Sunday Scribblings (Fire)

This week's word is “Fire”:

The flames tore through the single story dwelling at an alarming speed, leaving no time for me to save myself, or those that I loved. I would slink under my bed and wait for the inevitable, terrified of the pain I was sure to endure. It always ended with me crying and calling out for my mother.

That dream haunted me from the age of seven well into my teens. It was brought on by a short lived obsession with matches, a story by a neighbor of a terrible blaze the consumed her household, killing all inside, and pictures of burn victims placed strategically throughout my bedroom. It was a tough love approach taken by desperate parents after I lit the before mentioned neighbors backyard ablaze on my brother second birthday. Thankfully for all involved, it put itself out before any real damage was done.

After said incident, and the subsequent parental reaction, I never looked at fire the same. I became obsessed with checking the fire-alarms (to my mothers dismay), carefully planned escape routes, and consumed any and all preparedness manual available to a small child. My youth, from that point forward, was devoid of anything remotely capable of making even a spark.

Now I am still fascinated by fire, and the power it holds, but now have an alarm in each room, and plan endlessly my escape if it is so needed.

A Thousand Years

This week's phrase is “A Thousand Years”: This week, the one containing the anniversary of your death, is tougher than all others. I know why, from a logical perspective, but it confuses me nonetheless. It is not as if I miss you more today than last Monday, but the pain is worse, the dreams more visceral, and the failures present. It is as if I am preparing for your funeral again, and I was not ready the first time. People appeared to show their respects, and their love; the band played; beautiful words were spoken; it was lost on me. I know I said something, what it was I do not recall, but words came from my lips. I knew they did not mean much to you, as they came too late for you to appreciate the love I had for you, and you were gone. All I have to give now is the knowledge that I will never let the memory of you pass, nor will I let the generations that follow forget you. For a thousand years or more, your name will ring out with the legacy you left. Good night my baby brother.