The flames rage, consuming all that comes close. A dry stick, a wind-blown leaf wandering too near a spark. That anything…that might be carried across and into the inferno on a belligerent gust of breath. . .

Photo by Benjamin Nelen

An emotion destined to flame, a vanity that is a spirit. Oh, those vanities, those sad doomed sprites of creatures…For now they reach the end, this part comes in the turning wheel at least. My own precious vanities, tinder for that blooming heat.

Vanities, what are they! That desire for beauty, and pride in the least bit accomplished. My endless trudging towards that never quite achieved femininity. My love of beautiful clothes, sparkly things that catch the eye. My need or desire perhaps, to be physically prime, even if that also was never quite perfected. My glory in my never-ending legs, which now I see was a idiotic joke, as they always looked masculine, just like my hands. My long red hair. Another joke. My list of actual mountains I really climbed. What is it to climb a mountain? That is nothing compared to moving them.

My courage. Ha! My entourage who revolve around me. As worthy as flies. My perseverance. I quit everything. My scores in games, in tests. Faked to trick me. My arrow at the target. Always moving. My biting wit. Ouch. My truthful speech when spoken. I need to keep quiet. My clear-sometimes translucent skin. A prison of flesh. My discerning photographic eye. Never good enough. My intelligence, brilliance, genius or magnificant insanity some have said. Whatever!

Oh, what utter worthlessness that all was.

Burn, baby, burn!

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