The Day Things Began To Burn
Today was the day that things began to burn. It's been six years since the last time we all sat on our rooftops, with the sky red above, the mountains spewing sparks, the endless grey smoke settling down into the valley like fog with panic rising in our hearts. Six years. Six years later and the fire returns to consume the pieces of land it left behind, untouched. Welcome to the Okanagan. This is where we live.
The wind picked up today, which after a three week heat-wave, would have been nicely received, if it had not awoken the devilish flames. But it did and now people's homes are burning. This place is a hot spot. Canada's California, if you will. We poor live in the bottom of the valley, close to the city, close to downtown and close to the lake. The rich have 1.2 million dollar homes up on the hills. Not all of them are rich and insured though. Sadly, there are too many good people living in the smaller homes and communities that are burning now.
I wish I could say that with a little rain, the destruction would cease but I do not see rain coming soon enough. When the rain does come, it will most likely bring thunder and lightning, which will only start more fires. I feel like I started this. I had nothing to do with it, in reality, but I did something that I knew was wrong.
You may not have guessed I know the difference between right and wrong. But I can sense it, I know when I have and usually know when I am committing a sin. I knew it was wrong but I thought the worse that could come of it was that it were to fall in the wrong hands. Which, of course, it did.
I wrote a short story, it was a fantasy. It was actually based off of a memory I had of a dream. Before, when I could dream. When they allowed me to dream.
In the dream I went for a swim with a woman, who seemed to be made of light. Perhaps she was a star that fell from the heavens. She came through the window, in the room I sleep, and lied in bed with me, where she took form. She was beautiful, real and in my bed. Now, in reality, at this point in my life, when I had this dream, I had not made love to a women in seven years. She pushed herself tight against me, her skin was warm and moist. She was beginning to sweat. It comforted me to know that she was sweating too, because I had been all along. It was hot. After caressing her lips across mine, teasing a kiss, she whispered something into my ear, I don't remember exactly what it was. Something like, "I need to get wet." or maybe it was "I want to get wet," I can't be sure.
We ran down to the end of the street, where my favorite beach is located. We went for a swim, already naked, I remember wondering when I had taken off my clothes in the first place. We swam out to the middle of the lake, where the moon reflected off of the water, which was still shallow. No matter how far we swam, no matter where we stopped I could still stand.
This is around the time I noticed that she did not have any legs. She had transformed into a mermaid and began to kiss me. Short, quick wet kisses as she swam in circles around me.
Last night, or to be more accurate, early this morning I wrote the dream down as a short story. I wrote it in first person and instead of giving the woman a name or having to constantly refer to her as, "the woman," I instead replaced it with the word, "You."
I sent the short story to a friend, asking her to tell me what she thinks of it. As soon as I began re-typing out the story, I knew it was dangerous. After the story I even wrote, stating to her that although it was just a story, it seemed wrong to type it out to her, as she has a husband and two kids.
Yes, you've guess it, her husband read my story and it did not go over very well. Assuming I wrote the story especially for her. This is when the storm began and the flames began to rise outside my room's window. The window, which in my dream, was not barred.
I can not continue to keep writing. They have called a "code yellow." I do not want to be put in the cage for a night, which is what will happen if they find me. I must go to the unfinished top floor and make a bed for myself there. Tonight I sleep under a burning sky.
So suddenly you are here, and we are hot. The heat wave has gotten to the both of us. Logic and the idea of consequences have left us, in our sweat. We run down to the beach at the end of the street, stripping off our clothes and diving into the lake. It is cold. Perfect. The moon reflects off the water and we swim out into the middle of the lake. You are shocked to find that out, as far as we are, when you stand the water, is only as high as your belly button. We play a game of tag, grabbing at each other, swimming around in the shallow cool water in the middle of the night. There is no fear, no doubt. We might as well be children with how innocently and curiously as we play games in the water.
When our mouths meet, it feels as if it is the most natural thing for us to do. The second your tongue touches mine, the sky glows red and we find that we are not alone. The lake is full of people, like us, swimming around and making love under the moonlight. This is when we realize we are not in our actual bodies. It has to be a dream. We are spirits floating in the sky amongst the stars. Our mind, no longer clouded, focus now on the reality of the situation. We are not really here, this is not really happening. A wave of both disappointment and relief wash over the two of us. Just before you disappear, you whisper into my ear, "In another time, in another place."
