A Man of Light and Hell Just the Same

We were lost in motion and completely bereft of thought except perhaps the place underneath consciousness where your motors respond to the visual stimuli of a fire and you’re running. We ran so hard that I was surprised I could still see the fire when I stopped. I know it was a dry season, I know it was a lit cigarette but regardless of how it was born, I know it was alive. I saw a man, a white place in the orange glow with arms and legs. His hand moved as if conducting a symphony. I watched that man eat my house and everything I owned and I swore revenge. I was eight.

I still look for him in warm hearths, campfires and among red hot charcoal briquettes. If I ever see him, I’ll put a blanket over him and stomp on him until he can no longer breathe. Then in the smoke, I’ll cry, I’ll laugh and my 5 year old son will probably think me quite strange. My wife has already accepted me as strange and will probably just say “Yep, you sure killed it.” My inner child will want to joyously scream “YES!” but I’ll try to hold him back.

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