Post by Cascadia on Jun 5, 2006 9:54:07 GMT -5
The flame flickers before my eyes, jumping on the thin wood it bruns off. I drop the match, my eyes following it to the ground. The fire dances, wind from the fall rustling past it, but it manages to stay lit. It lands on a photo. I don’t want to look at it. Just want it gone. But I can’t tear my eyes away from it. The face darkens in the picture, a better resemblence of my memory. Then a hole appears, spreading. The face is soon gne, just the hair that served as a halo left.
Consume. More then just a word. A feeling, describing so many different scenarios. Many things can consume. Pain. Fear. Hatred. The edges of the photo curl. Fire.
I let the embers die out, the last red flickers fading as the ashes crumble. Five hundred matches. Minus one. More then enough to erase a lifetime. Or two lifetimes.
The match swipes against the box’s side, the scratching noise filling my ears. Then the tip blazes, a flare, and once again burns peacefully. Light dancing before my eyes. Gaze falls onto the next photo, smiling faces. The match lands between the two faces, instantly burning a hole between them. A moment later, and the whole thing is gone.
Consumed.
Can a lifetime be consumed ? Erased ? Physically, yes. I only takes a moment. That moment may stretch on though. Time fighting physics, and righted again in a blinking instant, dissapere, gone forever. But mentally erased, that’s a different story.
You can’t erase your memories. Nothing ever will, no alcohol, drugs, repression, the pitcures will still be there. No matter how many matches you light, they may fade, but never, never leave you.
Two matches down. 498 left to go.
Enough to erase them ?
I pick up the bottle of lighter fluid. Patience was never a strong point of mine. There’s a pile of memories on the floor. I don’t want them. I can’t deal with them. Just need them gone. Consumed.
Two, three streaks of fluid over the pile. The smell hits me instantly. Funny how just a scent can bring up so man memories. Mental. The ones you can’t get rid of. Their faces flash before my eyes, they won’t leave me alone. I look up, around their room.
The walls are bare, beds unmade. Dresser drawers hanging open, empty. Everything is missing, taken down, thrown into the pile that now reeks of lighter fluid.
I light another match, hearing their voices whisper in my ears. The match bursts to life, the fire jumping on the thin wood.
Enough to erase them ?
I drop it, and the pile instantly lights. I blink once, slowly. The fire is still raging. Their whispers turn to screams, I’m killing them. Destroying all that’s left. I don’t want anything left over, I can’t deal with it. Need it gone. Everything, consumed.
The flames are too high, scorching the ceiling. The wallpaper is on fire. Their beds, dressers, all slowly dissapering.
The lighter fluid bottle explodes, sending flaming liquid-fire everywhere. The TV quickly follows suit. I can’t feel anything, the heat overpowering all of my senses. Letting out a bit of my breath, I rear my head back, screaming with them.
My hands on burnin, reaching through the pile, searching, I find it.
The last photo, blackening beneath my fingertips. My brother’s faces smile up at me. A tear dries on the air before it even falls from my quivering chin. I inhale, choking. I can’t breath.
Consume.
I clutch the photo to my chest.
The matches are now burning, every single one.
Part of the roof falls, the ceiling black and charred, ashing as if it was as thin as one of the photos.
I stand, sensing someone. Maybe I’m delerious, but then I see her standing in the doorway. Why is she here ? It’s her fault. She should have died with them. And I, I wasn’t even there. The boys stare at me from the fire, faces hollow. I sob, closing my eyes. It’s not my fault, my mouth moves but the smoke holds my words in.
She’s screaming, but can’t get to me. Fire’s in the way. I look up, their faces are still there. I blink once.
The fire freezes, smoke still curled, but unmoving. Her mouth is stuck open in a noiseless scream, hand clutching the burning doorway.
I let out a slow breath, and blink again, a lifetime gone by. A moment.
I don’t even feel my legs as they collapse beneath me. Don’t see the crumbling celiling, can’t hear the sadistic cackling of the flames.
All I know is the memory of their picture, but it never dissaperes.
