Duty versus desire: The duality of what it takes to fuel a burning passion

Abstract

The fire station loomed before me, a fortress of bold red and blue. This was not built of stone, but by flesh and will, built by those who defy the instinct to flee. The very air surrounding it was thick, laced with the acrid bite of smoke. I could hear the soft whispers from the embers, curling in the air, calling for those who would dare to answer. A puddle sat still amidst the brittle grass field; a glistening mirage situated amongst the yellow grasslands. It reflected the station’s bold colours, painting a pool of illusory purity. But as I stepped closer, the illusion shattered. As the ripples broke the water’s surface, its true form was revealed – clouded, ashy, tainted by what it had consumed. Some things, once touched by fire, can never really be the same again.