Burn Me Out

Red and orange meshed into a mess of destruction, leaving in their wake a trail of embers, smoke and scorched greens—now turned black as each flame ate away incessantly at their life.

Trees charred at the roots, branches turning into nothingness and melting away in the wind in scattered ashen pieces.

A bear in the not so distant edge was devoured. A deer and her doe followed.

It was nature’s own version of a beautiful disaster; because while fire spared nothing in its path and left behind colors disappearing in a void, each life it consumed fueled its anger and created a phoenix within the red and orange, with wings outstretched desperate for more.

And not a plant nor animal within reach was out of danger.

It was merciless.

And in the middle of the devastation, a tiny figure curled within the flames; a woman.

A woman with hair as black as a raven’s feather, as flowing as the waterfall with the length of it cascading down her shoulders to her knees, covering as much of the exposed oak shaded skin as the strands could. She lay curled, as if asleep amidst the chaos with her eyes drawn shut and her breaths leveled steady—a sound so distinct to the fire’s consuming lungful’s around her.

Though she looked at peace, chaos reigned within her too.

She dreamt of blue ribbons and bonny baskets falling in a sea of souls; souls she strained to reach—souls she felt she knew once upon a time. Souls, she knew she had to save but souls whose importance to her, she had no recollection of.

Yet she dipped her hands in the emptiness and felt their sadness brush her skin.

She dipped her hands further, struggled to reach something—anything!

She clawed through nothing.

She grasped nothing.

A blinding light and then they were gone.

They were gone and she saw the flames that engulfed pastries, tables, people.

She saw the flames eat away, melt away, scorch flesh and structure. She saw melting eyes.

She heard begging. Screaming. Agonizing screeches pleading for anyone to save them.

So she did. She jumped in. She held a hand to the heat and felt it kiss her fingers.

She held an arm, wishing to ease their pain. She held an arm consumed by red and yellow and she felt no pain. No heat. No warmth.

Then it dawned on her.

Flames. Out of her hands.

Flames. From her.

Death. Because of her.

A bellow escaped her lungs, fear slithering up her spine leaving a cold trail of guilt and panic. Her eyes opened wide with the revolting realization swirling in fiery scarlet and gold in her darkened orbs, arms out, back bent backward as she clawed the forest floor desperate for a way out of the nightmare; unaware she was calling the phoenix back within her.

No! It’s not me!

But the flames leaving her hands shone brighter.

“It’s not me!”

Yet the power spilled out of her skin like a stream.

She sucked all the air in, red in her eyes, the urge to burst into a thousand different pieces strong in her veins. She struggled against it.

The fire, the people, the dead, living and emptiness. They came crashing down on her. And she writhed on the forest floor, suffocating against the torrent of emotions flooding her.

Fire from her.

Death because of her.

Because of her.

“It’s not ME!”

A shrill cry and it was as if all the flames were sucked back into her body, iridescent skin glowing from the power of it all.

Fire cried out, desperately trying to hold on to the material world. But it was no match against the magnet inside her. And so the flames withdrew, hair flying wildly, neck strained and muscles tensed.

She felt the heat then. She felt it burn down her throat and into her lungs where it clutched her heart unforgivably and fueled lava into her joints. She felt the heat then and she felt it try to consume her.

Within moments, she blacked out.