I’m trapped in a realm where the Earth spins anticlockwise if I wish it. My dreams are a reality and reality is a nightmare, accessed through the lense of the camera; images transferred to the screen. Yet truth is nothing more than the shadows cast on the cave wall by the fires behind me. God, I can hear them and the flames roar and flicker. I pull at my hair and they attempt to encircle me. Capture me. I can see them wincing from the corners of my eyes.
They can't. They can't break through.
What do you do when you live life in projection? What can you do when the bubble can't be popped and it morphs to your form? The bubble is you and you're dizzy.
You pull at my chains, but I can't break free. I scream. I stamp. You raise Hell. Then the flames advance. Slowly at first, but soon the tsunami of fire descends. As my skin is seared, I become aware of an invincibility. They can touch me; they can cause brief flashes of heat and twisted anguish, but they cannot truly hurt me. The injury caused by the past cannot - will not - stop me.
The struggle has not been a lie. Sometimes it deafens me so that there is nothing beyond the dull roar of the dancing flames. Yet you don't let it enable the burden. The energy required exhausts me, but slowly and steadily, it is diffused. Sometimes, yes, sometimes, the instrument is hit and the twang rings, but the sharp note simmers to a melody and before long it resonates as a clear tune. It substantiates the cause and I meekly smile. The smile was unconvincing, unbelievable. I'm sorry. You're frustrated for me and I stumble, misunderstanding; not ready to jump. The remains of the echoes ripple. First entering my feet, then legs, then chest and then pound at my head. One dull punch after another. Knock Out.
It is unsustainable to continue the fantasy: “try harder” you breathe.
"Wait. I’m not sure I want reality… what if I’m not ready? Why can’t the blunt magic last?”
I can feel you clawing at the bubble - desperately trying to rip away the shroud. It won't work.
I stop you. I pause. I hold your hand. You look into the reflection in my eyes of my reflection in your eyes.
The heat from the fire begins to melt the chains. Eyes Wide Open I can see them becoming thinner until there's nothing but liquid metal stains on my wrists. I smile again, more certain this time. You laugh. You lick my wrists and as you withdraw, smoke rises from your burning lips. The taste of metal replaces the sound of the flames.
The taste endures and I let it. I don't know when the wincing will subdue, but here, now, it doesn't matter. I found you. You found me. I found me. Again. The burden is half as heavy and we crawl together.
My submission for the Short Story Competion:
http://www.thestudentroom.co.uk/showthread.php?t=3991411My word count says exactly 500 words