I smelled cedarwood burning. The fire popped while I lay motionless, completely enamored with the very thing that could destroy me. The flame was strong. Blazing red overtook the irises of my eyes. I knew I couldn’t stay here forever, though it was all I had begged for. I reached out — touched the flames. I flinched. It burned, and I couldn’t help but make it kiss my fingertips again. It danced in response, but I heard no music. There was nothing in the background. Just darkness, silence and that one single flame. How I got there I don’t know, but leaving was not an option. The warmth drew me in, like arms reaching. I screamed.
“You can’t win! I won’t let you take me!” I yelled until my throat burned. Sweating, I shouted more. My blood boiled. Maybe it was the burning of the flame, but my world was on fire. I didn’t want the fire anymore, I wanted to extinguish it. Why wouldn’t it leave? Why couldn’t I put it out? These questions branded my skin, like soot and ash from the furnace in which I was about to be submerged.
I could feel myself slipping, falling deeper into the fire. My skin bubbled and popped, begging for mercy. I held on to brush and branches for dear life. There was something beyond the furnace, but what? What is beyond Hell? My questions went unanswered as I continued to struggle. I sweat and I shook.
I felt withdrawal without the drugs; no high, no euphoria. I craved something more, but all I had left was the thing that I knew would kill me.
Maybe one day, I’ll carve my name into the ashes and let the world know I made it. I’ll burn into a million pieces. I’ll be fuel.
I am no longer water, I am gasoline.
Ceci Omri is a young writer who has passion for the arts. She wants to tell stories and express emotion in anyway possible, but she has found her happy place in writing. Her greatest accomplishment thus far in her writing has been an invitation to the Hugo House poetry club in Seattle. Ceci is excited to pursue a career in English education to share her passions with others.