Lazarus-Cain

        Watching them burn had become his favorite activity. Sometimes it took as long as an hour. Other days, only a few minutes. The flames licked up their arms like glowing fingers, eager to tear the flesh off their bones. But they were already dead. Pale. Motionless. He was certain of that. The amber glow painted dancing shadows on his soft, young face. No one knew his name, including himself.  He was maybe nineteen years old, but that too was just as uncertain. He was the furnace boy, and that was all that mattered. He had been taught how to burn the bodies of the undesirables. Once the foul smelling carcasses had been reduced to nothin