How did I get here?
The smell of ash
tickling my nasal cavity.
Woodland creeping around my feet.
My last memory,
entering that pub in retreat.
It was a stormy night,
winds were whipping
knives of rain into my face,
in cold hateful spite.
Then the memories blur.
I can taste the atmosphere there,
the scent of cigarettes and stale beer.
But the images don't seem complete.
They have a haze,
the feint swirl of heat waves
you see on sunny days.
She sat smiling at me,
a fiery wicked grin.
Waved me over for a drink or three.
Me on beer, her on gin.
Something devilish in the way
she held her drink,
as for me the room started to sway.
I was intoxicated,
Not afraid.
Yet...
My inhibitions
left like a strand
threads all frayed.
So, we talked. I slurred,
words I'd never heard myself say.
I was under a spell.
her unknowing prey.
She told how the hours coasted,
she mentioned ghosts.
Whiskey chaser, she toasted,
the liquor burned my throat.
Unease blazed.
Something in the way
she whispered my name.
Like she was playing with a candle flame.
Feverish thoughts sizzled through my head.
This was a nail in my coffin
I just hadn't sensed it yet,
her claws were in deep
and the blood ran hot and wet.
Her name, she said,
Enya.
Meant fire.
Ignited fear,
I was getting hot,
I needed to retire,
get out of here.
This all felt off,
I was like a horse at a trough,
the drink wasn't quenching my thirst,
like a water main had burst
and I was getting dust instead.
On top of my hand, she placed her own.
Hot to touch,
like a poker heated by hells own firestones.
Then the images melted away.
Along with her face.
Skeletal remains.
I legged it from the place.
I awoke in dread.
Alone.
In a flowerbed,
with what can only be described
as a thunderous head.
I looked around.
No sound to help me get my bearings,
no light to illuminate my way
home.
Just silence,
the essence of dead things.
Alone.
I staggered to my feet,
wearily wobbling with each step.
A burnt old newspaper
swept on the breeze.
Dated 20 years previously.
That grin in newsprint,
those eyes burning into me.
Headline stated, all dead.
Fire burned the place to the ground.
No sound.
Fire burned the place to the ground.
All dead.
What was her name
Enya.
It meant fire
She said.
Her skeletal remains burned into my head.
Thanks for reading
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