fire
I made a bonfire tonight. And I sat there, with the rest of the people, enjoying the fire.
They kept poking at the logs, jabbing into the pit, trying to get the flames to burn brighter, hotter, and taller. Hours and hours I watched this beautiful flame, enjoyed it’s heat and heart… but they kept poking it, laughing, telling jokes.
Oh, how it reminds them of camping! Oh how nice that will be, to go camping again.
Yet it seemed for every degree that flame burned bright, it was proportionately ignored by them. They talked of the fires they have when they are camping. Oh, the fires, how tall and bold.
So me and the fire, the fire and I, we sat there, flickering, watching them talk.
But we didn’t poke them every five minutes. We didn’t prod and process them to our own ends. I thought we showed some real character - the fire and me, the fire and I.
And as they slowly ran out of logs to waste, we slowly ran out of people to watch. As the flame dwindled down - that beautiful, pacifistic fire; that patient, understanding blaze - it settled into a deep glow. They left, one by one, disinterested and cold, until just one other remained.
She kept at it, commanding the glowing ash to glow ever brighter, and like a melancholy puppet, it’s colour heaved and sighed. It looked beaten, tired. It signed a DNR, and she was still running it through chemo and dialysis. I admire that fire, because after so much of this torment, it still acquiesced. I just couldn’t watch any longer, however. I felt tears coming to my eyes.
But that fire, it performed beautifully under such duress and injurious abuse, such a display, this fortitude of soul: I couldn’t resist feeling inspired in that face of it all.
I asked, “Why would you do that to the fire, dragging it out so?”
“…for my entertainment,” with a nonchalant shrug.
“This is not entertainment at all. This is privilege. How dare you.”
She left with a glare.
And there it was, just me and the fire; the fire and I. I sat with it, dutifully, until it finally winked out - and wink it did, one final heave and glow as the darkness snapped it up for good.
It deserved a better death; no truer words have been spoken. But for all the disrespect it endured, it would not relent into scorn.
~ Driz
This is amazing writing. I felt every single word. The abuse of the fire broke my heart.
It was so terribly appropriate that hours after I passed into sleep I was awoken by the drops of rain outside.
Should those jailors have succeeded in prolonging the fire’s hell, the gods themselves had scheduled to intervene.
I slept so soundly after that.
~ Driz