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𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥
The crackle of the flames echoed around the barren field at an intensity as hot as the singe of the wooden logs. The air was dense. Husky gusts of smoke blowing, pushed throughout the field by the wind. The wind that blew through her hair. Fluttering against her forehead. Like the ashes that scattered their way to the ground. The remains of the wooden logs that had fallen under the touch of man. Her breaths were hot against the heat waves that spread across the field. Her arms folded across her body, mind tense at one lingering thought; it was a pleasure to burn. The words of Ray Bradberry. She'd never taken the words in a literal manner, yet today her thoughts ached to prove her elsewise.
Here in this field, scattered with her peers, she stood idle. Eyes on the flame. The flames that danced. Tangoed endlessly to the rhythm of destruction. Yet was it this silence, that crackle, that led her to feel in comfort in the fact that one wrong move and this field, this place, would burn as the flames danced on?
She patted her pocket. The box still prominent. She pulled it out. Her finger tracing against the beat up carboard. She took a shaky breath. She tilted her head for the answers yet she was met by the tango of the flames. Instinct took her body. Her ears twitched at the strike of a match. The heavy scent of destruction on her nose. She held her single match to the raging fire. Her match fell unlit at the touch of the wind. She glanced at the matchbox. Beat-up and dilapidated. She inhaled.
It was rather mundane. The failed attempt at remembering how she got it made that evident. Yet it was this mundanity that held the keys to destruction. Yet was it this mundanity that Davian found comfort in?
Their laughs pricked Davian's ears. They had grown louder then the crackle of the flames.
Davian turned. Jaw clenched. Eyes tight.
"The... the matches... the matches,'' JJ sputtered out from opposite Davian. Their chains glistening in the moonlight along with their short rigid curls. Hands clutched on their infamous Hello Kitty Bong that released the heavy husk of marijuana. JJ's fragrance.
Davian scrunched her nose. She stepped closer, passing the box to JJ. JJ thanked her, collapsing by the push of their marijuana into the rest of their crew, their laugh echoing in Davian's head.
The crew let out scattered remarks about Davian's silence, yet the only thing scattered about it was that they resembled matchsticks. Scattered on the floor.
Davian pushed through their barrier. Her head on the grass that dampened her shoe soles. She sighed, hands shaking. Her teeth gritted. Oh boy was she itching for something.
A sharp twist pulled her to face the biggest matchstick of them all. In all his Uppercut West glory, stood the King of them all. Hayen Kai Park. The moonlit might have added a shine to his jet black hair and sharp features, yet the fire burned against his eyes. Endless pits of rage. A feeling of commonality Davian would hate to admit.
