I Bring Hellfire

Setting My Scene

I remember when I first found my love for fire. I held a lighter in my hands and watched as the tiny flame danced in my palm. It had a dance like no other, swaying and swirling in a manner more beautiful than anything else. I remember moving closer to it. Feeling its warmth begin to lay upon my brow. Then I felt it burn, like a gentle kiss from a raging beast.

But the story always changes when I say I remember when fire first told me it loves me too.

I was laying restless in my bed as the yelling of my parents arguing seeped through the walls. I starred at my ceiling for ages that night listening to them. I reached under my pillow and grabbed that same lighter, its fuel nearly gone from a year of careful use. I sparked my flame and watched it dance. Its light never failing to reach into my soul and calm me. I watched the flame before closing my eyes, continuing the dream of the fire's movements, it's light. I whispered to them, so light under my voice, as I fell asleep. And for a moment, I swear I could hear them whispering back to me.

It's voice was calm yet rough. Dry, like a voice that has never known a drop of water. It spoke to me in a voice full of wisdom and experience, aged finely among the sands of time. In this voice, it spoke a promise, a heartfelt promise I knew it would never go back on. It promised me that I would never know the pain of burning. Swore to me that my skin will never be seared from heat. Vowed that I would never even have to worry about the smell of smoke staining me.

I felt warm in that moment, I felt safe and guarded. the sensation of a warm cover washed over me. I had been engulfed in flames, set ablaze but never harmed. They surrounded me in my sleep. Tore away at my belongs like a rabid monster, but only danced lightly across my skin.

I awake to find the whole house in flames, drowned in a glowing ocean. I walk to my window to see the sirens of fire engines whirling and wailing. Next to them stood my mother hunched down in tears. My father, not far away, had people surrounding him pushing onto his chest as he laid on the ground. My mother thought she had lost both of us in that night. I only wish I knew what went through her head when I walked out the front door. I was barefoot with no burn marks, not even the scent of smoke in my hair. We never understood how it happened, cause people never believed me when I said the fire promised to never hurt me that night.

As I turned from my window to leave my room, I watched as the flames parted in respect for me. the floor boards I stepped on may have been charred black. Cracked and splintered with lovely orange glow. The flames formed walls surrounding me as I moved, but never came close. I watched as the smoke and ash rose above me and begin to swirl around my head, never falling low enough to intrude. The path I walked to the door was one that was destroyed, but for me alone, never dangerous.

So many will never understand how I lived. Even less will know how I spoke to the fire. But I, and I alone, will never forget.