Rebirth

 The simple telemarketer had only ever feared a single thing in his entire life; death. He walked out of the hospital having been told that he would have three weeks until he faced his greatest fear for the first and last time. He had never been more scared in his entire life. It was sudden, unexpected. It happened during a routine physical, where they discovered a lump where there shouldn't be one. Everything was a blur after that. There was bloodwork, xrays, MRIs, ct scans. Every single one told him that same abysmal, hopeless diagnosis of stage 4 cancer.

Many people visited his home the very first week. Family flew in from various places, friends came with hot dinners to share. It was an unpleasant reason for gathering, though the gatherings themselves were generally on the lighter side. Everyone knew there was no point in starting treatments this late in the game. It was far too late for that simple telemarketer, though no one ever vocalized this fact aloud. Many commented on how gaunt he was beginning to look, and how warm to the touch he was getting. Compliments were passed onto his normally plain eyes, pointing out some flecks of blue that had appeared in them. There were quips about his nose seeming sharper, like it could cut your finger. Many laughs were shared on those days.

The second week, the man began to feel that the attention from the people who love was overwhelming. He wanted to be by himself, a desire that was somewhat out of character for him. Usually he relished in being near friends and family, but now he just wanted to be alone. He started to push people away, dodge phone calls and texts, shut himself in his house. There was no reason to really leave, now with technology allowing for him to order pretty much anything he'd need offline. He felt warm all the time now, cranking up the AC even though the weather was just starting to get cooler. He did not, however, feel sweaty.

He began to look at himself more. His features were getting sharper. His eyes had gained more of that brilliant blue color lovingly pointed out by family and friends. His nose looked almost elongated and his cheeks had sunken in, making his cheekbones look more prominent. His cheeks were also rosey, almost healthy looking in color. In fact, his skin looked more healthful than it had before he had gotten sick. There was no sign of the signature slight yellowish hue that many describe having when diagnosed with a terminal illness. He thought it may have something to do with the fact that he wasn't on any kind of medication, considering the fact that there really wasn't any point, but he also didn't feel sick. He felt fatigued and slightly apprehensive, but physically there was no pain or anything. Nothing felt wrong.

At the end of that week, he started getting some cravings. He baked some box snickerdoodle cookies he had lying around and loved them. He bought several more packages, along with some extra cinnamon. He never found cinnamon to be an appealing flavor beforehand, but he was dying, so maybe it had something to do with that. He also purchased some myrrh. Google said that it was a medicinal type thing and had even been tested in treating certain types of cancer, but there was an itch inside him that told him to get it, that, for whatever reason, he needed it. That same itch also told him that he need decorative trees, specifically cypress.

This itch began to start dictating his day to day schedule during the third week. He started to wear vibrant, warm colors every single day. He shut himself further away from family and friends who so desperately tried to visit him. He was much too busy to meet with them, and they could do nothing for him now but give him soft words and temporary enjoyment. He needed to prepare for the inevitable, the thing that was going to happen to him at some point during this week. He spent hours stripping leaves from the many cypress plants he had purchased. The wood lay outside in a disheveled pile in the woods behind his home, waiting for more to be added. His features looked so peculiar now, almost avian in a way, his nose sharp, jawline receding inward, his face in general seemingly thinner and longer. His eyes had almost completely shifted from plain brown to blue like sapphires.

He felt different too. The fear of death had vanished from him. New he welcomed the end with open arms. Somehow, deep inside the fibers of his being, he found comfort in his impending end. It was something certain in an uncertain world. He also came to believe in a life after death of sorts, a way to live on even after you have died. This soothed his worried mind until there was no worry left to soothe. In fact, he found himself completely ready for what was his impending doom. He wasn't scared anymore.

He woke up early on the last day of the third week. The sun had yet to rise, and would not for quite a while yet. His skin looked very reddish, and when he left burn marks on anything he touched. His features had gone even further from human, his eyes more spherical in shape, his fingers elongated, his nose pointed. On that day, he wore clothes of brilliant reds and golds, looking almost like a walking flame as he walked out his back door.

He spent those early hours on that last day meticulously organizing the wood he had collected over the past two weeks into an altar like structure. He sprinkled the cinnamon and myrrh over the top of it, stealing a taste of the cinnamon at several points. The gasoline was next. He poured one entire red cannister of it all over the structure. He then poured the second cannister all over himself. The box of matches was in his pocket, and his took it out after sitting on the pyre. He struck the match on the side of the box, and dropped it onto the gas covered wood below. The flames crackled and roared around him, but he was calm. As the heat of the fire increased, so did the temperature of his body, until he too was engulfed in flame. He felt no pain as the fire covered him. He felt only the sense of renewal and purity overtake him.

The pyre continued to burn even after the man had turned to ash. There was still much fuel to consume. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. As soon as it's golden rays touched the pyre, the ashes of the man began to stir. The ash started to gain shape and form of something large, and it turned into pure flame. And from that flame shot a mighty bird, feathers of red and gold, eyes of pure sapphire, rising with the morning sun. It let out a mighty screech, and flew away into the new day, finally reborn.

When the pyre finally burnt out, a single large golden feather sat atop the ashes.