Crackle. That’s all I could hear. Crackle. Crackle.

A million cracklings laid atop one another, percolating. Roiling. It was the sort of popping sounds that you really couldn’t imagine being anything but what it was. Even if you never knew fire, you knew the sound. The fire wasn’t really the danger, all things considered. The inky black smoke – yes, that’s where the danger truly lied. It twisted into my lungs before I could stop it, tickling in the worst kind of way. Smothering me. Trying not to cough only made it harder, so I coughed until I thought my chest would collapse on itself.

I looked up, tears streaming from my eyes as the smoke crept there, too. The sky was blotted out – no stars. Only smoke, billowing up in puffs. They were trying to imitate the clouds, I knew. But they could never be clouds.

The fire, yes. That was the crackle. I could barely see it, either. It was smoldering and licked just behind everything. Just out of sight. Glow, but no fire.

I felt empty and invaded, like a glass bottle thrust into a bath of water. The air ushered out by a dominating force. For me, the smoke. I was the smoke. The fire wanted to wrap its reaching, delicate fingers around my arms. To hold me like a lover, to kiss my mouth. We were perfect for eachother – smoke and fire. I blinked away the tears and I didn’t notice when my knees gave out. I vaguely felt the ground as I hit it, but it wasn’t enough to rouse me.

It was the fire I wanted, I think. When it brushed the hair from my face, I knew it was going to be okay.

It was warm. So I closed my eyes.