Living fire

My skin caught fire at the accident. I was scared. Was it an actual accident? A terrorist attack? Just a nightmare? The nightmare didn't seem like such a likely option though. 

Everything seemed too real. The blazing, awful heat I felt, the liters of sweat escaping my pores, dehydrating me even more, and the blinding effect of such a strong light becoming all of my world. There was also the screeching yells for help and screams of pain coming from the lungs of those around me, noises exhibiting fear, and foreshadowing death. There was also the sickening smell, 5% cooking meat, 5%  burning hair, and 90% smoke, itching, intoxicating smoke that made it nearly impossible to breath. 

But there was also something that seemed unreal. The heat was absolutely unbearable, but the actual fire wasn't. In fact, it didn't even feel like the heat was coming from the fire consuming me, but rather from afar. The fire, in reality, felt quite nice. My clothes were suffering, yes, but my skin, and all of my body, had never been more relaxed. It was liberating, and exciting. Like if the fire was cleansing me completely, both physically and spiritually. Burning away all impurities, and giving me a new skin, a new flesh. A new life.  

After what seemed like an eternity, however, I grew tired, and thirsty, and I was also running out of oxygen. So, with a newfound sense of power, not over, but stemming from fire, I waved away the flames, and I looked for the exit, not without a struggle, given all the debris and obstacles the fire had created. On my way out, I found a pair of miraculously unburnt curtains, which I used to cover myself, and sneaked out, trying to be invisible and silent as death itself, since I didn't want to answer any questions. Anything anybody asked would have been impossible to answer, either because I didn't know it myself, or because I barely even believed it myself. 

So I went home, acting as if nothing ever happened, but in reality, I was now a completely different person. More fire than human.