Short Stories

Weakness

I know that it is fantasized and I was one to be apart of that false reality, but when it is actually happening you realise that this is no game. They called me his weakness, but I'd never seen him before. I was following his rules almost unconsciously at this point. Some days I could say that I felt the heat of his skin hover near mine, but I'd never truly experienced it before. I could only imagine that it would feel like fire dancing across my skin to songs the earth spoke silently, leaving claim in it's wake. I always thought I could discern the intense flickering fire, but I never caught if it lit with vehemence or burned thoroughly along with indifference.

It was something of wonders to walk around and see so many faces and think that they also are thinking their own thoughts. They also are having their own doubts. Some of them dream of being a famous musician, wanting to hear the crowd scream their name and have it bounce against their ears not being able to hear their own thoughts. While others dream of the way delicate paper thin skin rips along with the tiny blood vessels that have a home right under it. They dream of the way the sunset leaks out of your open skin in crimson yet still holding onto the shade of wine. To them it creates art, but soon that art has to rust over and it is no longer beautiful.

I wonder how many people I've passed by in my life have actually gone through with their art piece. Maybe the packed bags that sat under their eyes are full with the memories they can't let go. Maybe their skin got tired of holding up and slumped to show the lines that sunk into the owners face presenting how much labor they took on. I don't the meaning of the things that make people their own and so I trust in what I am told by him.

February 19, 2018