Fire of the Soul

Part The Only.

     I felt acutely the blaze in my heart. The fire, akin to a wildfire, burned brightly and even showed proudly on the right side of my collarbone, creeping back around to the back of my neck. I tenderly brush my fingertips against it. It crackles and spits.

     I'll meet HIM soon.

     The mark shows up shortly after birth; a fire on your skin, a "Cloud Eye," a blade shaped birthmark. Each a blessing, each a curse. Each pointing you to the one your soul is bound to.

     My fire burns and spits. As it's made of my soul, it doesn't burn my clothes. I pull on my favorite jeans and a t-shirt. Today, I will meet him. 

     Either I will meet him, or I will die by fire.

     I walk briskly to my favorite coffee shop, order my favorite drink from a nice barista who has a cut that bleeds water on her cheek. I sit and my fire tugs. I do not move, eyes wandering from the door to my drink.

     My fire flares. A redhead walks in. His hair is ablaze, and flares dangerously. Each of our fires strain toward the other. I frown. If he's also doomed by fire, we will both die by fire. The doom of the damned. He gets a drink and sits at my table.

     We talk like we've known each other forever, talk until the shop closes. We exchange numbers and go our separate ways.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Three years later, I stand here, wearing a white dress with an amber trim. Amber. The color of fire. He holds my hands in both of his, brilliant eyes shining and holding my own. I smile. He smiles back.

     "I do."

     "I do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     Two years later, we stand in the kitchen, his hands on my swollen belly and a joyous grin on my face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     We stand, eighteen years later, watching him grin and hold his diploma. His snake marks, slithering up his arms, are proudly displayed. Our son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Forty years later, we are sitting in our cabin in the woods. I look into the window, and am shocked to see a brilliant fire inside, burning fiercely . He looks back, notices. He pulls a tattered envelope from his pocket and walks out front calmly, putting the note into the mailbox. Then, he grabs my hand. Our stride is uneven, but together we walk. I smile at him, and he at me, as we walk in. I open the door. 

     Silence, then an explosion. Two fires flare brightly in the air above the house, before disappearing into the wind together.