Training Wheels 

      Ash. Falling over the broken window shards that reflect the bright orange glow of tall oak beams burning. The marble that upheld bodies and blood. Curving down the stairs and floating into the living room, wafts of gray smoke. Your life had burned down, just like the mansion before you. You and the flame seemed inseparable. A world where you are no one and everyone. You were something people feared, something people sought to put out. That’s why you found yourself drawn to that orange hue, the heat behind it. You gazed at the way the fire raced across the carpet, the particles of dust falling down, the black smoke filling the air around you. You couldn’t breathe. Did you need to? 

     You began to laugh, a soft chuckle. Every breath, more smoke, every exhale, humanity. You reached your hands out to the insufferable heat as red and blue lights began to shine over the flame, through the windows, and arching over the furniture. Every memory seemed to burn here. The memories of him. And just like that, a vision. 

     Deep night skies. Driving home late at night with dim streetlights. You had your hand out the window, hair ruffled by the wind as music blasted over the radio. He drove, a small smile on his face. His hands tapped the steering wheel to the beat. 

     Your eyes widened a little, starting to cough at the smoke. You covered your mouth and called out for help. You were too far gone. As the world tilted, the floor now connected to your head, you breathed softly. Gasping for air, just as when his lips had met yours. 

The locket on your neck burned. You held it up, moving to your back. The small picture of you together reflected the red flame. You gently pressed it to your lips as the blue and red light scattered over the debris. How tragic. How nostalgic.