Fire

LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE – Empress Bella Rose

He first registered the scorching, unbearable heat pressing against his skin and licking his limbs.
Then came the acrid stench of burning fabric and the sharp sting of smoke clawing down his
throat.

He shot up in bed, heart hammering against his ribs, and saw the flickering glow of flames
consuming his silk pajamas. His arms, his legs—everything was burning.

A guttural scream tore from his throat. He stumbled from the enormous bed, his sweat-slicked
skin blistering as the flames licked higher. The gold-trimmed curtains curled and blackened, the
walls of his opulent bedroom splitting apart as fire devoured the world around him. His favorite
portrait—a grand, self-important painting of his bloated face, double chin rendered in masterful
oil strokes—melted, the paint bubbling and peeling, until his features sagged into an
unrecognizable smear.

Beyond the shattered windows, the world burned.

Buildings toppled, their steel bones glowing molten red. Streets seethed with infernos,
swallowing cars, trees, people. The air filled with the tortured wails of men and women burning
alive. From the highest towers to the smallest homes, the fire showed no mercy.

The fat, ugly leader stumbled into the hallway, wheezing through the thick smoke. His lungs
clawed for air, but all that filled them was heat, ashes of things once whole. His security detail—
those once-loyal men in black suits—lay sprawled across the marble floors, their bodies
writhing, mouths open in silent screams. Their flesh peeled like scorched paper, eyes melting in
their sockets.

He reached out to one of them, desperate, but as his fingers grazed the man’s shoulder, his arm
crumbled away in a shower of blackened meat and bone.

A shriek tore from his throat. His knees buckled.

And then—through the howling inferno, a sound.

Soft. Innocent.

A child’s voice.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

His blood turned to ice.

The voice was clear, sweet, cutting through the chaos like a nursery rhyme whispered at the edge
of a nightmare.

Then another voice joined in. And another. A chorus of children, their small, innocent tones
rising over the roaring flames.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

The fat, bloated leader turned, his sweat-slicked face twisted in horror. The hallway ahead of him
wavered in the heat, the gilded walls cracking, chandeliers raining molten glass onto the burning
corpses below. And there, standing untouched in the inferno, were the children.

A classroom of them.

Rows of small faces illuminated by the flickering glow, eyes unblinking, lips moving in perfect
unison. And in the center, a little girl with dark curls and wide, solemn eyes.

He knew that face.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, past the decades of corruption, past the broken promises
and calculated lies, he remembered.

It had started so simply—a question asked by a weary schoolteacher in a small Mississippi
classroom.

“What should be the punishment for lying?”

There had been silence—a moment of thought.

And then, a tiny voice had answered:

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

A few children had giggled. Then, more had joined in. The chant had spread, rippling through
the town like a nursery rhyme reborn. By evening, it had slithered into households, churches, and
city streets—a joke at first—playful, harmless.

But words have power. They cast a spell.

By the following day, the first liar had burned.

A local businessman, known for his schemes, had burst into flames as he sat for breakfast, his
screams rattling the windows of his suburban home. His wife had tried to save him, but the fire
did not smother, did not stop, did not listen to reason. It swallowed him whole.

And then another liar burned. And another.

Teachers who had told children they could be anything they wanted, knowing the world
wouldn’t allow it. Priests who had preached love while hiding their sins behind the altar.

Husbands who had whispered fidelity while their lips still tasted of someone else.

It did not matter if the lies were bold or whispered, written or withheld, spoken outright or buried
in silence.”

The fire knew the truth.

And now, it had reached him.

The fire had come for them all.

Across the world, liars burned.

In homes, fathers erupted into screaming pyres at the dinner table, their wives and children
watching in paralyzed horror as flesh melted from their bones. In churches, preachers ignited
mid-sermon, their Bibles curling into ash in their hands as their flock shrieked and fled. News
anchors burst into flames mid-broadcast, their polished smiles dissolving into charred skulls
before the signal cut to static.

No liar was safe.

Not the CEOs whose empty promises had stolen the futures of millions. Not the doctors who had
sworn to heal while padding their pockets with pharmaceutical deals. Not the lovers who had
sworn devotion while warming another’s bed.

And now, the worst of them all—the most gluttonous, the most deceitful, the most corrupt—
stood before the children, his skin blackening, his bloated body sagging under the weight of his
destruction.

The world leader staggered forward, hands outstretched, pleading. His lips, swollen and splitting
from the heat, fumbled over words.

“P-please,” he croaked. His voice was raw, ruined. “I’ll make you rich, powerful—anything you
want! You want fame? Money? A palace? Just say the word!”

“The little girl tilted her head.

“You lied.”

Her voice was quiet but cut through the smoke like a blade. Around her, the children did not
blink, did not flinch.

He fell to his knees. His once-massive frame shrank as the flames devoured him, reducing him to
something smaller, something pathetic.

“I’m the King!” he sobbed, pawing at the floor. His fingernails had burned away, leaving raw,
blackened stumps. “You can’t do this to me—”

The little girl’s lips parted.

