and so, the flames rise up and take over, filling in shadows and dark spaces, only to have smoke pollute vision once again. blue and orange spark and crackle and bounce off the brown irises that circle around. one stands next to the other and both stand victorious. years ago at a time and place on a night like this, they would call for celebration. placing bets and toasts to whatever might come next; glasses always raised high and always half-full. instead, they stand, consumed in dark and heavy suffocating silence, reflecting but never longing. thinking back to wooden barstools and rumpled cards tossed down on worn tables. a different kind of victory, one innocent and easier and so much simpler. still, after harder and downright horrible victories they stood covered in blood and grime, and yet still smiles, and they had something to celebrate again. any victory meant everything.
now, silence.
now, they stand covered in blood and grime, staring straight ahead at everything they caused.
now, the wind whistles and flames crackle but somehow it’s still dead silent.
now, it’s too late.
all good memories become bad. it’s better to remember nothing.
now they stand half cloaked in darkness, half lit by flames and stars. looking up, stars are reflected as only brighter flames falling and falling and already dead. they don’t dare look up, they stare straight ahead watching fire turn to rubble. they never used to watch the destruction that fell to their fault, only headed out, high on victory; off to destroy themselves, then off to another case.
year by year it started eating away at them.
minute by minute the fire eats away at everything it was set out upon.
it’s better to remember nothing, reflecting but never longing. they learn the hard way.
now, all they have are hollow victories.
they stand, shoes singed and caked in dirt while stuck in place, unwilling to leave and reluctant to move on. a city on fire right at their fingertips, their minds and voices on mute, while old snapshots flash in front of their open eyes.

“you ever just wanna quit and never come back?” one says, breaking a silence that was never there. the air around them still suffocates.
“it’s too late for that now,” the other says. they still stare straight ahead, absorbing nothing and everything all at once.
the radio calls in above them, “get a move on, boys. you got a lot of work ahead’a ya and standing around won’t get ya nowhere.”