Forged

Campfire_Pinecone

I had a fever. Drenched in sweat, I turned this way and that, trying to get cool as the embers of the fire in front of me emitted their last glows of orange as they lost their spark. I knew I was going to die. All those famous names in history who had been burnt at the stake or on fiery crucifixes. Pamphlets, old furniture, animals and books they deemed to be unacceptable were thrown onto the pyres. They deemed me to be unacceptable.

I was gasping for breath. It had all gotten too much. I’d been pushed down, smothered. I couldn’t breathe. The thick, black fog surrounded me. I was choking.

Ashes to ashes, my cremation will take place here, out in the woods.

 

This is the beginning of a piece I am performing tomorrow.

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About catherinehume

Catherine Hume: Writer, social care worker and a liver of a life less ordinary.
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