The wind picked up today, which after a three week heat-wave, would have been nicely received, if it had not awoken the devilish flames. But it did and now people's homes are burning. This place is a hot spot. Canada's California, if you will. We poor live in the bottom of the valley, close to the city, close to downtown and close to the lake. The rich have 1.2 million dollar homes up on the hills. Not all of them are rich and insured though. Sadly, there are too many good people living in the smaller homes and communities that are burning now.
I wish I could say that with a little rain, the destruction would cease but I do not see rain coming soon enough. When the rain does come, it will most likely bring thunder and lightning, which will only start more fires. I feel like I started this. I had nothing to do with it, in reality, but I did something that I knew was wrong.
You may not have guessed I know the difference between right and wrong. But I can sense it, I know when I have and usually know when I am committing a sin. I knew it was wrong but I thought the worse that could come of it was that it were to fall in the wrong hands. Which, of course, it did.
I wrote a short story, it was a fantasy. It was actually based off of a memory I had of a dream. Before, when I could dream. When they allowed me to dream.
In the dream I went for a swim with a woman, who seemed to be made of light. Perhaps she was a star that fell from the heavens. She came through the window, in the room I sleep, and lied in bed with me, where she took form. She was beautiful, real and in my bed. Now, in reality, at this point in my life, when I had this dream, I had not made love to a women in seven years. She pushed herself tight against me, her skin was warm and moist. She was beginning to sweat. It comforted me to know that she was sweating too, because I had been all along. It was hot. After caressing her lips across mine, teasing a kiss, she whispered something into my ear, I don't remember exactly what it was. Something like, "I need to get wet." or maybe it was "I want to get wet," I can't be sure.
We ran down to the end of the street, where my favorite beach is located. We went for a swim, already naked, I remember wondering when I had taken off my clothes in the first place. We swam out to the middle of the lake, where the moon reflected off of the water, which was still shallow. No matter how far we swam, no matter where we stopped I could still stand.
This is around the time I noticed that she did not have any legs. She had transformed into a mermaid and began to kiss me. Short, quick wet kisses as she swam in circles around me.
Last night, or to be more accurate, early this morning I wrote the dream down as a short story. I wrote it in first person and instead of giving the woman a name or having to constantly refer to her as, "the woman," I instead replaced it with the word, "You."
I sent the short story to a friend, asking her to tell me what she thinks of it. As soon as I began re-typing out the story, I knew it was dangerous. After the story I even wrote, stating to her that although it was just a story, it seemed wrong to type it out to her, as she has a husband and two kids.
Yes, you've guess it, her husband read my story and it did not go over very well. Assuming I wrote the story especially for her. This is when the storm began and the flames began to rise outside my room's window. The window, which in my dream, was not barred.
I can not continue to keep writing. They have called a "code yellow." I do not want to be put in the cage for a night, which is what will happen if they find me. I must go to the unfinished top floor and make a bed for myself there. Tonight I sleep under a burning sky.
So suddenly you are here, and we are hot. The heat wave has gotten to the both of us. Logic and the idea of consequences have left us, in our sweat. We run down to the beach at the end of the street, stripping off our clothes and diving into the lake. It is cold. Perfect. The moon reflects off the water and we swim out into the middle of the lake. You are shocked to find that out, as far as we are, when you stand the water, is only as high as your belly button. We play a game of tag, grabbing at each other, swimming around in the shallow cool water in the middle of the night. There is no fear, no doubt. We might as well be children with how innocently and curiously as we play games in the water.
When our mouths meet, it feels as if it is the most natural thing for us to do. The second your tongue touches mine, the sky glows red and we find that we are not alone. The lake is full of people, like us, swimming around and making love under the moonlight. This is when we realize we are not in our actual bodies. It has to be a dream. We are spirits floating in the sky amongst the stars. Our mind, no longer clouded, focus now on the reality of the situation. We are not really here, this is not really happening. A wave of both disappointment and relief wash over the two of us. Just before you disappear, you whisper into my ear, "In another time, in another place."
Posted by The Missing Patient at 7/18/2009 10:36 PM 
Categories: Short Stories
Tags: missing patient short story british columbia fire okanagan
Categories: Short Stories
Tags: missing patient short story british columbia fire okanagan
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