Written for the game Snap Shot–Writing Prompt #8

 

The dream comes every night.

Streaks of red, burning across my vision–bubbling red and angry, bursting like boils and spewing fiery liquid onto my skin.

There is never any pain.

I can feel the heat, but it never burns me. The red just seeps inside until I blaze like a beacon. My eyes shine white and I glow like Emma Jean’s nightlight.

I move my feet, parting the boiling lava like it is water. The landscape in front of me is still green. Fresh.

It smells sweet in the moonlight like newly cut grass.

But no longer. My bare feet leave trails of black in the earth. Leaves wilt and smoke. My naked, burning hot body sears the air.

A tree brushes against my hip and caves into itself, spitting boiling resin and melting into fire. I can feel it inside me–rich, and satisfying.

I touch, and things die.

Death. Heat. Fire. Smoke.

The earth recoils from my touch like a weeping child. Rocks turn to puddles, grass into smears of ash, and trees hiccoughing as my flames course through their veins.

In this dream I conquer everything. Everything. I have only to touch–to breathe and I am heeded.

But then I wake and walk full hallways–shiver in crowded locker rooms, and hide in my room.

I didn’t think I wanted power, but every night the dream comes and maybe I do.