Clarity Of Night Contest

The Clarity Of Night Blogspot runs a contest every now and then where you take a picture he gives and write a 250 word story (without going over!) and there are awards and prizes and an opportunity to see what a bunch of different minds came up with all from the same picture.

GO check it out.

Here is my submission this time around--



--The Fire--

When Evan stood before fire he felt the shame of three generations.

There glowed his father’s shame- the grey hotness- like embers of a burnt-down house. There danced his own shame- the gas-soaked burning of couches and curtains. And there… there wafted the future shame that would cling to his young son, permeating all nearby good things like the befouling odor of burning-garbage smoke.

When Evan looked at fire he saw too much red- anger from within was a fire that desperately wanted out.

When Evan looked at fire he re-saw raw burning flesh that fried like common bacon with its fat feeding the larger flame ala candle wax, tossing out pennants of pure yellows and oranges.

When Evan got near fire he’d raise a shielding hand, warding off the implications fire imposed, protecting himself from its raw and puerile honesty.

Fire could destroy pain if it were hot enough.

Fire could act as an elemental cleanser.

Fire was no panacea but purely a violent remedy.

Fire was the final judgment.

Transmutation occurred by immersion in a great fire.

An adolescent angry hand lit the fire and a repentant hand desired to reach into the flames and pull out the father who once beat Evan so badly his bruises melded with old bruises until all history of each hand-strike became unreadable on the torso and face.

“You weren’t supposed to be home,” Evan chanted.

If only he could reach back into the flames…

Could he pull his father out?