Is This What Monsters Do

The monster’s body trembled as it tried to breathe and each gasp scraped through his throat and soured in his lungs and his stomach twisted until it refused him and he bent forward retching until there was nothing left to give but the rasp of a body that didn’t want to live inside itself anymore. Thick as oil, the smell of scorched wood and sweat clung to him and he could still feel the heat of what had burned, a faint pulse of something once alive sinking under the debris as if it were trying to hide from him.

He could not remember when it began and only the noise that followed lived in him now, the roar that broke the walls and split the night open, then there was nothing, only the silence pressing down heavy and merciless until even his thoughts felt bruised beneath it. His hands hung in front of him shaking, black dust packed deep in every line, ash streaking the creases like veins while his eyes blurred and filled until the tears made the wreckage shimmer and sway around him.

Another wave of sickness rose and twisted through him until his ribs felt ready to crack and the monster fell to his knees and stayed there rocking in the heat of what he had destroyed and somewhere beyond the ruin memory stirred of small voices and quick feet and the warmth that used to reach for him and the sound came back to him now not as memory but as echo and he turned and saw on the floor beside him a frame bent and broken the glass shattered out of it the space inside empty of what should have been and the sight held him where he was until there was nothing left to feel but the ache of the hollow silence.

What have I done.