Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice
is also great
and would suffice.
-Robert Frost
Flames danced around in my dreams that night. Calling. Always calling. My eyes snapped open, but I wasn’t awake. I couldn’t see anything, except for a small light of fire.
I wanted to walk to it. It was calling, asking to be released. My legs wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t do anything but watch it flicker, slowly dimming out. My heart dropped, and I felt only darkness, suffocating me.
The light went out, and I gasped awake.
My room was dark, and my heart was beating like a rabbits. These dreams, they held the feeling of despair. Without that flame, I was nothing.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to, for once, forget my dream. I held my hand out, calling the heat inside my core to rise. Thankfully, it did, eagerly. My hand was now cloaked with a hot flame.
I sighed with relief. Fire hadn’t left me. It was still burning inside me and protecting me. I relaxed back into a laying position, still holding that flame on my hand.
It snaked its way around each of my fingers, slowly. I closed my fist, thanking the element, and allowing the flame to go out.
That was the exact moment where I realized that I could not live without fire.
YOU ARE READING
My Personal Inferno.
Teen FictionMyla leads a life like no other. Her mother, dead by her own powers and lack of control. Her father, naive to what she really is. The one thing keeping her sane is the thing that has destroyed her life. Slowly but surely, her life is falling apart...
