It was a pleasure to burn.

Holding the papers over the flame and watching as the flames spread over each one. Swallowing the words and memories as it went. The demons danced in the flames until there was nothing more for them to devour. Until the fire had taken every last word. Every last sentence and turned them into nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground.

Each piece of paper a different memory. A different time, another thing that needed to be burnt away. Each strike of the match burst into a flash of bright light. Each touch of the match to the paper, sent the flames racing into life. Eating until there was nothing left and the flame died, leaving only the ash and the smoke.

The smoke crawled through the air, up and up until that died too. It faded and spread and was gone, not leaving a single trace of its existence.

The ash was the only thing that remind and it was nothing, with a simple blow of air it was gone, the ashes floated away, taking with it the memories of the past. The things that once burned so hot were nothing more than little black specks floating through the air until they were nothing at all.

Gone.