Fire is Not a Toy

Annie.

Fin.

2 paths.

2 lives.

High in the mountains the birds are calling. Gently waking each other from their slumber as they rise for a new day. The goats bray as the goat herds lead them up the craggy hills and along a winding path a girl with hair the colour of the rising sun treads carefully over the morning frost. This is Annie.

The sun is just up over the horizon as I settle myself onto the rocks overlooking the clear blue and tuck my hair behind my shoulders. I smile, no place in the world compares to my little rock on the hill. I retrieve my sketchbook from my bag and get to work. Brush strokes across fresh white paper, black chalk slashing up the snowy page. As the day goes on and the sun rises higher in the sky, the landscape around me transfers its soul into my little black book, my hands become dark with the residue of paint and chalk

Deep in the caves below where she is standing without a care in the world. Hidden from the eyes of civilization. A boy lies on the cold, hard floor and stares at the clock painted into the roof.

I count the seconds. 55, 56, 57, 58, 59—ah that’s it. The hands on my clock change. Tendrils of fire spiral around the numbers as time moves forward again and I let my eyes drift shut.

"Caspar," his voice rasps from the chair on the other side of the room and I sigh. Rise to my feet and,"Yes papa?"

He declines to reply, instead choosing to tilt his head to the left where the book is smoldering as my baby brother desperately tries to ignite the words on the pages.

"Aron," I murmur his name as I move closer. Poor boy, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Caspar!! I'm doing it right! I promise!"

"Shh." I indicate to our dear old dad.

"Let me." He doesn’t argue with me but I can see the sadness in his eyes as once again he steps aside to let me do the hard work. It’s not fair really. At only the tender age of eight to be forced into this dark hole. Forced into work that is thousands of years older than him. Expected to understand and to succeed. I sign again. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. Never mind.

"Sytta," I hiss. Fire licks at the sides of the pages and Aron moves, almost frantically, by me to tend to his work. Then all at once I trip and fall and hit the ground and I see orange-like fire and like sunrise and the wind moves and the texture of hair and then it stops. I’m back in the cave and everyone is watching me. Slowly I rise to my feet.

"I'm sorry," I say. Ever careful not to make eye contact. "I tripped."

I can hear the disdain in his voice as he turns away.

"Make sure it doesn’t happen again." Quickly I nod and return to my corner. Lying on the cold, hard floor, I ponder what I saw and what it could mean.

Back in the light her hands craft images onto pages as her mind wanders over the hilltops and the trees.

As I sketch I let my thoughts drift back in time to yesterday evening. I was cooking with Ma when he arrived. All smiles and hellos but something had changed. I think Ma noticed too because she shook her head and told us to go upstairs, she'd finish dinner. My door had barely shut when he had me up against the wall.

"Hi you," he breathed, lips close to my face.

"Hi," I smiled back, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Then his lips hit mine and it was all hands and touching and feeling and sensations. Lips on neck and fingers in hair and my legs around his hips and that’s when it happened. Back in the present, I let out a little giggle and glance at my page. Unconsciously the yellow flowers I was painting have spiraled, opening their petals across the page, spreading themselves slowly and sensuously towards the sun. I think this is what love is.