Any doctor reading this willing to make me their responsibility, please do get in touch
I wonder what it would feel like to swallow a fire extinguisher.
Lube it up with my tears, and down it goes.
Like a motherfucking rollercoaster.
Good thing I haven’t cried for days. Saving up, you know. It’d probably take more than what the usual three depressing songs on replay bring about. A proper breakdown.
How flexible is the human throat? To be real with you, most likely not that flexible. Maybe not the whole apparatus then. Just the chemical stuff. Should still have some sort of effect, I’d hope. Cauterising or something?
Everyone around me is talking about how Phileas Fogg travelled across the globe in eighty days. Or attempted to. Not sure how successful he was. Haven’t read the book. Should have, probably.
Yes, setting off a fire extinguisher right down my throat sounds pretty damn attractive at the moment. I think there’s one down the hallway—would have to stand up for that though. Perhaps not the best idea with those flames inside of me sprouting like the buckwheat in some leftist’s kitchen. Except the flames don’t grow by soaking and rinsing, they grow by sucking everything worth living for right out of me. See, here’s the thing: a reasonable human being’s reaction to burning up would probably be to, either, check with a thermostat, or check with the nearest lake. But I’m not reasonable. I’m smarter than that. And the most not damaging way to deal with having a fire stir up inside of you is to sit it out.
Or go see a specialist. Whoever’s responsible for handling that kind of stuff. Ha, and tell them what?
No—when it comes to choosing between flickering flames and less flickering flames, I’m obviously choosing less. I could try and mess around with them and move a little and have them sway from side to side, or grab them by the collar and shake them like they said a really stupid thing, or run as fast as I can, run like crazy—you’d think my life depended on it – until they won’t be able to stand the resistance anymore. But, as fun as that sounds, you shouldn’t play with fire. Everyone knows that. Everyone can’t be wrong.
So, I’m gonna try and sit as still as possible. Have the blaze hollow me out until I’m nothing but an empty shell clad in an oversized hoodie and some pseudo attentive nods. Not too hard to fake fullness, after all. Yeah, no... Provocation is not really the way to go.
I can’t sit still. My left leg is trembling and my heart is beating and they’re completely out of synch and I can’t do anything about it. Hey, that tickles! Las flamas are being kinda playful today. I let one snicker escape my mouth before I realise that keeping shut is what’s preventing them from bursting out. Fuck, that was close.
They should really take a step back. It’s not like we’re friends. Fine, it’s not like we’re enemies, either. It’s more like I’m the host and they’re the guest but also they’re the captor and I’m the hostage but also they’re part of me and I’m for them to part.
No, I can’t sit still. Some fidgeting won’t make them too nervous, right? I must be radiating the heat by now. Wait—I grab the edge of the table to see if it’ll melt.
That would have been too cool. My palms feel wet though. Maybe I’m the one melting. I look down to see if there’s a puddle forming on the floor.
My vision is kinda blurry. Is that smoke? I rub my eyes. It doesn’t get better. Where’s this
beeping coming from? Is that the smoke detector? I look around. Either everyone’s playing it off pretty damn well or I’m going crazy. Probably the former. Or the latter. I’ve always mixed those two up.
My insides will have to look like a Winter Wonderland when we’re done with this, except there’ll be ash instead of snow and black instead of white and the wonder part will also be kind of missing. Oh, well. The coroner’s still gonna enjoy visiting. Whatever remains.
It’s interesting how shit can go down for real without anyone noticing. How I’m very much about to explode and yet the only way to tell is from the sparkle in my eyes.
I quit blinking.
I can feel the flames scratching right below the surface. I pull up my sleeves and expect to see bumps forming under my skin, wiggling snakes, going back and forth and back again in an attempt to break free. I’m not making this up. I can sense it, their growing despair. The itch, the prickling, the rising pressure. We’re not friends. But we’re not enemies, either. I grab the scissors from my pencil case. No, it’s not like we hate each other. There’s still time to make up. They just need to breathe. They need to breathe and I’m their last hope and I cannot in good conscience let them suffocate.
My left leg stopped trembling. How much more till my heart stops beating? I’ll never know if eighty days were enough.
I will be in synch though.
I can feel the blade kissing my skin. I can also feel the flames grasping for it, sprawling and stretching like there’s no way in hell they’re gonna wait any longer.
Oh boy, this is going to be messy.
I take a deep breath.
I should not have opened my mouth.
Biography: After a year abroad at the University of Reading, Ness is now back in Tübingen, Germany, to finish their Bachelor of Education in English, Spanish, and French. As for their writing, Ness messes around with short bodies of words inspired by their coming of age with themes ranging from mental illness to being queer and other hot stuff.