Embers and Cinders

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire-and I was terrified. Panic spread through me as flames hungrily consumed the living and the dead; devouring nerve and flesh like paper. As I stood at its mercy, one thought struck me as a physical blow. No one cared. Not of me, not that I stood helpless against the vibrancy, but that they too burned. Everyone did. Couples, families, children-heavens the children!-they burned the brightest and fastest. 'Save them-Save the poor children!' I wanted to cry, but my voice-like my courage-had been locked inside. Astonishment overthrew my panic once I understood they enjoyed it; they welcomed it! The crackling, crinkling, the smoky musk; the death, the destruction, the empty husks; the frantic hustle and bustle, the sirens, the shouting-even going so far as to carry their own blazings! Yet this didn't seem out of the ordinary- no no! This was normal! Completely normal!-no need for concern!

But how?-How?-How was this normal?! How could they be going about their business whilst the world falls around their ears? Why wasn't everyone running-why wasn't everyone hiding; crying? I had just stepped outside and I want to run screaming! There was so much-so much-so much happening! Flames taunted my eyes, calling up whirlwinds of color and dust-grabbing fistfuls of hair! Stealing my breath before I could take it, it whipped and swirled-conspiring to strangle me right then and there! It was too much- Too much to handle!! I slammed the door shut on the blazing inferno, twisting the key with such force it wouldn't let go!

Inside, one hand trapped my heart in its hollow prison while the other shakily rested; pressed it; held the door shut-kept the fire at bay.

How could they?

How could they embrace it-all the blaze had to offer? How could they easily step out their doors? Run into the fire, the flames, jump into cinder piles and stay?! They relished it; singed noses and tongues craving more and more and more. How? HOW?! How could they stand it?! How was that normal-how do they not panic?!

...maybe...maybe I'm just too weak. Maybe it's normal to burn; to let flames engulf and spurn. Is it normal? Can I not stand the heat? Was I not built for it?

Am I...not enough?

Was he right to leave?

...Maybe it's better to stay inside. In my own world. Leave them to burn; leave them to die. My word!-Let them fizzle out in a blaze of their own making while I thrive in comfort and safety. Let them die down to embers and cinders! If I wanted fire, I could join them-I simply choose not to. I can make my own!-and I have tried and true. My warmth comes from my own source; my inner flame. I'm stronger without an outer blaze!-No solar power for me!

Or...is that just...what I think?

Isn't it natural to want warmth; to want to burn?-to crave the fire that everyone sees? It has to be. I see it everyday-I saw it just now! Outside, behind the door, it's there all around! It has to be natural if everyone burns!-Especially when I'm surrounded at every turn! And so easy too! Indeed it's nothing new! So easy, so simple, a child could do it; a child can burn; a child can ignite! A child needs fire; craves it-can't live without it! They deserve all the fire one can give!

Aren't I...also...so deserving?

Saints and sinners; embers and cinders.

Am I even capable of holding a flame?

He said I wasn't.

I was too weak-too cold. Nothing could light the pilot inside.

I wasn't fit for embers.

I wasn't fit for cinders.

Not a spark.

He was right.

When was the last time I lit? When was the last time I truly felt warm? I said I create my own, but have I? Can I create anymore? Or have I simply been lying this whole time; has he been right this whole time?

...When did I last talk to them? When was the last time I hung out with them; laughed with them-truly laughed?

...Did I ever?

No. I was just pretending- faux pax, a charade; playing along in an invisible game. Faking. I was a fake; a fraud in the making! No better than he was! Maybe worse!

...He was right. I'm not fit for embers. I'm not fit for cinders. Nothing could spark me again. Not truly. There was nothing to ignite. Empty. Cold and empty. Plastic-that's what I am. Plastic. A manufactured sorry excuse copied shell that was once reality. And plastic is toxic when it burns just as no one wants fruit when it turns. No one wants burnt plastic. It reeks. Better left alone. Better off melted in a toxin of it's own. I'm not fit to be lit; to light; to burn.

I am nothing.

I am less than nothing.

I am-

No.

Needles stung the fleshy palm; invisible splinters from wood. The tingles left faster than they should. Resolve curled like paper. Tissue paper and soot.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Pinpricks danced along my skin. Sparks. Resolve crumpled; shriveled embers from their cinders.

Cinders.

Embers.

Was that enough?

Would that ever be enough?

Maybe; maybe not.

But I deserved a shot.

I deserved enough.

My fingers curled around the handle-shocked how chilled they became. Then the stone cold metal began to warm.

That was enough.

From the moment I stepped outside the leaves were on fire-and I was terrified. Panic spread through me as flames hungrily consumed the living and the dead; devouring nerve and flesh like paper, but sparked like lead. As I stood at its mercy, one thought struck me as a physical blow. No one cared-not a soul. Not of me, nor that I stood helplessly against the vibrancy, but that the world burned-what a joy what a gift, a present everyone deserves. And even though my resolve burns quick and in constant need of more.

That was enough.

To send me out the door.