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As I’m guessing you’ve seen the title of this post, I’m sure that you didn’t come here expecting great things – and trust me, you won’t be let down in that respect. I am writing this totally from the top of my head, totally from scratch, with no prior planning or even an idea of what I’m going to write. I’m just going to start writing and see where it goes. I find it fun to do that sometimes, to just sit and start writing something with no clue where it’ll end up. It’s much more fun than being tied down to a plan or outline.

It’s not going to be great, it may not even be pretty and it’s certainly going to be short. Perhaps I should have titled this post ‘Very Shitty and Equally Short Story’ but then I’m sure that none of you would have clicked on it… Oh well, we’ve come this far so we might as well carry on. Please try to enjoy it, as hard as I assume that’s going to be.

 

My hands were on fire. They were all cut from where I had fallen, impaled with small thorns which left me with pinpricks and leaking cuts. The blood ran its way down my hands, down my wrists; even making it to my arms. But I didn’t mind. It felt warm on my cold skin. And in desperate times of icy coldness such as this – beggars cannot be choosers. Beggars shall not be choosers. Dare not be choosers.

The mist was rising like smoke from a flame. Like smoke from a forest fire. I could see the base of the trees, but their branches, their leaves – they were all hidden. Masked by the thick greyness and everything that lay within.

It wasn’t necessarily the darkness that was scaring me, or even the way that the mist seemed to take the form of a demonic figure and attempted to breach the walls of my soul. It was all to do with the fact that I couldn’t see the trees. What would happen to me? Were they even still there? Providing oxygen for us and giving us life. I could feel my chest starting to tighten at the thought and my heart rate slowed a little. But then all at once, it crept back up and began thumping against my ribcage like the fists of one thousand imprisoned men on the steel that bounds them to their destiny of capture and entrapment. Though at least in their prison, they had the freedom to think. I did not share that luxury. My mind was a blur. A whirlpool of thoughts and voices – all intertwined and sounding the same, yet subtly different. I couldn’t make them out. I couldn’t make any of them out.

Then the reality set in. It wasn’t mist. It wasn’t mist at all. It was smoke. And as the orange glow peered back at me from beyond the treeline, I realised my mistake. I was standing too close. I was standing much too close. That was no mist. It was smoke. And these weren’t trees. These were trees that were ablaze and had been for some time. This was no forest wrapped in mist, it was a forest that was burning. It wasn’t just like the smoke from a forest fire. It was the smoke from a forest fire. The flames of which were now rushing towards me. They were upon me and I couldn’t even breathe. I didn’t try to. Before I could, it was too late. The hotness had engulfed me. It was the purest, most raw pain I had ever felt in my life. Almost as if I had been swarmed by a thousand men, stripped of my skin and then thrown into the core of the earth. And I had been. I was thrown into it, where I was left to melt into it’s mantle – becoming one with the world again.

The heat was gone. The crackle of the flames and smell of smoke too. My eyes were no longer burning.

I sat up in my bed and stood to my feet. It was only a dream. Though when I flicked on the light and turned to face the mirror, I saw that my hands were bloody and pinpricked, with thorns embedded in them and  I saw that my skin was still charred and raw; parts of it still quietly being burned alive.

 

Okay, so that became a little abstract. But I hope you enjoyed it. And, as always:

Happy writing!