words per minute
10
Ldesu
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Speed
It was a pleasure to burn.
It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things
blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this
great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood
pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing
conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring
down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic
helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame
with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the
house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and
yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above
all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace,
while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and
lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and
blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.