and she often claims that she speaks to God and he speaks of the future during their conversations.

“He tells me things, he does,” She sat beside the little boy’s bed one night, that wild look she usually has when she speaks of her and God’s exchange. “He tells me me to warn you.”

“Warn me of what, gramma?” The light squeak of curiosity sounds as the boy inquires.

“Beware his gift, the gift of fire and earth, for one day he will cause nothing but grief to your family.” It was then she started to convulse and shake, screaming  “Begone! Vile snake, you will not take my child!”

He never saw her after that night. It was when he turned 16 that his parents told him she suffered a seizure and died that night. Now, the little boy had thought she had been taken by the Devil himself through the form of a seizure but his parents quickly debunked his fears. From then on he lived his life in fear of that sickness that took his dear grandmother.

The snake symbolizes satan and his sneaky ways, much like the kids in his high school. The little boy often kept to himself and spent his four years without companionship. It was until his senior year and found a friend much like him but the air around that friend was much different, he couldn’t put his finger on it. He spent his afternoons with this friend and they always played and played at each other's houses every chance they get.

One night though, his friend led him to the woods as a surprise.

“Why do you lead me to such a sullen place?” The boy inquires as he’s taken by the hand and let into the dead leaf covered path.

“I’ve something to show you, but you mustn’t speak of this to no one,” the friend’s voice was stern, “promise me.”

“Of course,” he returns with a lopsided grin, not taking the severity of the situation to account.

“Good,” his eyes flashed dangerously. The boy had no time to think as his body was whisked away by the firm hands of his companion, lips of sin pressing against his own. He did not know what to make of this for his father told him that lying with another man was the work of the devil. Immediately he pushed his friend away and heaved. Pushing out all the bile and fear from his body.

“I lay with no man!” He cries out, “Oh God, forgive me for I have sinned. I danced with the devil in his lair and have lain my lips upon his sweet song!”

“But the Devil’s song is sweet indeed!” His friend’s voice persuades and latches onto the fear of the god fearing child. “He sings promise of something more. More than God’s power, you must embrace his song, my friend!”

“I will not!” He cries, and doubles over to spill more bile, “I will not bend to his lies! I am a man of God, he stays in my heart for as long as take each breath!”

“You speak lies! I know you, Ezekiel. You contempt the church, I see you eyes lay upon my body and think to lay with me as you would with a woman. You are already singing the devil’s song as you speak the gospel. You agreed to come here and seal your fate, my friend.”

Cries can be heard under the midnight moon, the boy wails for his parents, his grandmother, somebody to keep him from breaking.

“You don’t even use your own name, Ezekiel, you fear it don’t you?” His friend spits, “Say your name!”

“I will not!”

“SAY YOUR NAME, HOSEOK!”

“I WILL NOT!” He screams out with his arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross, his molten flower dribbles from his lips and onto the leaves, the forest floor instantly catching fire.

“H-hoseok…” His voice suddenly grows weak at the sight, legs trembling but refusing to move.

“You dare speak my name,” the boy’s voice low in tone, eyes the color of his flower. “You will be silent.” And with that, he releases an agonized screech and spill his flower on his friend and on the whole forest, setting the place ablaze with Hell’s beauty.

That night he wept amongst the flames and sang the Devil’s song, his mind crumbling and leaving hysteria to clean the rubble. He cried his flower and laughed at God, he fears no one not even the Devil now. The little boy that once loved God now curses his very name, and keeps Ezekiel out of spite. He sings with the devil and wields the power of hell at his very finger tips.

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