The Fire of Summer

Told of a friend

We are no longer your number ones. Summer has long past. The sun shines less now, and the leaves have already turned color. And I have to wonder, do you change along with the seasons?

He is your holder of secrets. But he's fickle, don't you see? When heart break comes to knock, where will your secrets spread? Your faith is held in him, and we are just empty shells. The gossip is all we have, and I don't know about her, but I do not thrive on gossip. Gossip is little more than days old oatmeal- something I would only eat if I had no other choice. The truth is what helps me grow. Better- the truth coming from your own mouth, not several mouths later. That truth is as rotten as gossip, and I've no care for it.

What has happened to you? The promises we made, just as if we had been friends since kindergarten, pushed into the dusty attic. The past we told as if we lived it again, brought up to spite. The secrets we shared between us, brought to the public eye. And all because of him? Because of a mere boy? Shame on you.

...And, I guess, shame on us as well. For we must have done the same things down that path.

But we can't see your reason. You won't tell us either. I was hurt and needed sanctuary. Where is your hurt? And what poor excuse for a sanctuary is he? She was new, but your newness is far gone. This is another repetitive scene, and you should know better.

I must wonder, as she must too, if this is all because of the summer that ended in flames. That would be the one answer I can think up that makes any sense at all. This isn't retribution or resentment towards your family. That is easy to see. Did the flames hurt you that much? Did you get burned that badly?

I hope that's the answer. That your singed by the fire that licked your skin. For I can understand that. For, contrary to your belief, I was also burned in the ending of summer. And it still pains me now. It still makes me hug myself and want to cry. To make all the burns go away. And if you still hold her up as an excuse, viewing her blemish-free skin, well, I think that's just plain wrong.

You know as well as I that even she didn't escape summer without passing through that fire as well. What did you think? She floated high above it? After all the chains strapped to her too. Once again, shame on you. Her burns aren't shown on her arms or legs. Like the fire did to us, it attacked her heart, her mind. The only burns you'll find on her skin will be the ones that followed her tears' path.

We have all been hurt equally. During this summer, not one of us has lived through worse, only different. The fire burned us equally, just in different places.

So why, why do you hurt us more? Do you believe that we need to hurt more to become equal with you? I hope not, for I would have to smack you upside the head, and tell you everything that's wrong with your reasoning.

Or, is it simply that you do not know how much you are hurting us? You're difficult with your opinion, and see no one else's view. I can believe this of you, even though I've told you how we hurt.

The fire of summer has burned us all. We have lived through it, and through each others' stories and lives. When all this ends, and it will end, we will become sisters again, share secrets, hold sleepovers and make new promises. And this will all happen again. We'll test bonds, voice those secrets, sleep every weekend by ourselves, and break all those promises. But we're the sisters of summer. We've lived, died, and then were resurrected by each other. We've done it once, we'll do it again. And one season, we'll once again sleep in the same house many weekends in a row, promising each other the world and meaning it, sharing the secrets we've missed while gone, and enjoying our sisterhood, treasuring it more and more every day.