Friday, 16 September 2011

Part 1... He's Dreaming of Fire...

He has nothing to say, there was never anything to say. It was a flickering flame that was lit by fate and would be blown out by that same bitterly fateful gust of reality.  Storming home he laughs to himself as the realization hits him that it was all in his head. He grasped onto nothing, a thought that manifested into a feeling and manipulated the shreds of moral judgment he had left. It was all in his head, all of it. Its funny the way we psychologically construct these situations to fill in the gaps, but he knows better than anyone that they will eventually fall through and the same soul bearing holes remain, with the spot light of guilt and regret shining through each of them in a blinding ray. There’s no way to avoid it, he’s been a mug - replaying situations and finding lost comfort in the idea of her, but its just an idea, an ideal. In reality, she is far from that but more of a distraction from the aching lack of satisfaction that is numbed by nights he spends in the arms of his adoring girlfriend.

His girl is really great, but what’s great if he can’t relate? The shadows of his past cause his eyes to wandering as he creeps home back to her once again by the light of the moon. Step after sordid step along the same road they’ve walked down together time after time, hand in hand. She’ll probably be asleep when he gets back, she always is – tucked away from his touch she’s safe. As he peels back the duvet and slides gently next to her, his skin is still frozen from the bitter winds outside but her warmth engulfs him completely. She is always warm and he loves this about her, but after a while warm just doesn’t do it for him; familiarity kills passion. He wants fire and as the testosterone and narcotics pumped through his veins tonight, eventually finding and polluting his heart, her warmth was distant and dull to him. He had all the heat he could handle as many times as he wanted, but fire can melt a heart of ice, or burn pride to the ground. In his case both, she was under his skin now and as he pulled his girlfriend towards him with her tiny hand resting on his chest, his heart below was still thumping for someone else.


And there they are again, those soul holes allowing spotlights to shine right through him. How can he avoid them? They dissect the very core of his being from guilt to confusion, every hole, another mistake, another uncertain moment. On nights like tonight, he’ll hold his beautiful girl as close as he can and keep plugging those holes that reveal the truth. But sooner or later they reappear bigger and more soul scathing then before. So as he drifts asleep with her but without her, the distasteful winds of reality blow straight through him. All these distorted emotions have caused a draught with a breeze so sharp that it hurts against the edges of the very holes that make him who he is, or rather who he’s not. With a chaotic dispersion of innate affection and utter selfishness, his eyes slowly close. The bullets of regret rain down around their bed landing upon his tired heart and mischievous mind and with a final sigh of exhaustion he’s once again dreaming… dreaming of fire.


T B C

2 comments:

  1. :D loved it :) I think I like it because you write so similarly to me... It has a similar premise to an idea I started a while back.. "his" and "hers" accounts and also that guy who is playing a double life. mainly because that's the life my ex lived/s with me. (and maybe it's a common problem)
    can't wait for more.
    Come Christmas time I'll hopefully have a whole book for you to read.
    Ever your biggest fan, Melanie

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