Anika had set the fire. She’d set all of them since she was a child. They licked at the night and that’s what she loved, to see the way they danced and yelped for the stars, for freedom and release. How their orange and yellow fury flitted and exhaled smoke into the unsuspecting sky, like a virus unleashed into a healthy system and tearing defenses to shreds, as the flame did the moon as it rippled under the heat of her weakness. And yes, that was what this rage was – a weakness! She’d known it like it was the need for a man’s weight bearing down on her or the chocolate in the check out lane, an impulse; a draining draw on her better judgement that swept through her like a storm-pushed wave on a tranquil beach, striking and pulling unexpectedly and undeniable in strength. She had to do it. She had to let it spread and feel the fear of it leaping up, over, all around her. And the moon shivered under her power. Anika laughed and burned Darren’s home to the ground under the gray gleam of that bastard moon, that figment of control nature tried to exact over her wild spirit. Darren was at Lisa’s that night, and the moon told Anika not to go, not to shred the dark with her radiant need, but she never listened to such bossiness. Because the wave crash was happening, and she surrendered to the tide of Hades, her sweet inferno a release like none he could have offered her. Later she would cry as she always did, her long brown hair matted with smoke and tears as it hung over her face, threatening to choke her. But for now she smiled and watched sparks challenge the firmament, rewriting destinies in the constellations above; promising herself love after the cinders died out.
One of the greatest things about writing here on IG is meeting extraordinary individuals that you respect and admire who respect and admire you. In this case, I got to again collaborate with one of those individuals. Thank you @_n_again for the image and inspiration. (at Under the Spell)