walking into fire

I knew I was walking into fire. I had the scoop—and I intended to share it.

Sure, my conscious poked—urging me to reconsider; but this salacious tale of illicit eccentricity warranted a bit of headline attention.

I pushed my way through the door where my would-be audience awaited; none too wise to the tale I was set to tell. I knew that some would lambast, others would berate, but most would eagerly lap in the story (maintaining their silence, of course).