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Apr 2018
The fire ripped through his mind, fed with oxygen from the cold northern wind
Each change of direction shattering window panes, shards of glass left to lie and reflect the light onto the ash where once feelings had been
Balloon framed tenements, built of century old, tinder dry wood burst readily into flames
They say where there is smoke, there's fire, did the memories living in dire predicaments have any chance at all of escape?
Her words ripped through him, "I wont ever believe you" after the thought brushed his lips "I would never deceive you"
The smoke of small distance, little pockets of silence and days spent mostly quiet and listless
Weren't heeded as the warning of the raging inferno that was to come
These memories came back to him, ten years later, as the smell of hope turned into smoke and caused his eyes to tear
After the fire, there were certain, seemingly insignificant details laid plain, and though he had swept up the ash and glass he knew he would never again be the same
Fire, much like pain, leaves noticeable scars that no amount of time can ever erase
And though he now knew why she had said those words that day, the scenes of the fire still played through his mind, the smell of smoke
Once happy memories stained by soot, now resembled nothing so much more than haunting ghosts
He stood there, on the front steps, not wanting to ask questions for which he already had answers
Nothing was different here, but somehow everything had changed since the disaster had left doubt formed into shrapnel lodged deeply in his brain
Ten years later, he was still cripplingly afraid
Matchstick in hand and a surface ready for the strike
To replay once again the anguish and agony of that night
Timothy Kenda
Written by
Timothy Kenda  Worcester
(Worcester)   
162
   Johnny Scarlotti and ---
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