Fire (Flash Fiction)

It’s that moment where you sit too close to a fire and it starts to burn. You want to pull back but at the same time, this is the warmest you’ve ever felt. It’s that not knowing whether you’re in the fire or not; that pacing from the heat to the cold. You don’t want to be cold. You can’t be cold again. So you sit by the fire, for hours, just next to it, but every so often you get too close again and the heat is too intense. The first thought in your mind is that you want to leap into the fire, not away from it. So you sit close, waiting to see if there’s any reason why you should leave the fire and go back to the cold, but there never is. There’s never a reason to jump into the fire either. You’re stuck, between being on fire and being cold and neither of those options sound good to you, so you are waiting until a better option comes forward. It doesn’t, so for years, the fire is your neighbour. The fire is your friend. The fire is not you though.

Escapril: Catharsis

i want to drown
but i want to fly
i want to swim
but i want to fall
i want it to end
but i want it to start
i don’t know when
i don’t know why
this is my coffee
without it im tired
need this writing
to set me in motion
i want to spiral
but i want to straighten up
i want to be liked
but i dont want to fit in
i want so many things
nothing works
this is how i swing
my feelings, in words.

People Tell Me

People tell me I’m sensitive. What this means is that my heart is unlocked and you just need to climb inside it to see that I’m crying. People tell me I’m insensitive. What this means is that I picked up a pebble and threw it into the wind, but then it fell back down and was bigger than I first noticed. People tell me I’m beautiful. What this means is that my mind is a socket and people are plugging in a charger for my feelings. People tell me I’m ugly. What this means is that everyone else sat in a field of grass whilst I played in the mud. People tell me I’m smart. What this means is that I listened to thousands of other voices regurgitating the same spit. People tell me I’m dumb. What this means is that my life is an essay that I have yet to complete. People tell me a lot of things. What this means is that their lips keep determining, their eyes keep deducting, and their ears keep ignoring. I tell myself that I’m here. What this means is that I can focus on the snakes or the mice but, either way, I’m going to get bitten. Instead, I should focus on the most conflicting voice of all: my own.

Connections

I’ve been thinking about how everyone is connected. I am connected to so many people through other people and it’s kinda disturbing. It’s connections that cause rumours and gossip. My mum has had that situation going and I am tangled in the same string as her. Fully grown adults have been making her feel bad recently, and it’s all through connections. I’m worried that one day the same thing might happen to me; I might end up being caught in a net that I can’t swim out of. A net of people I used to know who remember me but don’t want to because their past is their past.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? I’ve worked out that even people closest to me can be lead down a completely different web and still end up connected to me. Everyone is, in someway, connected to me.

The most worrying but also the most fascinating thing is knowing that I am connected to people the other side of the world. If not because my mum’s best friend emigrated there, then because of some other connection. There are millions.

We are all connected.