Thursday, April 28, 2016
The flames of the fire were cold and dull. It didn't draw you in.
No one wanted to be near it, for it would only make your bones colder.
At certain moments, when the moon shone onto the pit of flames, a cold, fiery woman would appear.
Only then would the people come to the fire, only then did the fire draw you in.
Her arms would raise up as her body twisted and danced like slow smoke slipping into itself.
Her mouth would open as if to say something, but would only cough up embers and thick ashes.
She would try and try again as the moon starts to slowly slip away.
She'd let out a screaming sigh the moment before she'd disappear. And everyone circled around the cold pit of flames would stare hesitantly as if she might appear without the moon. Wanting to hear her words. Her story.
The people would walk away, icicle teardrops stuck to their pale skin.
And until tomorrow night, there would only the leftover hope of the moon staying out long enough for her.