05-21-2019, 12:34 AM
She had not always been made of fire.
She had been plain when she was born, but beautiful in her own right. Amongst the vibrant rainbow of colors that were so common, she was nothing – but amid a sea of the whites and grays that were her siblings, she was brilliant. There was a luster to her bay coat, framed by a forelock and mane that was black, and always tangled. There was a sweetness to her rich, brown eyes, that betrayed the spark locked away inside. She was not nearly so docile as her mother, but the fierceness that she harbored had always been kept carefully under control. It wasn’t anger; just a simmering strength that she had yet to call upon
But then she began to change.
There was no reason for it. She isn’t sure when she first began to feel as though there was an ember being stoked inside of her, that just a single breath could blow into an inferno. She cannot remember who it was that first tried to touch her, but she remembers how they had violently recoiled – their skin burnt pink and raw, the shock and alarm so plainly written on their face. She has forgotten who they were, but she has not forgotten the look in their eyes. They blamed her. They thought she did it on purpose. They thought she burnt them on purpose.
She stayed away from everyone after that. Sometimes, like now, she would creep from the mountains, carefully camouflaged by the browns of the trunks of the trees and the dappled light of the forest. She watched them, with something like longing flickering in her dark brown eyes, but she never said anything. She simply watched, flaming and boiling beneath the surface, but with a face frozen so stoic and frigid she knew that even if someone saw her, she wouldn’t have to worry about them approaching.
She had been plain when she was born, but beautiful in her own right. Amongst the vibrant rainbow of colors that were so common, she was nothing – but amid a sea of the whites and grays that were her siblings, she was brilliant. There was a luster to her bay coat, framed by a forelock and mane that was black, and always tangled. There was a sweetness to her rich, brown eyes, that betrayed the spark locked away inside. She was not nearly so docile as her mother, but the fierceness that she harbored had always been kept carefully under control. It wasn’t anger; just a simmering strength that she had yet to call upon
But then she began to change.
There was no reason for it. She isn’t sure when she first began to feel as though there was an ember being stoked inside of her, that just a single breath could blow into an inferno. She cannot remember who it was that first tried to touch her, but she remembers how they had violently recoiled – their skin burnt pink and raw, the shock and alarm so plainly written on their face. She has forgotten who they were, but she has not forgotten the look in their eyes. They blamed her. They thought she did it on purpose. They thought she burnt them on purpose.
She stayed away from everyone after that. Sometimes, like now, she would creep from the mountains, carefully camouflaged by the browns of the trunks of the trees and the dappled light of the forest. She watched them, with something like longing flickering in her dark brown eyes, but she never said anything. She simply watched, flaming and boiling beneath the surface, but with a face frozen so stoic and frigid she knew that even if someone saw her, she wouldn’t have to worry about them approaching.
B R I N L Y
burn until our lives become the embers
burn until our lives become the embers