Category: 300

Flames had always brought him a calm place to dream. They would slow his mind and allow him to see his future. These flames were different, while still a calming influence, they contained only memories, and the memories were full of an all-consuming pain.

Mesmerized, he stared with blank eyes as the flames licked at the tinder in front of him. The good, hard oak crackled and snapped in the heat. It was hot too. The heat was almost uncomfortable, but the dark night outside the circle of flame was cold, so he leaned in closer, hungry for the fire’s warmth.

He’d started to gather fuel in the early afternoon. It hadn’t been difficult. He’d lit the match, feeling the satisfaction of the flame’s catching just as the sun sank behind the mountains.

Since childhood, he’d always liked a good fire. He used to nap with his father in front of the hearth in their living room. As a college student, he had read many a book in front of those same flames.

Now, he sat with a glass of good whiskey watching as papers curled in around the heat before turning to ash and the flames turned the wood to charred embers. He thought of nothing; he thought of everything as the flames danced across his face.

Life twisted in the flames, the life he had wanted burned somewhere in their orange glow. The life he had lived fueled them. He sought the life he would lead in their light.

When the windows of the second floor blew out, the crowd across the street gasped. He took a sip of the whiskey and pulled his robe tighter around him. He leaned further back in the lawn chair and thought about how pleasant it might be to close his eyes.

            The gray stretched out to the horizon. The mid-summer sky had been bright and clear, the heat oppressive, when they’d left, but as they drew closer to the coast, the temperature began to dip and clouds covered the sun. Carrie had expected better weather. Her expectations were always high.

            The weather-beaten shingles of the houses were gray, exhausted by time. Even the water was gray; a tired grayish-blue, broken by the white caps of waves that broke fifty yards off shore, arriving with no energy.

            Sturdy green pines rose from the cliffs, but even they bent under the weight of the sea breeze. It tossed the gray sand they were sitting in across the beach, adding grit to their coffee.

            They’d been sitting for 45 minutes when Carrie suggested they walk down the beach. He hadn’t been able to read her energy on the drive, but now she seemed unsettled, uncomfortable sitting still, but looking for a place to stop.

            He agreed. He always agreed. They loaded their books and blankets back into his pack and set off.

            He moved them down closer to the waterline where the sand was hard-packed and damp. He wanted to feel the water. He needed it.

            Carrie walked at the edge of the waterline, fearing the numbing cold of the Pacific. She curled in on herself against the wind.

            He moved further into the surf until it came to his knees. The cold was unbearable. He could think of nothing but the pain. He watched the water split around his legs and felt each toe go numb. He was desperate to move back to the warmer sand.

He looked back for Carrie. His feet ached. She had continued down the beach.

He wondered if he walked out into the waves, if it would all disappear.

autumn’s light falls

a silent wave to end summer

a peaceful transfer