Do you know what it’s like to look at the china afterwards? When the light catches the gilded edge? You scrape off dinner, and underneath are those little painted shells. You look at that flawless, bone-white plate or the dish with the rosebuds. You look at your hand-thrown bowls with the faux cracks buried beneath the glaze. It’s all broken, and you want nothing more than to shatter it. It’s ephemeral, and it’s permanent. The scalloped edges and the machine painted leaves. Every vessel stripped down and unable to do its job. No more containment. It’s haunting. That ephemeral dish sitting so permanent. Just reminding you. Once she was here. Once you ate your meals together. You shared this table. Her feet resting in your lap. You can see her hair fall across her eyes and her smile when you catch them. And you want to destroy every reminder. You want broken glass. The metallic flakes in the glaze scattered across the floor. Nowhere to put the food. Just the debris and the wreckage. Raw glass and glittering sharp edges. And no more reminder. Just you and the broken pieces and the floor and the empty table and the empty house. And it’s not permanent. It’s ephemeral. And it’s gone.

There is a fire inside us,

We can see it in each other's eyes,

It is there until we die.

Someone once told me,

Not to let my fire,

Burn out or flicker away.

I told another the same,

To hold onto their fire,

That it will light up the world.

Someday my fire,

Or theirs

May go out,

But it won't,

Not today.

This isn't much of a story,

But a message,

To those who may understand.

Don't let your fire burnout,

Or take over your life,

It can be dangerous,

But a necessary beauty.

A crowd gathered in grand number in front of the witch’s cottage. They feared that this old woman had come to the village to bring chaos. Little did the crowd realize they were the ones that were causing & bringing all the disorder. The group shouted and raised their torches in one accord.

‘She’s got to go,’ cried the carpenter.

‘Yeah,’ said the baker.

‘We do not want any of her kind in our village!’ one of the shepherds exclaimed.

Suddenly, there was a hush over the crowd. The front door of the cottage slowly opened. An old lady stepped out from the shadows, and was now standing in front of the massive crowd. She pleaded with the crowd to calm down. The people stared at her & some started tossing pebbles, and twigs in her direction.

One of the men at the front of the crowd approached the witch in a steady manner. He looked into the witch’s eyes and he thought he so her eyes twinkle like the starry night sky. Then the rest of the crowd all instructed him to tie the witch’s hands together. So, he did.

The witch was led to a pole that was placed firmly into the ground. She was tied to the pole. The crowd all gathered around and jeered.

‘Filthy witch!’ remarked one person.

Others glared at her. A few ended up even starting the death by burning punishment. They gathered hay and placed it around the witch’s feet. Then a couple of the people got their already lit torches and placed the flames near the feet of the witch. They also set the hay ablaze.

The crowd waited to see the whole process happen. They all watched as the flames rose & the witch’s entire body was on fire. They waited to hear her scream. But nothing happened for awhile.

Until, there was a sound of a howl. A slight growl. The crowd shook and were startled. What was going on?

They looked in horror as the witch closed her eyes for several minutes. And after a short while she opened them. Her eyes were dazzling. They shined like a katrillion of stars.

Then her body transformed. She changed from her human form into a werewolf. Her body was, at first, blue in colour. It later changed to match the fiery blaze.

The crowd scattered. The people ran in many different directions. The witch howled & escaped from the flames.

Some of the men of the village could not believe their eyes. They glanced at the pole. The witch was gone. They panicked and told the others to search for her. They went back to see if she might be at her cabin. But she was not there.

They searched the entire village and the forest. They scanned the entire area for hours. The witch was gone. No where to be found, or even seen. The search party went back to the village. They all hoped that the witch had fled. She’d never be heard from again. Who knows. Maybe she’s still close by. And just waiting for the right time to strike unexpectedly on the crowd that tried to kill her...

#FirePower!

Shall we...?

make a conflagration...

....And be consumed in the fire of this desire

for the fatal knowledge to which we aspire...?

Shall we...?

with Sir Anthony Hopkins...

...broach the reel to real to probe how sick we'll feel

pulling the wool to see what the Soul will reveal...?

Shall we...?

rewrite world history...

...to better amuse ourselves in our life fun park 

locked in the vernacular of Western Thought...?

