The Burning
“What is the flame?” Asked Adam, as he watched the dancing fire on the table. Graham glanced sidelong at him with a raised brow and whistled softly through his teeth. His hand danced over the fire touching the heat, playing his fingers like a puppeteer.
“The fire is power.
It’s the power that comes from you, great and terrible and beautiful. The greatest power is found by relinquishing the control over that gift. Paradoxical in nature, the fire burns in all of us. We have to be at the most controlled in order to release that feeling and become weak. Then in being weak we become strong. The difference between standing on the tower and screaming on the barbershop floor.”
The flame spread across the coffee table in all directions, slowly blacking the cheap paint. Graham lifted his hand and watched as the flame danced higher. Adam wondered which of the two was causing movement in the other. Graham had become a puppeteer forced to follow his doll as it roared and crashed its way through its own life.
“I think, that perhaps you are insane.” Mused Adam, as the flame spread to the edge of the coffee table and dripped to the carpet next to his foot with a light hiss. Graham smiled; his teeth were perfect. They shone.
“I have no doubt that I am. However in relaxing my conscious rejection of the flame I have gained insight into my unconscious self. I am irrevocably insane, but perhaps a lot more sane than you.”
Graham brung his hand down sharply as the flame went out, leaving only ashes, sparks and patches of fire around the edges of the cheap coffee table.
“Your path is dark Adam. I find mine filled with light.”
“The fire is power.
It’s the power that comes from you, great and terrible and beautiful. The greatest power is found by relinquishing the control over that gift. Paradoxical in nature, the fire burns in all of us. We have to be at the most controlled in order to release that feeling and become weak. Then in being weak we become strong. The difference between standing on the tower and screaming on the barbershop floor.”
The flame spread across the coffee table in all directions, slowly blacking the cheap paint. Graham lifted his hand and watched as the flame danced higher. Adam wondered which of the two was causing movement in the other. Graham had become a puppeteer forced to follow his doll as it roared and crashed its way through its own life.
“I think, that perhaps you are insane.” Mused Adam, as the flame spread to the edge of the coffee table and dripped to the carpet next to his foot with a light hiss. Graham smiled; his teeth were perfect. They shone.
“I have no doubt that I am. However in relaxing my conscious rejection of the flame I have gained insight into my unconscious self. I am irrevocably insane, but perhaps a lot more sane than you.”
Graham brung his hand down sharply as the flame went out, leaving only ashes, sparks and patches of fire around the edges of the cheap coffee table.
“Your path is dark Adam. I find mine filled with light.”