Flash Fiction: The Fire

Well there’s no other way to describe it. If they were any hotter (hate, sex, love, whatever you wanna call it cause they’re all the same thing in this house) they’d be on fire, burning to a crisp, to the absolute core, there wouldn’t be anything left except the ache and the misunderstanding. Every day they come back to this same point, the crossroads, where they sold their souls to the Devil for love, forgetting that it was Hell they were dealing with. Every day they find themselves in the same old struggle, the same old stupid hurricane of limbs tangled up in punches and then passion that is more satisfying than you could ever imagine but still, inexplicably leaves something to be desired. What are they missing? They will never know – they’re perfect for each other in that they’re natural disasters, tornadoes that can’t help but collide. Find themselves on the same path even when they try so hard to leave it. It’s a mutual abuse, there is no one getting ahead here. Both of them bruised, both of them tired, ragged, fragile to the point of being unbreakable. Don’t touch them, don’t ever touch – even if you wanted to intervene, to put the fire out, you’d still get burned. They’ll destroy the whole forest before they die down and even then, a spark always remains.

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