Burnman Canticles

Eventually, sometimes sooner than expected, the Burnman would come. Tiny bells a-jingling, in the shadows he was weaved in. The smell of scorched flesh and burnt hair would riddle the sparse and raspy words that he would utter with the smeared scar of his mouth. The Burnman spoke truths, some darker than others, and he would point these out with wild gestures from his blackened hand with fused fingers. An arsonist's sculpture. A cosmic joke, rendering utility completely useless. But oh the beauty of the creature that created it.