Jul 2018
The City burned lighting up the night sky.
My city was burning. The one that I had so carefully crafted. The sky just an ash stained backdrop embers flying into the sky as if doves were freed from their cages. There were screams. I could see the people trapped in their houses. I could see the people spilling out of their houses. Once smooth pristine flesh. Now oozing. Angry red bubbles popping new ones blistering. I could see brothers holding their sisters back. Back from going in and getting family members. Back from getting pets. Back from going to the home that was now burning in front of them. I couldn’t talk ash coated my windpipe. Searing down it as if I had drank *****. It streaked up and down my arms as if it were painting me for war. And in a way it was. Because I would fight for this place. I would try to reign in the flames. Breathing in deeply through my nostrils as if I could take all of it and bind it into myself. And let it burn within me and spare this place that had become a sanctuary for so many. That had become my sanctuary. Except I hadn’t realized it. Peaceful days would be no more. Only days that were just filled with grieving. Filled with frantic terrorized people looking for remains. Looking for memories. Looking for small sentiments among the rubble. Just to numbly drop and realize that Greedy flames had burned it all away. And if it wasn’t. A Brash wind would sweep through and carry off the once heard laughs. The footsteps of the children playing. No. I have to stop. I have to help. But how can I help when I can’t even find the will to move. My muscles slowly failing me. Until I find a hand on my already heat kissed skin. Such a casual. Such a familiar gesture. I would know this hand. I do know this hand. Except I don’t because I find that when I turn. I turn! I can move. I can smile. I can do something. And I swear it’s like someone heard me. Heard my would be half baked panicked plan. A wind pushes at my back and I forget about the phantom hand. I only look long enough to notice a hand print just two sizes bigger than mine. It’s nice to know that they didn’t change that much. But that’s not the point. I travel down the blistered hill. Going to wherever I can. And just. Inhaling. I wince as it travels down my throat. And where it goes. I’m not sure. But it keeps working. I see my people. The people I’m supposed to protect. The people I am trying my best to protect. They calm down when they see me. But they also flinch away. As if they’ve received a swatting from a nanny. I can’t tell if my neck has been exposed. The bones gleaming white. The strewny muscles showing. Charred because they’ve already been cooked by the flames that never cease to exist. I want to stop. I can’t take this searing pain that’s numbed over half of my body and my nerves. The flames keep dancing and dancing. Dancing me closer to death. But I keep doing it. Until I get to the last house. I breathe in…… And that’s the last breath I remember taking. Before I collapse falling to my knees. And then keeling to the side. The ashes make a lovely pillow. Coating half of my face as if I had decided to play with them. Except these ashes were from wood. From bones. Some heavily soaked in blood… But they were all safe. The ones left alive at least. Marked and to forever be scarred by the fire. But alive. In pain. But alive. And that’s all that mattered to me. These are my last thoughts as I’m finally swept through a smoke coated tunnel of blackness.
My city was burning. The one that I had so carefully crafted. The sky just an ash stained backdrop embers flying into the sky as if doves were freed from their cages. There were screams. I could see the people trapped in their houses. I could see the people spilling out of their houses. Once smooth pristine flesh. Now oozing. Angry red bubbles popping new ones blistering. I could see brothers holding their sisters back. Back from going in and getting family members. Back from getting pets. Back from going to the home that was now burning in front of them. I couldn’t talk ash coated my windpipe. Searing down it as if I had drank *****. It streaked up and down my arms as if it were painting me for war. And in a way it was. Because I would fight for this place. I would try to reign in the flames. Breathing in deeply through my nostrils as if I could take all of it and bind it into myself. And let it burn within me and spare this place that had become a sanctuary for so many. That had become my sanctuary. Except I hadn’t realized it. Peaceful days would be no more. Only days that were just filled with grieving. Filled with frantic terrorized people looking for remains. Looking for memories. Looking for small sentiments among the rubble. Just to numbly drop and realize that Greedy flames had burned it all away. And if it wasn’t. A Brash wind would sweep through and carry off the once heard laughs. The footsteps of the children playing. No. I have to stop. I have to help. But how can I help when I can’t even find the will to move. My muscles slowly failing me. Until I find a hand on my already heat kissed skin. Such a casual. Such a familiar gesture. I would know this hand. I do know this hand. Except I don’t because I find that when I turn. I turn! I can move. I can smile. I can do something. And I swear it’s like someone heard me. Heard my would be half baked panicked plan. A wind pushes at my back and I forget about the phantom hand. I only look long enough to notice a hand print just two sizes bigger than mine. It’s nice to know that they didn’t change that much. But that’s not the point. I travel down the blistered hill. Going to wherever I can. And just. Inhaling. I wince as it travels down my throat. And where it goes. I’m not sure. But it keeps working. I see my people. The people I’m supposed to protect. The people I am trying my best to protect. They calm down when they see me. But they also flinch away. As if they’ve received a swatting from a nanny. I can’t tell if my neck has been exposed. The bones gleaming white. The strewny muscles showing. Charred because they’ve already been cooked by the flames that never cease to exist. I want to stop. I can’t take this searing pain that’s numbed over half of my body and my nerves. The flames keep dancing and dancing. Dancing me closer to death. But I keep doing it. Until I get to the last house. I breathe in…… And that’s the last breath I remember taking. Before I collapse falling to my knees. And then keeling to the side. The ashes make a lovely pillow. Coating half of my face as if I had decided to play with them. Except these ashes were from wood. From bones. Some heavily soaked in blood… But they were all safe. The ones left alive at least. Marked and to forever be scarred by the fire. But alive. In pain. But alive. And that’s all that mattered to me. These are my last thoughts as I’m finally swept through a smoke coated tunnel of blackness.
