The Devil's Flame
The Devil’s Flame is a prose piece I was writing during my grade 9 year (2002/2003), but never finished. It is a stream of consciousness story about a teenaged girl, Lynette, who slips between our world and another, less tangible world.
Lynette, how would you like to go away for awhile?
Silence.
You know, like a family trip.
How would I like it? My life is fucked up and you’re asking me about some family trip. Sure Mom, whatever.
Great, we leave first thing tomorrow morning. Pack your bags and I'll call the school and let them know you aren't going.
She turned, she walked away.
Colours swirled around my head and my eyes flew closed, afraid of my surroundings. Why me? I felt my head spinning and I let my body collapse to the ground. Sprawled there, I forced my eyes open.
I laid on soft, white sand, on the floor of a beautiful beach. My eyes opened wider, my frights fleeing. A red sunset coloured the sky. White waves crashed silently against the sandy shoreline - not a rock in sight! I twisted my head and green palm trees stared back at me from behind. What a beautiful place! How I would love to stay forever!
I twisted back and placed my feet below my body, rising. I stood tall and gazed at the wondrous sight. My eyes breathing in as much of it as they possibly could. The wind gently whistled past my body - me, the silent invader in this mysterious world.
A figure appeared in the distance. Strange.
I began dancing in pure joy, my oncomer forgotten.
The red in the sky slowly deepened, and for the first time, I felt like the happiest girl alive.
The figure drew closer.
I continued dancing, unaware of this figure gaining on me.
I twisted my head, eyes closed, and the wind stopped blowing. My eyes flung open.
There, in front of me, stood the figure. Handsome and elegant. His face was cloaked in mystery, a black space, as if whited out by some new product: BLACK OUT. His feet were bare and his tanned, muscular arms were in clear view, for he wore no shirt. The only sign of civilization about him, were his shorts, black as the night sky.
I whispered quietly to him, as though afraid to speak, Who are you?
His beautiful fingers found my mouth and my lips fell closed.
His strong arms wrapped around my waist, and in turn, mine his. I looked at my mystery man, wanting to see something, find what was missing. I was looking for his face.
My eyes closed and I felt rough, hard lips touch my tender skin. My eyes flung open, his face was gone, once more.
Show me! Show me what I came to see, my voice quietly pleaded.
He turned and began to walk away, silent words whispered from every direction: Maybe I already have.
My arm reached for him, but could not find his body, could not grip his tender skin. It would be far too late before I knew I had already gripped his heart.