Chance. Leave. Break.

No traces.

The sound of burning. A small home falls apart.

There is a young woman standing in front of it. Everything she now has is a burning home, the clothes she wears and a little bit of money.

She has nothing to fear. No one to fear. This night, this perfectly quiet night, that only gets disturbed by the sound of the flames working through the wood, carpets, drapes and everything else, this is the night, that will change everything.

She encourages the fire, whispering, so she won't disturb the silence.

Burn, she softly hums into the nothingness, leave no trace of my old life behind.

It gets colder ever so slightly while the fire runs out of things to swallow. The first and last warmth she will ever get from this house is slowly fading.

This little „home„ on the side of the road to fields, to nature, to everything that is so familiar to her, that she could name every tree, every bird, every rabbit, every stone and probably everything else too.

She starts to think, What made me do this again? Was it the nothingness in my soul? Was it the memories to this place? What ever it was, it's gone now.
With that she starts to walk.

Where?

She does not know.

But this is an end. Also a beginning.

For what?

She is not sure.

Not sure? What is sure? She walks past every ever so slightly fading memory. Through the woods, through the stones and small rivers she used to play on, in and with.

The warmth is gone. She won't turn around to see if the fire has run out, she wants to be sure but she won't. She knows that there is no possibility for the fire to still be there. The warmth is gone, so everything is consumed by the raging fire her soul had to carry around for so long...

Right?