flames

 

flames...

There  is a  gas can in  my hand.  The  metal  is deceptively  cold, as I  push  down the bitter  grin, trying  to escape the irony  of that thought. I  am not in my circle. The woods are far away.  A safe  haven to return to, after this deed. 
 Now, I am in an ally.  The wind  is cold, and  Im glad  for the  unforgiving  chill, as it strengthens  my  reserve, and freezes  the exit of  tears. I lift  my chin to the wind, fighting the shudder of cold trying to wrack my steely bones.
  There  it  is. An old, rusted dented metal trash can. The kind the bums downtown light fires in to huddle  around, warming themselves. (Im far from  home). I walk towards it,  each step ringing with finality.  I stop. Eyes closed. Teeth clenched against the earthquakes of chattering.  I draw in a breath  of  ice, and  another, and  another.  Steady once  more, i set down my gas can.  I raise  my palms  in  silent dua. filling them with  dry, brittle, antiquated  thoughts.  They slide through  my  fingers, filling  the once  empty can until overflowing.  Opening my eyes  again, I look, and  really see.   Imagining the  flames.  Delicate patterns of ash.
  Unconsciously, the  gas can is in my hand.  Emptying the sickening  sweet smelling substance  onto my dead thoughts. (i never notice the smile  on my  lips, just  remember it later).  It runs down through them,  trickling, touching  them all.   I step back, and strike the  match, taking a moment to admire its baby flame. Then drop it. All  is  black for a moment.
 I am  a safe distance away  from the flames, but I am on fire  also. I am the  flames, swaying in the breeze they  create for themselves. My hair  floats around me liquid with it. Eyes  pouring  this cathartic  fire.  My  clothes are  burned away,  and  I wear  only smoke in this cold. Fingers of  ash  stroking  my sides,  the small of  my back.  A  howl escapes my lips. Free, and  beautiful, lingering  on my  tongue. Caressing it. 
 Then  it  is through. The flames  are  gone. I stand  naked except  for  my  smokey gown. my  hair  curling  as  though wet. Im not shivering.  Not  shaking outwardly; but my breath  is heaving in  my chest.  My eyes  slide  closed  again  in ecstasy,  and  all  is black.
All is  black.

And  I wake. 
In  a  bed of  leaves. They are tangled in  my hair,  and snagged in my new  gown.  Ash  grey  it  is, with crimson seams, and  stitching. I rub  my  eyes  and stand, aware of a warm  spot, and a  depression in the  leaves next  to me. I feel the afterglow of  lips  on  my  cheeks, and  forehead. Auric  fingers  were smoothing my  hair... Raising  my  head,  I see  my  guardian on the edge  of  my  circle. He  looks  small today.  Sad.   Lonely. I  cant  go to him. But I know  his  kisses are  ghosting  my soul. I know  he  was  laying beside me. Was  sending  his love through his lips.
I look down to hide  my  eyes from his mind.  Covering  my  thoughts, my  love behind my hair,  ashamed  of  my  arson. My  world  shakes!

"NO!"
 
My  mouth drops  open in astonishment. He doesnt  hate  me  for  my  burning?  No. He is  sad  I woke, and he  had  to leave. Sad,  that  real life  keeps us  separate,  and  alone.  I  am quiet. My skin is drowning  in  the dream of  his touch.
  Even  outside of  my  circle, this  love  saved  me. Brought  me home. I stand here in  wonder, in  awe.  As  flames  line a  path down my cheeks.

Reviews

[Sound]

This one is odd. The language used is great and beautifully written. The thing about it is that I can't say what it's about...I can guess, though. So here I go.

To me this is a story of arson. The protagonist in the story seems drawn to the flames. He loves their beauty, the silent rythm and in the story the part where he/she lit the gas aflame seems almost orgasmic with passion, love, awe. In the morning, though where she/he wakes up it's only shame. Regret? Maybe realizes the bad thing commited? I hope I'm kind of close. I like it. I hope to see more!