Flames from the fireplace went from placid to angry in an intsant, as the swirling winter winds outside battered the house's windows and frame. He held up a Polaroid of her. It was slightly faded and yellowed. She was smiling awkwardly. No one ever had to know that the moment after the photo was taken she had pursed her lips and said to him, "Okay, you took one of me. Can I go now?" then quickly shuffled away, clutching her books as she made her way to the corner then turned down the street towards her house. The Polaroid had sat on his window sill for some time. Sunlight and humidity had taken their toll. That was okay, though. On the back, in a red marker he drew the shape of a heart, and wrote his name and her name inside. "You'll be mine..." he whispered. "You'll be mine, soon..." As sure as he knew tomorrow would follow today, he felt her hand in his. The kids at school would learn their lesson. All the ones that mocked him. The two of them would walk the hallways side-by-side and relish the stunned looks. The warmth of the fire brushed his cheeks, as he stared through the flames. You have to believe, he told himself. You have to believe... When the storm subsided momentarily, he reached his hand out and dropped the Polaroid. The edges curled inward while her face turned distorted and grotesque, until the image bubbled and disappeared, and the paper backing turned fiery, then black, and, eventually, ashes.
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