The Flame That Burned Us All

The Juggler

     It could not be described as anything but art. The way the sparks flew up and disappeared into the night sky, pushed by the gracefulness of a human. Fire of all colors made rainbow streaks in the smoke. I watched as the dancers turned and jumped, leaving trails of flame behind them. My skin was burning but I didn't care. I wanted to touch the fire. So I reached out my hand and touched the flames. My father pulled me away, but I resisted, I stood up, mesmerized by the fire and walked onstage. The dancers looked at me in panic, trying to dance away. I went closer to them. They moved away. The fire danced with them and the smoke lingered behind for me to breathe it in. And that was all I remembered.

~<>~

"Breathe." I heard my dad's voice. "Just breathe. It's going to be okay." I opened my eyes. Above me was a blue sky and my dad's worried face. "Come on, take a breath. Don't be scared." I opened my mouth and sucked in the air. My chest rose, and fell. "Good job. And another." I repeated the process.

My whole life has been like this. Every time I forget about breathing, I fall. And then when I wake up, it's all inhale and exhale again. In, and out.

"Why?" I cough out. "Why can't we get me fixed?"

"There's nothing to fix," my dad said, stroking my hair. "You're getting better at this, little by little. It's been a full five hours since your last faint. That's near your record."

"Not close enough," I muttered, and coughed from talking.

"Rest your throat," dad whispered. He laid down on the field. "Look at the sky. Look at the clouds. They make all different shapes. I see a bunny over there," he said, pointing to the right, "and there's a tulip over there." He pointed to the left. I looked up.

"The bunny looks more like a duck," I said. Dad laughed.

"It does, doesn't it?" We both laughed and I coughed again. We stayed there, looking at the sky, not a care in the world. If only I knew that would be the last conversation I had with him.

~<>~

"Welcome, welcome!" I heard as I walked into the foster building. Inhale, exhale. "And who might you be?" A fat lady wearing a blue dress came up to me. She was beaming.

"I'm Annika," I said and coughed. "Annika Johnson." Inhale, exhale.

"Annika!" She squealed. "What a nice name! I am Ms. Teacup. You're right in time for lunch. Come inside, make yourself at home." She stepped to the side and let me inside. "Yes, yes. Choose any room upstairs. I'm afraid all of them already have someone in them, but we have many bunk beds." I walked upstairs, hearing the lady sing in an opera-like voice.

I opened the door to a room at the end of the hall. Inhale, exhale. Inside was a girl with red hair and dressed in all black. She was wearing headphones with cat ears attached to them and she was strumming a red electric guitar that matched her hair. On her bed was teddy bear sheets and a pastel yellow pillow. On the wall next to her bed was a Panic! At the Disco poster and a framed, signed t-shirt from Brendon Urie.

"Fan of Panic?" She said, startling me. Inhale, exhale.

"Uh... I never really listened to them," I said, scratching the back of my head. I coughed. "Sorry. I might do that a lot."

"It's alright. You can take the top bunk if you want," she said, pointing above her. It reminded me of when dad pointed at the clouds in the field in front of our house.

"Thanks." I threw my bags on top of the bed. Inhale, exhale. "Is Ms. Teacup an okay foster mother?" I asked. "Or is she a bit... you know..." I crossed my eyes, stuck out my tongue, and swirled my fingers around my ears. The girl laughed, the side of her eyes crinkling.