Waltzing with Flames

October 20, 2010
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Dance. Fire. Flames. Where’s mom? Fear. Anxiety. Insanity. Mom. Oh god, is that her body? It doesn’t even look like her. Why am I still alive? Why are these soldiers staring at me? Do they wonder why I dance? Do I even know why I’m here dancing? I dance because. I dance because I don’t know what else to do. Help me! They’re all dead. My whole family. Now, it’s just me and the dance. Somebody save me! Fire. My house is gone. Where do I go? No one cares. What am I doing? Why did they have to die? Let yourself go. Just dance. You’re going to be okay. The dance of the dead. I’m still alive. Red. Orange. Yellow. All I see. Ashes. Pieces of what my life used to be. Everything is destroyed. Ruined. Papa always told me to dance when I’m sad. Here I am. I dance for my family. They’re burnt, barbequed, baked. So, I dance. I dance. I dance. Tears. Salty tears. Horror. How did this happen? How could someone do this? Move your feet to the beat. The beat of your heart. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. My heart is racing. Don’t look back. I hate war. Why is this happening to me? I hate those soldiers. All their fault. Dream. This must be a dream. Reality couldn’t be this cruel. Reality. I don’t even know what’s real anymore. God. Where are you God? I need you. Need someone. What am I thinking? Everything is okay. My family is still alive. My house is still there. I’m okay. I’m okay. It’s just a dream. A really messed up dream.





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