The colors of fire

March 23, 2011
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Panic. Yellow splotched summer sky, mid afternoon, Sun scorched and burning contently. Zoom in, a large shadow streaked across the docile grass, wet from early rain, cold, inviting, resting. A figure jaunts across the shadow, his frame splotched red green yellow and blue. His eyes, tired, hating, throbbing. His shirts been torn, wrenched around his neck, the collar like a frayed guitar string, limp, wiry, twisted. Pale legs strut till his bones are seen writhing out from underneath their sheets of white skin wanting nothing more than to leave the pitiful creature thats been working them so terribly. Thunder, each blade of grass silently taking each thud of his heels, such a soothing sound, of this mercilessly silent and violent scene. Laughter, silhouetted against his back, hung neatly round his neck like a picture frame, hauntingly still despite how hard his body tries to shake it off with its crooked motions. The crickets roar, it’s a sad haunting chorus of natural artisans as the silent screaming figure, broken and warped, sprints for the safety, for the shadow, for the peace.


Wet, Loving shadows, patched, piece by piece. Orange and green, colder, safer, damp. waiting, waiting, colder, softer, guarded,lost.Hours,
Black. Faded color, eyes adjusting, gray forms becoming lucid and more shapely, Im sitting, legs still burning, eyes and mind in unison. Memories dark, can’t even remember what happened, safe, i know I need to stay safe, just need to calm down. Fire, dancing over my legs, I dig into the cold dirt, the flames reach elsewhere. Pitched black, the voices are still ringing, over and over and over again my god just make them stop ! The pill bottle rattles cool in the dark, dry swallow, burning wells up and dulls, stoic. The voices fade out, everything stops burning, my eyes stand still, I don't know how long i wait. Faint roar, owls, crickets, snapping twigs. Lights. Dull roaring. “JImmy!?, Jimmy are you out here son!?” Found at last, still lost.

This is it, where the fire is pitched, the candles are lit, where at the end the fire will be stoked one last time in a rhapsody of paranoia, but until then, lets watch the embers dance, just a bit longer

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