I skim along the crests of the waves, kicking up caps of white foam. Soaring higher, I push the seagulls up from below, and with a mischievous whoosh send two of the flock flapping and twisting sideways with a wicked gust.

There is land in the distance, a high mass that slows my pace. I whirl closer, see two people on the beach, the waves lapping jealously around their tangled legs. I get closer, slide in and out of the lovers’ lungs with a salty-sweet breath of my own, then dance onward, up the slope of the beach.

I can see smoke in the distance, billowing up to fill the sky. The swirling black ash pulls me closer to its pulsing flame heart. The land behind it is consumed, the hillsides blackened and veiled by the smoke, and I twist this way and that to try and see where the destruction began, a high desert in the distance as hot and dry as the scorched earth below. The orange roar of the flames warms me through as it draws me in, and with one last, searing gasp, I am consumed by the fire.