The house is completely destroyed, consumed. Even the trees in the front and back yard. The garden, the lawn. Gone. A lifetime. In a moment.
A bottle of lighter fluid, and three matches.
Enough to erase them ?
I look over the picture again.
No.
You can never erase a memory.
Consume. More then just a word. A feeling, describing so many different scenarios. Many things can consume. Pain. Fear. Hatred. The edges of the photo curl. Fire.
I let the embers die out, the last red flickers fading as the ashes crumble. Five hundred matches. Minus one. More then enough to erase a lifetime. Or two lifetimes.
The match swipes against the box’s side, the scratching noise filling my ears. Then the tip blazes, a flare, and once again burns peacefully. Light dancing before my eyes. Gaze falls onto the next photo, smiling faces. The match lands between the two faces, instantly burning a hole between them. A moment later, and the whole thing is gone.
Consumed.
Can a lifetime be consumed ? Erased ? Physically, yes. I only takes a moment. That moment may stretch on though. Time fighting physics, and righted again in a blinking instant, dissapere, gone forever. But mentally erased, that’s a different story.
You can’t erase your memories. Nothing ever will, no alcohol, drugs, repression, the pitcures will still be there. No matter how many matches you light, they may fade, but never, never leave you.
Two matches down. 498 left to go.
Enough to erase them ?
I pick up the bottle of lighter fluid. Patience was never a strong point of mine. There’s a pile of memories on the floor. I don’t want them. I can’t deal with them. Just need them gone. Consumed.
Two, three streaks of fluid over the pile. The smell hits me instantly. Funny how just a scent can bring up so man memories. Mental. The ones you can’t get rid of. Their faces flash before my eyes, they won’t leave me alone. I look up, around their room.
The walls are bare, beds unmade. Dresser drawers hanging open, empty. Everything is missing, taken down, thrown into the pile that now reeks of lighter fluid.
I light another match, hearing their voices whisper in my ears. The match bursts to life, the fire jumping on the thin wood.
Enough to erase them ?
I drop it, and the pile instantly lights. I blink once, slowly. The fire is still raging. Their whispers turn to screams, I’m killing them. Destroying all that’s left. I don’t want anything left over, I can’t deal with it. Need it gone. Everything, consumed.
The flames are too high, scorching the ceiling. The wallpaper is on fire. Their beds, dressers, all slowly dissapering.
The lighter fluid bottle explodes, sending flaming liquid-fire everywhere. The TV quickly follows suit. I can’t feel anything, the heat overpowering all of my senses. Letting out a bit of my breath, I rear my head back, screaming with them.
My hands on burnin, reaching through the pile, searching, I find it.
The last photo, blackening beneath my fingertips. My brother’s faces smile up at me. A tear dries on the air before it even falls from my quivering chin. I inhale, choking. I can’t breath.
Consume.
I clutch the photo to my chest.
The matches are now burning, every single one.
Part of the roof falls, the ceiling black and charred, ashing as if it was as thin as one of the photos.
I stand, sensing someone. Maybe I’m delerious, but then I see her standing in the doorway. Why is she here ? It’s her fault. She should have died with them. And I, I wasn’t even there. The boys stare at me from the fire, faces hollow. I sob, closing my eyes. It’s not my fault, my mouth moves but the smoke holds my words in.
She’s screaming, but can’t get to me. Fire’s in the way. I look up, their faces are still there. I blink once.
The fire freezes, smoke still curled, but unmoving. Her mouth is stuck open in a noiseless scream, hand clutching the burning doorway.
I let out a slow breath, and blink again, a lifetime gone by. A moment.
I don’t even feel my legs as they collapse beneath me. Don’t see the crumbling celiling, can’t hear the sadistic cackling of the flames.
All I know is the memory of their picture, but it never dissaperes.
The house is completely destroyed, consumed. Even the trees in the front and back yard. The garden, the lawn. Gone. A lifetime. In a moment.
A bottle of lighter fluid, and three matches.
Enough to erase them ?
I look over the picture again.
No.
You can never erase a memory.