Faust was standing in the middle of his front yard

Preludes to Nothing

Faust was standing in the middle of his front yard. His heart was still thumping and now the strength was leaving his legs and he could feel them starting to collapse beneath him.

He dared to turn and look at his house. And he was relieved to discover nothing but the house lay before him. The devil had not followed him out.

Before he had even turned to look at it, Faust knew his house was destroyed. But even so, as he took in the scene, he was shocked. It was a twisted wreck, of course, and nothing alive in there could have survived. Faust had long ago planted powerful explosives in all four corners of the house's underside to make sure of that. But beyond the wreckage, the house was also now what Faust could only describe to himself as a fireball. A stationary fireball. Just sitting there, in the guts of the wreckage burning far too intensely for the fuel that was available to it.

Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?

Still with one hand gripping the lever he had pulled to set off the explosives, which had long doubled as the sharp gnomon that had for years cast shadows across the face of a sundial in Faust had long ago installed in the middle of the clearing in front of his house, now allowed himself collapse to his knees.

The devil is in there. That’s really just like hell, isn’t it.

Suddenly, Faust heard a shriek. It was a muffled but harrowing cry and the sound of it made Faust's heart clench. It felt like a thousand souls crying out to him at once.

Faust panicked all over again and swore loudly. But then, a realization: the devil was burning!

Then, out of the flames like a fright flew a large bird, a sulphur crested cockatoo. It looked terrified and its shrieks were harsh and loud and they were echoing off the wall of the gum trees all around. It was a magnificent bird, and its wingspan was huge. It had beautiful, white feathers streaked black and the tips of its wings licked fire.

The bird now flew straight at Faust, screaming. Its eyes were wide with fear and wild as hell. Faust ducked, but the bird ignored him and plunged into the bush.

And now already it was hurtling between the trees, trailing licks of fire as it banked left and right at breakneck speed between the trunks and the branches and the leaves.

Soon, it was no more than a tiny orange flicker dancing deep in the bush, and then it was gone.

Drained and feeling empty, Faust turned his gaze back to the bonfire that had been his house, and all of his beautiful books.