Jean pushed the screen door open with a thrust of her behind.  The aluminum frame
rattled in the night's strong breeze, crashing back against the house as Jean
stepped aside and cringed in anticipation of the bang.   Pressing the box she
carried hard against her belly, Jean carefully descended from the old wood porch.

She sat the cardboard box on the grass, beside the bar-b-que grill. A faint
orange glow shuddered in the wind, shrouded in thick layers of white ash.  Jean
picked up a large set of tongs and pushed the blades between the black bars of
the grate.  Globs of brown fat fell into the coals as she lifted the round mesh,
sizzling with yellow bursts of quick flame.  Jean dropped it on the ground and
sighed.

"I guess it's right," she said.

The sun had fallen low in the west leaving the last remnants of the fiery day in
a wide splash of darkened orange and deepening blue. A north wind whipped hard
through the leaves of the trees beyond the yard, a swelling rustle of disturbed
order that made Jean nervous. Taking a few steps over the well-manicured lawn,
she cast an expectant glance through a break in the trees.  A hard black line of
storm clouds moved in steadily.

"I'd better get this done," she said.

Picking up a can of lighter fluid from the railroad tie that kept the grass and
the flowers parted, she squeezed a steady stream over the orange shimmers in the
grill basin.  A quick hiss extinguished the glow.

Jean pulled a red lighter from her pocket and in a thoughtless continuation of an
old habit, took out a cigarette.  A flicker of flame led to a deep breath of
smoke and Jean coughed.

"I've got to quit these things," she said.  "That'd really make him happy."

Jean kneeled before the cardboard box and pulled open the flaps.  The white
creases of the envelopes shone in the porch light.

"Jean Anderson," she read aloud.  "I guess she's gone."

Jean flicked the lighter and held it to the corner of the envelope. Blue flame
stole up the side of the white letter.  A slowly ascending line of black consumed
the thin paper as a yellow light burst forth. Jean held the burning letter in her
hand a moment and then tossed it into the grill.  The flammable vapors burst in
an explosion of light.

Jean took the second letter and tossed it into the fire.  She picked up a handful
of the things and threw them in.  The clutter of thick paper doused the light for
a moment and then caught fire.  Bright yellow light stroked Jean's frowning face.

"They don't mean anything to me.  I don't see what harm they do him, but I guess
it's right.  He's given me so much, I can do this for him."

Jean picked up another letter, a thick one.  She took the pages out, discarding
the envelope in the flames.  Reading the words scrawled over the white surface,
Jean began to smile.

"Jeezus, Danny, you were a so full of shit."  She tossed the first page into the
fire.  "I guess Frank has good reason to get mad about these, even seven years
gone."  Jean laughed.

"I couldn't sleep last night, thinking of you, stroking my cock while I laid in
bed, thinking of you, teasing my cock with wanting your tongue, imagining your
smile as I came.  I'm so crazy about you, Jean.  I wish I could have come to see
you today.  I don't know how I'll make it until Tuesday."

Jean pushed the page into the fire, watching the flames lick over the surface,
drowning the ink in cinders.  White smoke rose slightly and then dashed away in
the wind.

"I'm sorry, Danny.  She wouldn't like them either, I'll bet."  Jean knelt down to
pick up the next letter, turning it over in her hands. She started to flip it
casually into the fire, but stopped.  She opened the envelope and cast the
wrapping into perdition.

"I still can't believe you, Jean.  I can't believe how incredibly naughty you
were.  My prick is still throbbing, remembering your mischievous smile as you
sucked me out there.  Anyone could have caught us.  You are so wild."

A flicker of light exposed Jean's blush as she dropped the reminder of their day
at the family picnic into the fire.  A touch of warmth tickled her nerves as she
remembered the smooth slip of Danny's thick cock into her mouth, and pushing it
back into his pants as his sister came toward them, calling Danny's name.  Jean
twisted a hardening nipple.

Frank had told her to "act decently," when she teased him in the park.  Jean
frowned, and took up another letter.

"Serving you dinner naked, pouring your wine, standing attentive while you ate. 
You fondled my prick, squeezed my bare ass, but gave me a pinch because the meat
was too rare."  Jean laughed.  "Now, Danny, I don't remember that."

The wind picked up, beginning to howl through the trees, sending flutters of
sparks out of the fiery bowl.  Jean sighed and looked at the half-empty box.

"It seems such a shame to lose so many memories," she said. "Especially such hot
ones.  Oh, Frank, why can't you let me keep a bit of my past?"  She looked at the
big house, as if it could speak for the man who owned them both.  The neatly
creased building stood silent, cool, steadily insistent before her.  A crash of
thunder rolled in the distance.  Jean picked up another handful of letters and
tossed them into the fire.

Jean sat down on the grass as the wind grew fierce, scattering a whirl of sparks.
 She picked up another letter and opened it.

"You breathe life into my soul, my heart, my love, I am made alive because of
your beauty, your kindness, your fire.  I want to fuck you Jean, fuck the raging
inferno of your cunt, to lose myself in your stormy ride, to take you, love you,
surrender and conquer and love you.  I lose all my reason in your warm embrace. 
Last night you fucked me with such madness, with such heat, dripping in the sweat
of our passion, we were burning like we were burning alive."

Jean screamed all her self into the darkness.  Lightning struck a distant tree
and Jean screamed in savage rebellion, warring against the thunder.  Wind lifted
a pillar of sparks before her impassioned eyes and Jean paused to watch the
letters burn.

"NO!" she yelled, wild, and kicked the black altar with an angry foot, spilling
the fiery sacrifice onto the lawn, over the flowers, under the porch.  Flames
licked the old, dry wood and Jean sat on the grass and sobbed.

Four letters remained in the box.  Jean clutched the thin papers to her breast as
she watched the fire burn and grow.  Backing away slowly, she wondered who she
was, and where she was going.  Jean smiled wickedly to see the rages of light
consuming the house she left behind.

"He'll know what to do," she said, laughing madly.  "Frank's good at dousing
flames."