A Dream of Warmth

The night is a twisted labyrinth of hell-fire stars. The boy— who is he?— dances furiously, fire leaping up after every one of his graceful steps, twists, leaps, and twirls. His auburn hair whips around his face like a flame in the flickering fire light, as he lithely creates with a deft spin of his body. Whatever he is, he is intent. 1

I come closer, following in his footsteps clumsily and without precision. He gives no indication that he knows I am there. He just dances, the embodiment of the very fire he shapes. The heat gives searing kisses to my skin as I trail him like a lamb would a shepherd. I realize not only fire springs from the ground as he passes, but roses the color of gold yellow, raging red, gentle orange. I feel a smile curve my lips as I rush to catch up to him, unafraid.2

But suddenly he whirls and stops, facing me. His amber eyes are livid, the anger making me step back. My heart is pounding. My blood boiling at the anger vivid in his face and the taut way he stands. 3

I cannot comprehend the sadness in his voice when he asks, “Why have you trampled the fire?”4

I am startled as I turn around to see.... nothing. Where fire is supposed to burn in a brilliant pattern, remains only a chilling frozen path of footsteps. Where roses of warm colors is supposed to grow are dead, shriveled stems. I tremble, inexplicably, marrow-deep cold. Snow, from seemingly nowhere, falls and swirls around me. 5

I glance back at the boy whose eyes haven’t lost the fury nor the grief.6

“Are they alive?” He asks quietly, flames rippling around him.7

The cold shudders behind me. 8

I step closer, wanting the warmth. 9

The boy steps closer, frustration clear in his movement, but hope imbued in his voice, “Are they alive?”10

The fire coalesces with the invisible cold, and I can hear the ground beneath us crying. It groans, as if in agony. Are who alive? I want to ask, but my mouth will not open. What can he mean? Why does he give me that tortured expression?11

I reach out to him, to grasp his hand. For being close he seems far. But he reaches out, too, and the seconds do not drag for centuries— merely decades. When we touch the earth falters, the sky rips, the snow becomes rain, and the flowers grow. The heat of his grip is... unbearable. But I can see the lands he calls home, but are alien to me. A sea of gleaming sand crashing against a fierce ocean. A kingdom sitting on a cliff, open to the sun and the clear, deep blue, endless sky. All different from the snowy mountains of my home, where the only sky seen is gray and lifeless with clouds. The only plants that grow are whitish, scraggly bushes. I see the roses scaling the walls of his kingdom and vines deep green against the sandstone. Unbearable... the fire of his visions. 12

“Please. Are they alive?” His words have a fiery undercurrent.13

Are they alive? I want to answer the sudden agony in his voice, but how can I? My mouth opens to reply, the words finally coming...14

He bursts into flame.15

Like ice, I shatter.