An Inner Fire

1.1 b : An Inner Fire.

I walk alone down the dark backstreets. Rain falls around me, turning the harsh gravel to mud under my feet, seeping between my toes and up the back of my long summer nightdress. My pale bare feet shift under me into pools of watery mud but I do not fall. The wind whips around me in an icy scarf, plastering my dress to my body, clammy against my skin. My hair clings to my face and neck for dear life, invading my vision.

You could say that I’d been waiting for this treacherous winter night. Many nights I had been tossing and turning, writhing around in an unwakeable sleep until tonight. Tonight I am in the dream and I’m following the path written for me. Following the footsteps I walk each night in those deep dreams.

As I pass through the heavy iron gate the world changes. The gate clangs shut behind me and I spin around, running back and shaking it. No lock, no latch, no way back - the gate melts into the fence. Placing my back against where the gate was, I look around.

I stand on the edge of a forest of hands, hundreds of hands all reaching up to the sky. The hands of lost souls with the wind entwined in their fingers, echoing their mournful wails. A narrow and winding path weaves through them and along this my feet walk me. Fear creeps up and wraps itself around me, crawling up my spine and branching out around my chest. Sharp nervous breaths escape from my lips in anticipation. I never know what is around the next bend and with blind eyes I continue on deeper into the park.

I stumble into the courtyard centre of the park, sliding on the pavers and leaning on the rim of a three-tiered fountain. Dipping my hands into the cool water I try to wash away the horrible feeling of being watched, the black depths of the water vanishes my white hands. I pull my hair away from my face and neck and lay it down my back where it should be. Slowly I raise my eyes. Silence. Nothing is moving. No wind, no rain, only a dribble of water running down my nose. I can see the hands growing, getting bigger. I can feel piercing eyes leering out of the darkness at me. Cold laughing fills my mind. It is as though everything is alive and coming for me.

Controlling myself I see strange marks engraved in the pavers. Marks that were still being carved by an invisible hand.

“Here lies what was and what lies within,
the spell of the moon, the stars, the sun.
Here they all shine and yet are dimmed,
for in wrong hands the deed was done.”

“The fountain.” I don’t know why I think of that.

“Are you kidding?” I ask myself, “You can’t hide anything in a ...”

I stand still, a cold sweat running down my back like a bungy, rebounding up in a fearful shudder. My breathing becomes heavy and restricted. I can feel them. They are surrounding me getting closer and closer. Breathing down my neck and dancing icy fingers along my arms like a warped fantasy. I have to get them off, get them away!

Sinking into the depths of the full moon’s ghost-like reflection the world goes dark. I see a bottomless pool full of deep, dark and mysterious secrets that fog my reality but there is something else, something there. It calls my soul in an ancient and forgotten tongue and draws me to it, pulling me deeper. I lust for it.
It shines with the blinding glare of the sun and is alive with a hidden fire. Each of its polished sides reflect the full face of an invisible moon. I’m drawn to its strange and enticing aura surrounding all it is and smothering all it is not.

I reach for it but it seems to avoid my touch, brushing past my finger and instantly penetrating my skin. The pain dissolves in a heartbeat and like the tear leaking down my cheek, the blood runs to my fingertip. The clean cut opal is now drawn to me, to my blood. As it moves toward me I see another hand. It bleeds more than I, for it tried to grab the opal.

A cold rage builds inside, green envy is lost out the window. This is ice-blue hatred. I feel numb all over and wrap my hand around, I want it and I have it. It’s mine.

I wrench my arm from the fountain, stumbling back with leftover momentum. A dull pain starts climbing my body, reaching hand and chest. A strangled moan of pain escapes my dry lips. I want it to stop. I want this to be over. I want to go home. I’m stumbling backwards with it pressing against my chest. They emerge from the bushes around me, one taking me by surprise and getting me in a headlock. I’m choking, coughing, trying to breathe. They’re approaching my hand, my vision blurs. Trying to take it from me. I can see the sky. I close my hand tighter around it and try to scream from the direct intensity of the pain.

I am released and I fall to the ground. Through my clenched fist I can see the blood welling up till it comes out between my fingers. I slowly unfurl my fingers, pulling the stone out of my skin and almost throwing up at the raw wounds left. I take it off my palm and it bleeds until everything fades into nothing as I pass out.

The pain returns as I open my eyes. The rain pours around me in a restoring way. I see them, still around me, shadows of people on the edge of the woods. Still waiting, I look at my hand and the blood soaked bandages that cover it.

Holding the stone in my bandaged hand I run hissing in pain as the bandage presses on raw skin. My footfalls pound the ground and echo in my head as the gravel cuts my feet. “You don’t have to go through this you know,” I tell myself again. “Give it up or you might run out of room to run.” I stop and turn around, watching them approach. “What are you going to do with it?” I ask myself as they get closer. I list off all the things in my head.

They stop, holding out their hands for the opal. My opal. “Now!” they hiss.

“No!” I scream aloud and with determination building in my heart I continue on, scrambling blindly through the trees. I see something ahead, something metal. All of a sudden I hit it, the boundary fence to the park, my arm goes through the bars as I try to support myself. Pain leaves my hand and I hear something smash. Pulling my weary body away from the fence the opal comes into focus, broken into a thousand pieces of dull black glass.

I cry, falling to the ground and into the mud, sitting like a discarded rag doll with my back to the fence. I cry until my eyes won’t cry any more, for relief, for happiness, for disappointment. Sitting there I see their feet approach me and stop. Silence, but for one whispered sound.

“Please don’t let me die.”

I am brought out of my doze by something cold bumping into my back. Looking up I see a gate, the gate. Finally I can leave this place. As I’m closing the gate behind me a thought finds its way through the mist in my head.

Smiling, I sprinkle the shards of stone into the fountain. “I’m sorry I broke your opal, it was a very pretty gem.” I’m not sure why I am talking to a fountain. Just as I go to put the last piece in, it catches my eye. Smooth and oval it sits on my palm. “Goodbye.”

Locking the gate behind me I sigh, streaking my bedraggled hair with red as I run a bandaged hand through it. My body aches as I walk the backstreets home to my cousin’s flat. Everything seems somehow lighter, like a new sun had come. The opal in my hand glints in the sun’s rays as I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. Them. I take off at a run, tearing through the streets laughing to myself.

Falling onto my waterbed, my breathing calms as the water ripples soothingly under me. I fall into a much needed dreamless sleep. The opal rests in my bandaged hand, burning with a hidden fire and somewhere in the park, an invisible hand writes:

“Here lies what is and what lies within,
The spell of the moon the stars the sun,
There they all shine, never be dimmed
For as fate led hand it was undone.”

THE END