384 Days

384 days, 17 hours and 13 minutes, that's how long it had been since she'd set fire to someone. Lit them up just to watch someone’s life dissolve in the flames. Watch them burn, hoping they'd hold on till the flames burned out. Hoping that this would be different, that this person could hold on and get burned. Silly really, who would willingly choose to get burned when they could let go and find something that burnt less. Foolish even hoping they'd ignore that she set off flaming sparks, that she was a raging inferno.
It had been 384 days, 17 hours and 14 minutes since she'd last let herself hope that someone would be different. Flames need oxygen to grow; if she didn't breathe then maybe the flames would burn out. She had them down to embers now. She could be touched gently; she was even cool to the touch, fresh growth covering the embers that glowed gently across her skin. She leaned forward and stoked the fire, watching as the embers rolled against each other, giving birth to new flames every second. That was the thing with embers, they had to stay still, one little bump, she leaned forwards and nudged one of the coals that had long since stopped growing. It swayed, as if yawning slightly, then began to glow, gently at first, then brighter and more furiously until a small flame leapt off its blushing skin.
It had been 384 days, 17 hours and 16 minutes since she'd last let go and laughed until her sides ached. Until she screamed for mercy from the very thing that made her smile. Laughing was like crying, you jostled the embers no matter what end of the scale you were on, and that mean flames. Flames meant burning someone’s fingertips where they brushed against your skin. Watching them scream and blame you for the flames when they were eating you alive. Some people tried to live with it. Walking around with singed eyebrows while they perfected the art of pulling back when the flames came up. Calling that friendship, as if being there until the matches came out was enough.
It had been 384 days, 17 hours and 17 minutes since she'd tested someone, decided that they might care enough to brave the flames she could cover herself with. No one understood the flames didn't have to hurt; they could glide, almost sensually along her skin. Tending to her with gentle caresses of warmth and acceptance. They were warm when she was cold, and they cooled her in the warmth... burning her skin with an almost icy sting. The fire only burned when they didn't care, when they thought about pulling back, the flames were just that, a test. If they could step through the flames then the fire only hurt the people that weren’t nice to them. Her fire was as loyal as she was, if they could be trusted.
It had been 384 days, 17 hours and 18 minutes since she'd felt the pain of that lack of trust. She'd asked for him to put his hand in the fire and he'd trusted her. He'd stood proudly while the flames roamed over his skin. He’d stepped inside the flames and seen everything she was, how badly she'd been burned. Days he'd spent inside the flames, soothing her skin where it had been charred. Rubbing life into her lonely hands. Then he'd stood, and as quickly as he'd stepped in, stepped out and left. Of course the fire burnt, but now she was the only one left that would burn.
It had been 384 days, 17 hours and 20 minutes since the flames had surrounded her, searing through her legs, burning through her mind and transforming her heart into a fragile carving of ash.
It had been 384 days, 17 hours and 21 minutes since she'd loved.