Indigo fire
I was at the airport waiting for my lover to come through the gate when I burst into flames. Pale indigo fire enveloped me, but I was not consumed. This was my soul pouring out of me, my corporeal form no longer able to contain it.
The black woman with whom I had been chatting screamed and stumbled backing away from me. Before I could act tongues of flame leapt from my outstretched arms onto her, burning her horribly. As she fell the fire spread to others standing near her, starting a hideous chain reaction. Soon the concourse was filled with shrieking people fleeing from me, blue-white sparks filling the air. I was running clumsily toward the street exits when I saw the security guards raising their rifles.
The world disintegrated around me as I stopped in front of the thick glass doors. There was no longer any reason to run; there was nothing I could do. I turned as the machine guns fired, and watched as bullets ripped through my chest, geysers of fiery energy spouting forth from each wound, then flickering out.
[August, 2002]