#Challenge #WeekLXXIX #FromAshesToAshesToAshes

We are constantly withering away every night just to rise again in the morning and brush the ashes off our shoulders. The world is cold at night. Thoughts are unforgiving. Mistakes are made and regrets plague our minds with the venomous sting of apprehension. But as the dull warmth of sleep creeps in, the fire of dawn comes like a new beginning, a blank slate. I am no longer who I was yesterday, a scared shell afraid of my own shadow. I am older now, and I am ready to make better mistakes. We are not weak because of the things we allow ourselves to feel. We are strong because we were brave enough to live through them, to fall and then rise again from our ruins and let the fire mold us into something cleaner, something a little more beautiful than before. So everyday I live life until I am weary, collapse into myself, and wait for the sunrise.

“Good for nothing, that’s what he is,” Kwan leaned in closer to hear. His dad had just gotten home from work and already, his mom was talking about how their son was worthless. “Comes home from school all mopey and then doesn’t help me with anything around the house!”

Kwan winced. If she knew why it hurt his back to bend down, lift things, or basically even move, she’d understand.

“But she can’t know,” he reminded himself. She already had enough on her plate without him adding to it. After all, she was still grieving the death of her daughter, Kwan’s sister.

She had died in a car accident. She’d been coming home from a friends house when the car was hit head-on by another car. She was killed in a split second.

“I’m sure he’s just tired, Lily,” Kwan’s dad tried to soothe her but it only added gas to the fire.

“He has no right to be tired! What does he do that wears him out? huh?” The words hung in the air as his dad tried to come up with an answer.

“I’ll talk to him later,” he finally said. Kwan shook his head.

That’s how it always went. A long talk from dad about how he lives here and he should help keep up the maintenance. Kwan would make an effort to help, he really did, but sometimes he was just physically and mentally tired of the whole world. What happened at school never really helped either. No, Kwan didn’t want to think about that right now. He had the rest of the day to himself before he had to face that all over again.

***

The bus. Kwan hated the bus. It was like a taxi to hell for him. When he stepped on the bus, every morning, the bus driver would nod at him as he made his way to the back. When he’d get there, he’d sit down in the far corner, leaning his head against the window. He’d watch the trees and cars flash by until the bus stopped again. Then, Brandon would get on. He was the principles son, acting as if he was the sweetest kid in the world until the teachers looked away. Then he became the devil’s son. In a way, he was. Kwan hated him to high heavens. It was as if the kid’s face wanted to be punched. Kwan held his breath as Brandon sat down next to him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Brandon greeted him. Already, Kwan felt like whacking him.

“I’m older than you.”

“Not mentally,” was the response.

“Oh, yes, because you just know everything,” Kwan huffed. He rolled his eyes and looked back out the window.

“I know more than you do,” Brandon said after a minute.

“Just because you skipped first grade does not mean you’re smarter than me,” Kwan said with some force. “And just because your parents were a little too hasty to send their son off to school does not mean you’re better than anyone else in this bus.”

Brandon didn’t answer. In fact, he was quiet the rest of the way to the school.

“See you at lunch, kiddo,” Brandon said as he stood up to get off the bus. “Don’t forget. Lunch.”

Kwan’s heart stopped for a split second. Lunch was the most important time of the day for him and now he’d have to put up with some pathetic brat for the whole time. He was the last one off the bus.

****

“Kwan Jengins!” the voice scared Kwan half to death. “How have you been?” It was Brandon’s dad, Principal James.

“I’m good,” he answered as he eyed the folder in the principals right hand. On the front, in big black letters, he could make out his name. “Just headed to lunch.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment in my office?” Of course, it was in his office. That meant he was in even more trouble.

“Um, sure,” Kwan didn’t want to tell him no and he really couldn’t anyway.

Principal James turned and marched back down the hallway with Kwan following him. When they entered the principal office, Kwan took a seat across from Principal James.

“I need to talk to you about your behavior,” he started out. “The teachers say that you’ve been acting very hostile towards my son, Brandon.”

Kwan almost choked on his piece of gum. “Hostile?”

“It means you’ve been very unkind to him. Very antagonistic.”

“Just returning the favor,” Kwan answered with a shrug.

“My son is not antagonistic in any way shape or form!” Redness had crept into Principal James’ face and he started to yell. “He is a perfect student, all A’s and no tardies. Do you hear me? Nothing is wrong with my son!”

“Someone is very prideful of their son,” Kwan muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“What?” Kwan knew he shouldn’t be talking back to an adult but he’d had enough of it all. Didn’t anyone else understand that nothing was as it seemed?

