Lamp oil

2. Chemical pneumonia

Tobirama

It was disgusting.

It was like having butter in your mouth.

The lamp oil.

I didn't care. I'd had worse things in my mouth.

I held the bottle of lamp oil in my left hand, the staff that was on fire on one end in the other. My mouth was filled with the foul-tasting liquid, and I was careful not to breathe its fumes down too deeply into my lungs to avoid a chemical pneumonia.

I pressed my lips together, and with great force, I spit the oil out of my mouth directly at the fire so it bloomed out like a dragon spitting fire above me.

Fire blowing... My favourite form of art. My main discipline.

I turned round, twirled the staff in my right hand, the bottle of lamp oil behind my back. Then I lifted the staff and blew lamp oil on it again.

I not only loved how cool it looked, but when I blew fire, my mind always went into a state of complete freedom where I could contemplate things that needed to be contemplated. Usually, it was about my Madara and a soft wonder whether I would ever fall for him. Sometimes, it was a harsher wonder whether I would ever fall for anyone. But tonight, as I blew fire in the practice tent, it was about my life.

I had been a messy kid at school, one of those who could never sit still. As I got older, I struggled even passing my subjects. My parents became more and more disappointed the older I got as with time, the number of subjects I had failed increased.

But one thing I had in my life was my fire art.

Starting from when I was a kid and my mother had taken me to a circus practice, I found something I was really good at, which is something every child needs. Among circus disciplines such as hoop and silks and trapeze, fire art had quickly become my discipline of choice, even if I still practiced other disciplines as well as, when I became a teenager, weight lifting and doing cardio to keep in shape. The worse I got in school, the better I got in fire arts to compensate.

My parents wanted me to go to university. Instead, I'd found job after job abroad in different clubs as a performer. Two years ago, I'd gone viral on social media. Since then, I'd worked at the current beach club with my practice tent right next to it. The payment was unbelievable seeing how popular and well-off the club was, and my own popularity meant I could demand huge sums of money. Not that I needed it; as long as I had my body and somewhere to work out, I was happy. But I did know my worth. I was still working here, an unusual job for a thirty-four-year-old, and I thrived. And I knew I was lucky, since the prospects of jobs were sparse all around the globe right now, but especially here in this country.

And there was Madara, a man who made everything so much more interesting. Having graduated from machine engineering, the man was taking a couple of years off to travel the world and work as a bartender after having taken a short course in the art of mixology. As he had now also gotten another job here, I hoped he would stay for a while. 

For a long while...

I took the flask of lamp oil, poured some more into my mouth, contemplating how fascinated I was by the man. He was a university boy, his world so far from mine, and I could tell he was smart by his entire demeanour.

I blew the lamp oil out between my lips, pretending he was there, watching. The thought turned me on endlessly. I took more of the buttery liquid into my mouth, felt how it created a surface on my teeth. I blew again. Again and again. When I was finished, I was exhausted, sweaty, panting.

I went to the gym of the close-by hotel I had access to and worked out for another hour.