Flammable- A Short Story (c) Veda P.


An inferno licking at empty caverns inside us, filling spaces we didn’t know existed. 

Healing what was meant to be whole, cracked by the potter’s hands. Filling in crevices, cracks, hydrating our parched souls, weary of dimness. Empty, fragmented fingers struggling for fabric to hold in the darkness, weary, hoarse voices calling out names that disappear, swirling in the dust of Eternity. 

Never meant to exist. 

Life is a chipped kettle, steeping until the shallow flame underneath it goes out. The tea tastes bitter, full of solemn truth we knew, but were too scared to admit. 

Delicate strands of soul held over Life’s hungry flame, eating away what we are until we aren’t. 

Swallowed by the blaze of truth, scorching inside us until we are 

nothing!

Nothing but lies. Nothing that, in the blazing light of truth, ever existed. 

Flammable. 

We are oh, so flammable.

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