He built a bonfire of his life. Memories and dreams, scraps and tales, line of poems never finished. Photographs, address books, letters – let them burn.
The flames roared through the paperwork, sending flecks of black ash spiralling into the sky, scattering across the field like idea seeds. He feared they might cross-fertilise, take root and come back to haunt him.
As the pages crinkled in the heat, he saw a bunch of words on a sheet. He thrust his hand into the flames and grabbed it, pulled it free. Though scorched and singed with rage, this page he saved.