The principal adjusted his tie and opened the file in front of him. “You have two hours of detention after school.”

“Yes sir,” Kwan went to stand up.

“Stay were you are.”

"Why?”

“I went to school with your dad,” Principal James started to tell him ignoring his former question.

“Please not this again,” Kwan silently begged inside his head.

“And your dad was very much like you. Unmotivated, very antagonistic, everything you are,” he sat back in his chair, almost pleased with himself.

“I go to school with your son,” Kwan cut him off before he could continue. “He’s prideful, thinks he’s Mr. Perfect when he isn't, unmotivated, etcetera. And then I realized something.” Kwan stood up and leaned over the desk. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” He shot out of his office fast as he could but the receptionist stopped him and handed him a note.

“Give this to your parents,” she ordered. He just nodded and pushed the door open and jogged back into the school hallway.

“Not going to happen,” he stopped inside the cafeteria doorway and shredded the envelope. He dropped it into the big trash can and adjusted his backpack strap.

“Ah! Kwan!” Brandon called to him from a table. “Come on over.”

Kwan was tempted to turn and walk away but he knew that’d just make it worse. If he put up with it in the cafeteria, they couldn’t beat him up. He stood there, mentally calculating his options.

“Why don’t you just give them what they deserve?” a girl over on his right asked.

“Who are you?”

“They’ve terrorized you long enough, why don’t you show them you’re tired of it. Show them the beast inside!” she urged.

“Are you crazy? I’d get expelled!”

“They’d stop,” she pointed out.

“You’re crazy,” he muttered. He looked away when he saw Brandon and his group of brutes standing up and walking towards him.

“Do it.” he heard the girl say. He shook his head no, but his body did something else. It moved forward, towards them.

“Kwan, kiddo,” Brandon reached out and grabbed his upper arm, fingernails piercing his skin. “Let’s go to the library, check out some books.”

A chorus of laughter came from the boys behind him. He heard the girl say something else. He felt himself turning around and going with them, out into the hallway.

His mind fogged over. All he could focus on was the smile on Brandon’s face-- it’d be gone in a minute. He’d had enough. All the sudden, Kwan stopped. Brandon took a few more steps until his brain registered what had happened.

Kwan was ready. He leaped up in the air and came down right on top of Brandon. A yell of shock burst out of the boy beneath him as a war scream came ripping out of Kwan’s throat. His fists rained down on Brandon, shocking the boy even more. Fist after fist, hitting the target. Blood started to seep out of Brandon’s nose as he screamed out for help.

His buddies just stood back and watched for a split second until they saw a teacher running down the hall towards the fight. They quickly fled the scene. Kwan continued to rain punches on the boy. Adrenaline rushed through him, fueling his punches even more. Teachers tried to pull him off Brandon, but not until he got one last punch. He put every once of anger, bitterness, sorrow-- he put it all into the last punch and hit Brandon as hard as he could, causing the boy to go unconscious.

The teachers finally dragged him off the limp boy. One held a hand on his shoulder while the others rushed forward to check on Brandon. Kwan spotted a girl, on the inside of the circle around them. It was the girl from the cafeteria. They made eye contact and she smiled and she said something.

“And he opened the door and he let the beast out.”

He smiled. Yes, he’d let the beast out.

“You’re going to be in big trouble,” the teacher standing next to him said.

“But it was worth it,” he said with an evil smile. “It was totally worth it.”

A peach clothed in the gaud of life and spring

Its downy skin glistened with beads of dew.

What better image for the fleeting zing

Of youth, and its pressed hope for life anew?

A peach which holds within itself the tree

And hundred more like peaches too. Alas,

Within its flesh and seed does death tarry.

For sacrifice is want for life to pass

From one to one and keep the scales aright.

This I know and contemplate it often.

Whilst searching fruits or viewing birds in flight

This I know and say with soul unsoftened

To our precious child that you left me

With eyes like yours and skin bright and downy.

She was beautiful. Dark, flowing hair that brushed her ribs and caressed her back with every step. Eyes like twilight, full of sun and stars and impending night. He had watched her for months, compiling mental lists of every moment he wished they had shared. He wished there had been more than stolen smiles in passing. If he wasn't such a coward, he would have proclaimed his love to the world and asked her hand in marriage.

She was beautiful. She didn't waver once as she glided up the stairs onto the platform. He watched as she faced the crowd. She had sweet serenity in her smile and lullabies in her voice as she spoke one final word, even as the ropes caused her wrists to bleed. He locked the image of that peaceful smile in his mind as he turned and walked away from the crowd gathered around the gallows.

