SLEEPWALKER // storage & testing

S L E E P W A L K E R

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Code:

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call the doc, i must be sick — BETTER GET ME MY MEDICINE

now it's five o'clock, on the phone again

THINK I'M GONNA NEED ANOTHER PRESCRIPTION...

A fire crackles in the dead of night, contained by a staunch ring of stones. The moon sleeps beneath thick blankets of clouds as she moves through the dark, fallen branches and shed leaves creaking beneath her footsteps. The light draws her in like a moth, a respite from the consuming darkness surrounding her. The fire hisses as she nears, snaps as she comes to a stop, pops as she squats next to the fire. The warmth against her skin is a comfort she seldom felt anymore. It permeates her skin, reaching into her core, coaxing her softly into a comfort she never knew she yearned for. Her hand slowly reaches forward, instinctive, a vain attempt to return the heat pulsing through her body with her heartbeat. Flames lick out at her hand as she retracts it, fingers wilting as her gaze floats from the mesmerizing dance of colours down to the ring of stones surrounding the fire. "Who did this?" She asks softly, voice nearly carried away by the wind. She circles the fire, enraptured by the destructive borealis. Admiring its beauty, its warmth, its comfort.

"Who trapped you?"

"I did," the fire replies, spitting ash toward the black sky. "I don't want to hurt you."

Lips pressed into a thin line before curling down into a frown, reaching her hesitant hand forward to grab at one of the circling rocks. The stone seared the pads of her fingers, quickly withdrawing her injured hand, hissing at the pain as the fire hissed back, continuing to devour its fuel. She nurses her hand at her chest, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth. The warmth in her body was replaced with a radiating pain blooming from her hand.

"Because I love you."

She leans back into a sit, observing the beginnings of blisters swelling on her fingers. The pain was numbing, yet the warmth was not returning. She shivered in the night air, using her uninjured hand to leverage herself closer to the fire. Its heat was superficial, warming her skin without reaching deeper as it had before.

She sighs, leaning back into the dirt. The soft throbbing from her fingers reaches through thin tendrils to her heart, gingerly encapsulating it like ivy on a cottage.

Fire's nature was to burn, to destroy, to reduce all that touched it to cinders.
Her superficial wounds would heal. For if the fire would try, than so shall she.

"I love you too."