Ovid For Covid Number 5
First one, then another, until a small pile has been made in the middle of the garden. He thinks of his mother as a fallen leaf. And all the others in the home, they are fallen leaves too.
The dry husks ignite quickly and the smoke lifts with ease, up and over the trees. The fire is soon finished and all that is left is a dark, smouldering circle on the ground.
The conflagration has brought his hurt some comfort but he can’t think how or why. With painful inquisitiveness, he collects a bundle of twigs and lights them too. As the flames crackle and sputter, he is startled by the imagined presence of a spirit, freeing itself from the confines of earthly bondage, the imprisonment by matter.
But what spirit?
His sparked curiosity leads him to the shed. He drags the potting bench out, douses it with petroleum and sets it alight. Again, as the many fiery tongues angrily attack the chilled air, he feels the now unimagined spirit rising higher, not beside him, but from within.
By torching the shed he enables the spirit to grow stronger still. Ablaze on the inside, he stares deeply into the furnace. Entranced by the flaring, transfigured combustion, he hears his own raging divinity sing, ‘Eat fire! ‘Eat fire!’
Once more, he reaches for the paraffin. Taking a mouthful, he gargles and rolls it on his tongue, enjoying its refreshing presence in his parched mouth.
He decrees, ‘All things must burn!’
He turns towards the house and advances up the path. Through the window, his sister sees him approaching and senses some latent intent in his stride; is shocked when great, pluming flames spurt from his mouth.
She freezes in terror, having never before encountered, in person, the god of fire.
John Caulton is the editor of Flash Fiction North
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