Burn Me Away
There is a lot to do & see in this life. But sometimes, the only thing you can will yourself to do is curl up in a ball & wait for the fire to take you.
It’s been a slow day. And maybe the slowness is something I needed. But it’s made its way inside my bones, it even made my blood slow down. There’s people out there I’d like to look at right now. I don’t even need to talk to them, I just want to look at them. But moving in the entire area around me is near-impossible. It’s slow, after all. There’s some miasmic air or something, I don’t fucking know and why should I EXPLAIN?! Sorry (? to who?), I don’t know who I’m annoyed at, there’s no one here.
I’m tired and my blood is tired too. Why wouldn’t it be? It runs around all the time to keep me alive. And keeping me alive is no easy task. It deserves its tiredness much more than I do. Although I suppose I am also trying to keep myself alive. My efforts aren't as good as my blood’s, though. It's been a million years and I keep realising, “Oh. I can't bear it.” And then in the middle of a hundred million tasks I collapse and I don't get to make a choice, I just collapse. I just collapse! What more to say. What more to explain.
People, people, people. Looking into their eyes is like looking into the sun. So bright. There's a few in particular, who… I wonder if I have a fever. I'd go get a thermometer to check, but I can't get up. I'm so tired and the slowness can't be walked through. I just have to wait till it passes away… small bright side is that I know that it always passes away, but that's just a thing to remember. It isn't solid, I can't hold it in my arms nor can I be held by it. And the reminder won't ask me, “Are you okay? Do you want me to get you anything?” and I'd say, “Yes please, I need a thermometer to see how sick I am. I probably don’t have a fever, but I do want to check.”
It wouldn't be surprising to get a fever in this weather. Rain, rain, rain. I shiver sometimes, and food tastes strange. And nothing I do seems correct. My movements seem wrong, they seem off. Same with my words. Same with my face. Maybe that's the slowness. My efforts to go against it and my exhaustion making me yield, both of those create some wrongness. Is that a fever, though? Probably not. I shiver sometimes, but only when I think of someone. Someone specific. A fire to melt my skin away. It's too humid for it to last, though. So whenever it arrives, it goes into my chest. I think of the ‘someone’ & there's really brief fires. But the inside of the body must be humid, too. Or maybe it's just my body, and my slow blood. But still, but still. Even if it's only briefly there, it's there. Give some credit to the fire for achieving so much, and give some credit to my someone (who isn't even here, but still; some credit), a little warmth is worth something.
The confusion it creates is not nice, though. I guess it's not a fever, but see how confused it made me anyway? Not good. Not good. Maybe that's the slowness again. It got into my brain. My brain is now too slow to see the difference between different types of burning. Like the burning of this funeral pyre I'm on. I can feel it most in the tips of my fingers, in my feet, the top of my head. It radiates inward. Maybe I'm burning alive, or maybe I already died and I'm still thinking because my brain was too slow to die. Who knows. Who knows.
There is a lot to do & see in this life. There's someone, many people, all who are waiting for me. Some of them are not thinking about me at all. That hurts. That hurts a lot. But they'd probably be upset if I dissolved into the fire right now. They'd be sad when they realised. So I think I shouldn't burn away. I'm too tired to care much, but I guess it's a fact of reality that there are many things to do, many many many things. Things to see and taste and smell and hear. All are ash right now but I know it passes away. So I need to not pass away. So I can see and taste and smell and listen to things when it's all bearable again. And then my fire-someone will be there as well. And other people too. They'll be there. Not perfect, but there. Factually speaking. In my bones, I feel the need to just burn myself away. But that's probably just the slowness. The need to give up, I feel it in my blood. But my blood is fucking stupid.
I sigh and get up. It's both easier and more difficult than I expected. The funeral pyre stops being a funeral pyre. It’s just a bed. A very messy bed. I’ll take care of that eventually. First, though, I need to brush my teeth.
So there’s the first flash fiction of the month. Honestly, I’m not doing well. At all. That’s why I wrote this, along with the previous two new bits of writing. Everything makes me sad and irritated, and I’m tired all the time. This will last a few weeks & then pass, as per usual, but it still fucking sucks. Sucks so much that I decided, “yeah, sure, put it in a little author’s note after the piece”. I’m miserable. I don’t want to do anything. I have things to do 7 so I’m doing them, because I have obligations & commitments & also there’s a chance of finding small bits of joy in some of these things. The optimism is forced & feels nearly delusional, but it is necessary.
The song is one which I happened to make alongside this piece of writing. I realised that it goes well with this piece, since I’m conveying the same thing in both of them. “The same thing”, which has actually calmed down a bit after writing this note. That’s nice. It’s going to flare up again, but then I can just make stuff again & it’ll be better again. Optimism. Reluctant optimism & reluctant hope.
Also, in case you missed it: I’m doing a short survey of my readers. It’s just 4 questions and won’t take more than 3-5 minutes. I made it out of pure curiosity. You can take it here.