SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Friday, Dec. 20, 2002 @ 11:42 pm
Office Party



She's fire. FIRE. She's fire.

You could be Fire, you should be Fire. Remember the goal: to burn, to flicker, to flame.

You are what you are, and you've got the fire in your head. It's time to let the fire show, let it burn you out. Ashes. We all fall down, down, stumble he falls, head over heels, into your fire.

How it was, you two walking arm-in-arm past the theatres and clubs. Lights bright in the night, Broadway, class, you and him. You pull him close, revel in his heat: he's got the fire. He ignores the others, you smile, laugh. He stares you down, touches you quickly and secretly, the crowd around you never knowing what you two are. Friends? Lovers? Whatever it is, it kindles softly and intensely around you.

Later you talk with the others, looking over at him, talking about him and how the other she looks at him with desire. She stole a kiss from him and it is etched into the film of your camera. A laughing mockery of your every desire. You say, "He's do it with her, he'd take any chance he got." And they nod their heads in agreement. Do they know of the wick strung between you and him? They don't think of you as fire. Not at all.

You think about earlier, how your name was drawn from the hat, and you had to go up to claim your prize. How someone whispered your job and department to the CEO and he told an anecdote to the crowded room. He threw a spray of water over your and it spattered off you glowing hot cheeks. The laughed, they all laughed, and you heard your name being shouted out in eruptions of lava and cheers.

Then it's late. You run across the fields barefoot, your shoes too weak for your pent up frustration. You sink deep into the soaked fields, your breath a frozen cloud before you. The icey mud numbs you up to the knees. You nearly accept the cold that tries so hard to pull you in. And then you realize that the grass is so cold that it burns...

Burning cold from the outside in, burning emotions from the inside out. It meets at an interface just below your skin. It manifests into shivers and goosebumps.

You're fire. YOU ARE FIRE.


Roots | Shoots