And for the final time, they sang.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

The fire surged.

The leader fell silent.

And the world, at last, was cleansed.

Copyright 2025 – Ellen M. Laura

The Forgotten – No Escape – Part 1 – KA Stefana

Standing in the crowded marketplace, I watched the carriage carrying the queen parade by. I tried to stay hidden in the shadows of my sister’s market stall to avoid attracting attention, as I was aware of her demands for the humans that she desired. Once she marked your calling card, you never danced with another.  

Your fate was at the mercy of the queen’s whims. If you satiated her desires between the sheets, she might let you live to see another year around in the sun in servitude to her. Otherwise, the jailer would drag whatever was left of you into the dungeons for your remains to decay and fade away.  

I wanted neither scenario to befall me. My body tensed as I watched the carriage stop by the small stream that flowed off into the surrounding woodlands. A terrifying fear engulfed me as I watched the door to the gilded carriage open, but its occupant remained hidden within its shadows. Swallowing hard, I tried to step behind the red curtain, separating my sister’s stall from the other vendor.  

Admonishing myself, I muttered, “I shouldn’t have come into town today.”

What a mistake!

My hiding place was insufficient, for two of the queen’s guards grabbed me from behind and dragged me to her carriage. I knew it was useless to fight the queen’s men, for their strength was beyond human, but I tried my best to no avail, screaming, “Let me go!”

A nameless guard let out a low rumble, a fiendish laugh, replying, “As if. Queen Estella has chosen you. End of story.” 

“I’d rather die,” I muttered under my breath. 

“Shall I kill you now?” he asked, laughing at my predicament. Before I could answer, he threw me to the ground and grabbed a fist full of my hair. My eyes snapped toward the carriage door, realizing that she was standing there. My mere mortal eyes met hers for the first time. 

Queen Estella was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen in my limited human existence, with one exception: her daughter Amelia. Her skin was porcelain white, with lips as red as blood. She smiled at me with her long teeth, allowing her fangs to grow slightly. Stepping forward, I watched in awe as her long black hair cascaded down in waves, framing her face, but it was her cerulean blue eyes that drew me in. Mesmerized me. They were as clear as the forbidden lake, hiding the secrets and desires of the queen. 

Seductively, she let her tongue trace her fangs while her eyes bore into my soul. As she spoke to me in her heavenly voice, my heart raced, for my carnal desires would betray all my survival senses. 

In her presence, I wanted to let go of all my fears and obey her every desire. I had to shake myself from the dreamlike state I was falling into, saying urgently, “No! No! Please, let me go. There are others, but not me. Please don’t take me!”

Kneeling down, she laughed playfully at my pleading words. Her ice-cold fingers ran along the bottom of my chin, taunting me, “Now, now, Luther. You know as well as I do that I have sealed your fate. If you refuse me, they’ll torture and jail until you come to your senses. On our journey to the castle, you will have plenty of time to think about your response, and I expect you’ll reach the correct conclusion.”

Before I protested, her men grabbed me and tossed me head-first into the carriage. My head slammed into the window, and I felt the pain radiate down my spine. I attempted to recover, but Queen Estella’s men forced me to sit up while she settled in.  

Glaring at her from the other side, my anger grew exponentially, and I became defiant. Sitting there, I crossed my arms and pouted as the carriage lurched forward. Scheming and plotting for the next twenty minutes, I finally shouted, “I’ll not be turned into a monster by you or any of your other bloodsuckers! I’m human, and I want to stay human. Full stop! So, no, thank you! Just stop the carriage and let me out, and I’ll walk back to the village from here.”

She smiled sweetly at me before the carriage came to a sudden stop. The queen didn’t say a word as the carriage door swung open, and two burly soldiers reached in and pulled me out, throwing me down on the muddy forest floor. Landing on a tree branch, the first of my ribs snapped in two. Letting out an ear-piercing scream that cascaded through the forest, I realized that no one was coming to save the poor, pathetic little human from the vampire queen. 

Her minions continued to beat me until I was but a breath away from dying. Shadows shrouded my feeble brain, blurring my memories. I vaguely remember a boot on my back, shoving me down to the ground, and dirt filling my mouth as my head smashed into the muddy earth again. With each kick and punch, I faded away slowly until I was nothing more than a wisp of the man I once was.

Broken. 

Enveloped in darkness, I slowly realized that I must still be alive, for the stench surrounding me in this hellhole was unbearable. The cries of the damned overwhelmed my consciousness as I returned to the land of the living. Dread filled me with the horrific situation that I found myself in. I was in the queen’s dungeon, seven stories below the grand entrance to the castle. 

All hope was lost. 

Through the darkness, I felt a hand grab a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back and placing the edge of a blade to my neck. The voice from the abyss snarled, “Luther, your choice. The queen or death.”

I just whispered one word.

“Death.”

Copyright 2025 – KA Stefana