She was the most beautiful witch to have ever graced those stairs.

The inferno was inticing. Staring into the chaotic swirls made all the mundane drudgery somehow more unbearable. The smoky smell reminded him of how much he hated the daily nine-to-five life he was living. The feel of the lashing, licking tongues of the flame against his skin was somehow more pleasurable than a hug from his mother, a kiss from his wife, or the laughter from his children. The burning in his eyes and the wavy aesthetic of the air reminded him what it meant to live, more than survive. Was this nostalgia? Or was it an infatuation? He didn’t care, as long as he had hell. Could no one else see the beauty of what he had created? Could nobody see the dazzling destruction he had given them? Each time he stuck the match he heard the call that was his nature, the call to greatness. He could not empathize with the lowly ambitions of other lesser men. They dreamed to small. Each time the accelerant ignited it was harder to return to his tiresome life. This time he could not resist, this time he had changed. He had sacrificed everything to make sure that he could never go back. He had loved his family but they were stifling his art. Even now their screams were adding to his work. He would call this piece, Pheonix. He would never again be the nine-to-five. He would be the Arsonist.

#Arsonist#WeeklyChallengeLXXIX

When we were on our way home it started to rain! I ran off in my direction and you in yours while it started to pour. And oh did it pour! It rained like crazy and I was drenched. My glasses were impossible to see through, clothes were plastered to my skin, hair wet and wild and hitting me in the face and splattering me with water when I turned my head too fast. I could have gone home with you. We could have gone in and changed clothes and had a coffee together in newly found warmth. But if we had run through the rain together, I wouldn’t have run through it laughing to myself. I ran alone and squished and splashed and laughed and laughed! I would not have laughed so much.

We would have run, we would stop. I would look up into your eyes and put my hands in yours and our eyes would meet. Our lips would meet. But a sweet kiss in the rain was not on my agenda.

Running and jumping and leaping, I hopped through puddles. Mascara ran down my face like the raindrops that drip-dropped down my body. I should have been uncomfortable but I was too free to care. Giggles escaped my throat like the rain which escaped the sewer grates and gutters to flood the street. Now it was really pouring.

When I turned around, so close to changing my mind- running after you… catching up, I saw how you walked away; head down, headphones in. My grin from ear to ear squished down to its smallest form. The storm stopped overhead as if time would end momentarily and all there was to do was stand still. So I stood. Drenched and frowning, my hood fell down from where it once stood atop my head. In that moment, I looked like you. Head down, headphones in, walking and not running in the rain.

Turning on my heel, I stole one last look. All I could see was sadness.

The clouds got darker, thunder boomed. Heavy and heavier drops began to fall. My hood, once my protector from wet became a bucket where water would collect. It was so heavy. My clothes were drenched and boots sloshed in the road. Any inch of space was soaked. The clouds were overwhelming.

With miles to go, miles and miles from home, I turned my face to the sky. If only I had windshield wipers on my glasses and for my eyes to wipe away raindrops that felt like tears! Thunder roared and wind whipped but my gaze was steady and my body was still- facing the storm which danced above me. I couldn’t bring my gaze back down to Earth where water ran and mud brewed in the grass underneath me. I mourned my time in dryness; when we were together. When my heart could breath. With rain pouring and in the stillness of the moment, my chest was wet and cold. My heart beat slowly like the pound of thunder every other minute. Thunder vibrated through my arteries and back through my veins.

My heart hated this moment- my toes were too numb. Blood had to pump faster or my poor organ feared we would not survive the storm…

When I turned my head in your direction, you were gone. Surely not dry but finally on my way to dryness, I walked. Slowly but surely down the road, I walked, like the blood which slowly began to flow again under the shell of moisture which encased my body. Faster and faster, my boots hit the concrete. No water which flowed or clouds which rumbled with thunder that boomed could stop me from getting home. Home where my wet body and wet heart and wet hair would be back in the place that I used to love most- solitude.

Without you, I danced in the rain. Alone again, I found rhythm in the raindrops as they fell around me. Heavy clouds parted slightly to make heavy drops into mere drips. The pitter patter of drizzle as day turned to night was the perfect. It was still raining but I could feel my toes again. I looked forward to every puddle and in every puddle I would dance. I walked a thousand miles away from you. No, a kiss in the rain was not on my agenda.