Out in the burnfire of the October Neon Beast Parade Festival, beneath the full blood moon we could only pray for, for the last 3 decades, my widowed mother's scream shattered the night.
Everyone outside charged indoors, drawn by the cry of a mother in despair.
The burnfire immediately went out, outside—but another started inside The only difference was this time, I was the one in flames.
I'd been down with a fever for the past three days and couldn't attend the festival. My mother had been in and out of the house, desperate to keep the fever from burning me alive. But no matter what she tried, the temperature kept rising.
And then—within seconds—my entire being ignited in flames.
The pain tore through my insides, like a swarm of nanites starved for decades. I screamed. I wailed.
But no sound escaped my lips. My voice, like everything else, was burning.
When the others arrived, they tried everything. Jackets. Water. Fire extinguishers.
None of it worked. Every effort only made the fire rage stronger.
And yet… the mattress never scorched.
The curtains, never caught.
Nothing that should have burned that night, burned. Except me.
Everyone there was forced to witness the gruesome death—an unexplainable phenomenon that took place at midnight on Neon Eve.
I remember it all.
Because…
October 7th, 2035… I died.
But in the year 1977…
I was reborn.