Simon sat, or rather floated deep in the belly of the beast, deep in thought. Only a foot or so away from the miniature star that the dragon probably used to power its pyrotechnic breath. Simon was surrounded by a wave of seemingly anthropomorphic fire, forged in a thousand suns, the residual embers of that ancient antecedental (and impressively powerful) explosion. Simon's single point focus pushed all these eclectic facts and sensory stimuli to the periphery of his mind. He was trying to connect with the universe, through fire, and make sense of how he had contributed to what appeared to his eyes to be a nuclear explosion, far less grand than the Big Bang, but destructive rather than creative. This was never his intention.
As he continued to reflect, he could find no sense of reconciliation, something kept creeping into his mind in spite of his usual knack for impenetrable concentration. Strange words and phrases similar to a dream which he recently had, kept manifesting themselves: Simon, love is death, crude oil is not the answer, genocide is the only sure solution. Live once for a thousand years. Die in half the time. Don't worry, you are crazy. Slightly disappointed he broke out of his trance, just in time to see the dragon's star go out and his Friendly Fire dissipate into the void that was left.
Simon stopped floating.