I walk through the fire. I step on the hot, demanding coals. I expect some relief, but it comes in short blasts of steaming air. It stings. It burns. My lungs are aching.
A burning sensation rises through my body. It is a radiating pain spreading over my abdomen. It claws at me, sending long thin fingers of singeing pink malice up my sides, ripping at my chest. I keep moving, treading an unseen path through the burning embers. If I stop, I will be engulfed in hungry flames.
It wants me, this fire. It chases after me. It wants to flow over me in hot billowy waves and leave my empty ashes in its path.
I keep running.
My eyes are burning. My feet are barefoot and raw amongst the cinders. I don't feel the searing intensity of these flames so much anymore. It doesn't hurt to let them lick at my legs and twirl in a manic dance across the palms of my hands. In fact, I am mesmerised by this enchanting hell. Whimsical sprites flit through the conflagration in a crimson ballet. I am enraptured. For a moment I feel drawn into their dance. I swirl and leap with these fiery nymphs.
As I dart and prance with my imaginary partners, a hazy mirage catches my eye. I squint through the sweltering blaze and imagine that there is relief beyond the inferno, a kind of dry oasis, a place where there is nothing left to burn. That desert beckons to me. I want to be there, away from this insatiable flood.
And still I endeavour to escape the fire. Even though it can never be outrun. Always lapping at my heels in wispy orange waves. The heat is immense. My cheeks are hot and flushed. I am tired from trying to flee this blaze.
Let the fire consume me. Let these flames eat their full of my tired body. Engulf me. Envelop me. Finish me. I am brittle and dry. I will incinerate quickly. I will not fight it.
I stand still, awaiting the refining power of this daily blaze to swallow me.
Then. Crack.
A spark.
Beside me two small shrubs wilt in the heat of the approaching inferno. Their sap is boiling. Their branches droop and bend away from the bulldozing warmth. They are dying. They must not die! I cannot allow it. They must grow and provide refreshing shade for others. I am yanked out of my dull stupor. I must keep moving. I turn from the affected saplings and entice the waves of flame away.
A burning sensation rises through my body. It is a radiating pain spreading over my abdomen. It claws at me, sending long thin fingers of singeing pink malice up my sides, ripping at my chest. I keep moving, treading an unseen path through the burning embers. If I stop, I will be engulfed in hungry flames.
It wants me, this fire. It chases after me. It wants to flow over me in hot billowy waves and leave my empty ashes in its path.
I keep running.
My eyes are burning. My feet are barefoot and raw amongst the cinders. I don't feel the searing intensity of these flames so much anymore. It doesn't hurt to let them lick at my legs and twirl in a manic dance across the palms of my hands. In fact, I am mesmerised by this enchanting hell. Whimsical sprites flit through the conflagration in a crimson ballet. I am enraptured. For a moment I feel drawn into their dance. I swirl and leap with these fiery nymphs.
As I dart and prance with my imaginary partners, a hazy mirage catches my eye. I squint through the sweltering blaze and imagine that there is relief beyond the inferno, a kind of dry oasis, a place where there is nothing left to burn. That desert beckons to me. I want to be there, away from this insatiable flood.
And still I endeavour to escape the fire. Even though it can never be outrun. Always lapping at my heels in wispy orange waves. The heat is immense. My cheeks are hot and flushed. I am tired from trying to flee this blaze.
Let the fire consume me. Let these flames eat their full of my tired body. Engulf me. Envelop me. Finish me. I am brittle and dry. I will incinerate quickly. I will not fight it.
I stand still, awaiting the refining power of this daily blaze to swallow me.
Then. Crack.
A spark.
Beside me two small shrubs wilt in the heat of the approaching inferno. Their sap is boiling. Their branches droop and bend away from the bulldozing warmth. They are dying. They must not die! I cannot allow it. They must grow and provide refreshing shade for others. I am yanked out of my dull stupor. I must keep moving. I turn from the affected saplings and entice the waves of flame away.
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