Burning up

Grey.
The ash was grey.
Not the dark grey of a morbid night sky, neither the light grey of the clouds as they pass over the moon, somewhere in between.
It didn't change colour as the shadows passed over it fell to the ground, or as it passed through the strips of moonlight. It just fell, seeming to be the remains of what used to be my heart.
Where did it come from.
Looking behind the ash, I see it burning, all of it, even though I was so cold inside. The shadows were curling at my feet, even though my heart was... well...
Burning up.
The ash fell onto my skin, black on white, like a dirty drop of ink on a sheet of crisp white paper. But I wasn't concentrating on the ash falling at my feet.
I was watching everything,
And everyone
I love being burnt to dust.
My heart hollow, but filled with emotions at the same time,
Wanting to scream for them, but my voice lost.
They, of course, could scream very well. And they did. Each one tore through me like a knife tipped with poison that lingered in the corners of my body, the voices I had known all my life, the voices I have always replied to, helped.
But not now.
It was as if time itself hated me, slowing down the moment and making me suffer.
I could just make out my mum, her body a flame, as well as my dad, little brother, and my two dogs, screaming as their bodies were eaten by embers, and having me watch them die. And trust me, I wanted to join them. My body was in the cold, and my heart was in the fire. My little brother spied me, his face burnt beyond recognition, he opened his mouth to call my name from the flames that ate at his body and my heart.

And then I woke up.