Be in the Stars

Caught in Flame

 Caught in Flame:

The candle lit only a circle in the room, a pirouette of a dancer hanging from string stencilling the centre of the yellowed wall. Below the candle stood a frame of two boys, one older than thirty, the other almost three. A white Rose and a red rose lay next to the objects, symbolizing the people.  

A strange, round and low sound bounced off the walls, making the flame of the candle shiver, as if its, silky, gold mass were cold.

But nothing was as cold as the bottom of Pearls stomach, and nothing could be as frozen as her almost shattered heart.

The place where fire had once licked her skin was now as numb as a pool of liquor.

She bought her knees closer to her chest gulping down the horrible stench of sorrow before brushing back her hair.

The sticky and itchy feeling of need started at the sides of her arms; crawling and slashing through her blood until it reached the tips of her ripped nails.

Her bony fingers made a claw shape around a tiny box.

Pearl popped out the inner department and delicately took out a small stick with a red mark on the end.

She took in a deep breath and held it. The last thing she could maybe clutch before leaving, something that, no matter how often left, came straight back.

A memory came to her of the days where she had waited, and waited, and waited. Then on her lowest points he’d be there, a suitcase in one hand and Jamie who had raced to the door in the other.

Jamie, was a runner, she predicted that if her son were to grow he would pursue this, and become some type of athlete.      

But all had changed when…

She flung the stick against the box, listening to the hiss as a red spark became a mirrored orb of light to the one on the candle.

She flinched; still not used to being around triggers of that unthoughtful day.

Too soon more memories arose, this time of the event.

It was like living in hell but not having any physical evidence, unable to even feel the pain.

And despite all this she still needed that.

She still needed feeling.

…Even if it would destroy her soul and consume her.

A droplet of thick liquid fell from her drenched face onto the flame, which was slowly making its way to the end of the match stick.

It flew up, in hunger, growing so quickly that you wouldn’t have seen it before it shrunk back, with that as her last straw, and last excuse, she put the tip of the fire to her hand, and felt the searing explosion.

She felt it.

Oh and how she loved it, hated it and most of all, didn’t regret it.

She gave out a yell, which replaced her earlier sobs then died into the thought that, at last, she would join her loved ones.