After your skin sloughs off, does the itching stop, or do your bones scream out yearning to be scratched as the flames lick them clean of sinew and flesh?
Immersed in a roiling sea of fire, at what point do you stop clinging to survival and simply wish the fire would more quickly burn, would fry your nerves and leave you at peace, contented to smolder into a charred heap, crackled and craggy like red mud after a summer shower that’s been blast dried under a desert sun, your limbs skewed at odd angles as bones twist and bend, warped under the hydraulic pressure of escaping vapor.
Does your hope extinguish before your eyes melt? Do you get to see the vitreous gel of your optic orb boil and pop, casting rainbow halos as the firelight passes through the bubbling humor of your eyes? Do you laugh at the irony of childhood admonitions not to stare at the sun?
Can you see anything through the conflagration engulfing you? Perhaps a gust whips the flames up dancing, and you catch a glimpse through the blaze of your own smoke rising up to join the clouds and you are put at ease.
Separated from your body now, can you smell yourself cooking, reducing down to quintessence?
Once your senses are burnt out, does your passion for life rekindle? Unattached, free, does the strange beauty of these final moments light up your fervent desire to be? Ardent as a star, your spark rises up with the wisps of smoke into the southern sky.
For #MayBookPrompts day 13 prompt “When You Are Engulfed in Flames”
Photo credit: http://annemckinnell.com/