Liar, Liar, Leaves On Fire

Liar, Liar, Leaves on Fire

“By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. And you were too Beatrice, like ignited copper.”

The wind pulled at copper haired Beatrice, her hair looked more alive than she did--a dull fire in a game of tug of war with the wind. Beatrice tripped over a storm gutter breaking the illusion. She was just a girl. A girl that Agnes had missed like a warm fire. 

“Agnes, buddy I was gone for like a week, how did your mind apocalyze the world so quickly?” Beatrice smiled the way a fire would--flickering and fading.

Agnes didn’t respond and instead tried to kick a rock. Agnes’s foot went straight over and assaulted the wind instead. The wind blew harsher in retaliation. If she were being honest, that dream she had of leaves on fire and of Beatrice was more of nostalgia than of the imminent doom Beatrice assumed. Nostalgia that Agnes pretended away. Or atleast Agnes had tried to. 

It was fall, which was Agnes and Beatrice’s favorite season. Agnes loved fall like it was a kindred spirit. Fall haunted her dreams and she haunted it back. Every dream she had awoken her with the sensation that she was falling, the air even felt fresh like Autumn did. So Agnes walked through nature trails riddled with October leaves and riddled with the question of why Agnes was always chasing that feeling. Falling and dying were synonymous to her, but the fire had begun to creep in and overwhelm the leaves. The leaves turned into phoenixes nagging Agnes on why she lived in a dream and why she wouldn’t leave. She blamed Beatrice for that. Beatrice’s fascination with the season was different. The click of a camera and the soft hazy bokeh effect immortalizing the shifting colors of fall kept her grounded. Beatrice was earthly, the chill of the ground and the vision of the clouds were reflected in her and her skin. Beatrice was made of something, a something that Agnes wasn’t a part of. It hurt. Another thing for her to pretend away. A shiver that encased you completely, a cold that was so much that it could convince you that you were a flame. Everything about Beatrice felt real which confused Agnes to no end. They were different.

Agnes dreamed like she breathed. Like it was in limited supply and she had to savor it. Her dreams meant something, which is why she would mention it once and then abandon it the next day. Beatrice took pictures like the beauty of the world would rot if she didn’t, Agnes knew it would. They loved their differences and resented that was what finally tore them apart.

“Beatrice, you look so ghostly” Agnes mumbled and laughed to herself.

“Well, Agnes. I am dead and uh a ghost so…” Beatrice grinned.

They were different. Alive and dead. Dreaming and immortalizing. They were different but Agnes didn’t want them to be.

“Agnes...when will you leave? You shouldn’t be here.” Beatrice flickered and faded.

“I miss you, it's been a week and you shouldn't be gone either.” Agnes whispered like this was a secret. It must’ve been since the world acted as if it didn’t know this and took Beatrice anyway.

“I’m not gone because you won’t let me leave. Let go.” Beatrice pleaded as if Agnes was reasonable.

“You know for a ghost with literally no weight, you have atrocious balance pal.” Agnes joked like she wasn’t crying herself out of breath. As Beatrice tripped so real.

The leaves were on fire because unlike Autumn, Agnes couldn’t let go. Leaves always change and fall off of their branches. Agnes stayed rooted trying to be like Beatrice. Like what Beatrice was.

“You’re alive and real, Beatrice, you just have to be. The leaves are on fire because you are!” Agnes looked up at the trees of flames and looked at Bea. She flickered and faded--ghostly fire. What a dream that wasn’t one.

“I am dead and unreal. Agnes, I have to be. The leaves are on fire because I can’t leave, sometimes fire hurts, Agnes. It hurts you.” Beatrice's voice echoed but she wasn't there, in her place was heated air that shouldn’t have been. 

“I am more than a dream and I am less than one as well. Agnes, I can’t live forever because I'm not a picture, you can’t capture and keep me here. If I mean something to you, then let go. I don’t want this” Beatrice burned like a hazy dream that wasn’t even sure of itself. It was wrong. 

Agnes breathed and the air didn’t feel clean anymore, she tasted ash. Autumn meant change which was never easy but unavoidable. There were casualties in the line of adapting and Agnes was afraid her sanity would be one of them.

“The beauty’s rotting without you.” Agnes’s tears couldn’t extinguish the fires. Fire everywhere, on her and it left unseen marks.

“Liar, liar, leaves on fire.” Beatrice reappeared and inappropriately smiled, brighter than embers. “It only rots when you dream it that way. Don’t you remember that nightmares exist Agnes? Don’t make us one, that's all I ask.” 

“What a haunting speech. It suits you.” Agnes replied, finally resigned and reasonable. She could feel Beatrice leave again, for the last time.

Agnes shut her eyes and didn’t see the red-orange for the first time in a long time. She sighed feeling extinguished. For a season of change, it sure had a hold on her. Nightmares that lived in the dark of fall. Nightmares that lived in the dark of her. How could she have forgotten? Dreams and Nightmares so similar, like falling and dying are to each other. Beatrice was gone and Agnes felt like she was too. The wind was back and a cooling gentle like it pitied her. Beatrice had taken a picture of them before she died, how ironic. Agne’s grief was eternal but her love for her friend was more. It was funny to Agnes that she was more of a ghost than Beatrice was. Opening her eyes, she let go of the dream that shouldn’t have been and pretended like she didn’t miss the dying fall.