Playing with Fire

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
You should always listen to your parents and don't play with the fire. If you do you will get burnt. Right?

Submitted: September 29, 2016

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Submitted: September 29, 2016



I used to stare into the the flame, always burning, gentle, calmly. Standing out in a field of smoke and charred ashes. Solitary, it was independent,  I would watch it every time I passed it. Walking through the decaying field, I felt the warmth, the comfort it provided me, constant as long as it was in sight. I would stare long and hard, for as long as my attention was undivided. I would marvel at the way the flame would dance, would bounce and leap.


Everyone knew to touch a flame would hurt. If you tried to grab it, it would bite. Burning your flesh with a quick and sudden warning. I found a way though, as creative as I was. I wanted to get close to the flame, as close as possible. I wanted to touch the flame, fuel it, make it rage with strength and energy. I thought I did that.


I got close to the flame and it didn’t bite. I got closer still, it remained calm. I thought I was so close. An interesting thing about staring into flames, is if you do it for too long, you begin to see things. You begin to see your dreams, your fears, all played out before you. I saw a dream, and nothing more than that. Where I thought I was so close to the flame, I was so far away, and distance was growing. I would try hard to get close to it, but now it would attack me, burn me. My skin would sting and blister, I tried and tried, but it got further and further and I could not keep up!


Now my skin is burnt, my hands are blistered, my body sore to touch. The blisters pop and I feel relief, but they heal and blister again, causing only more pain. The pain is so much, I cannot be touched, I cannot feel anything but the pain, the pain that the burns inflict. When I try to heal the burns, the blisters, I cover them up, trying to hide them and keep them away. But all they do is burn, ache, and burst open, and others see it. They see when the blisters explode and spread their misery all over everything. I cannot help it, I cannot contain it! It happens, and all I can do is suffer.


The blisters have stopped. The scars are all that are left and they are obvious. No matter how hard I try to hide them, no matter the mask, no matter the suit, they can be seen by the keen eyed fiend


I watch it now, the flame in the distance. So small, so calm. Flickering gently on the ashen field. The flame still stands out, still attracts my eye. I know the damage it can inflict. I learnt my lesson, and it pains me still. The aches remain and my heart beat stills. I know not to touch the flame, I cannot go near the flame, I fear it so, so much. It hurt me, but I don’t know what it thinks. I cannot tell it, I cannot let it know. If I do, the flame might wither. Smaller and smaller until it’s bright no more, then there will be nothing left, but the cold dark, charred field.


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