Flaming Flesh
From a young age, I had an interest in fire. Where I lived, before it was an established, named neighborhood, was a domain of nature. When the sun goes down, it becomes a place of darkness and the tall pine trees’ branches cut the streaks of the moonlight—the only natural source of light. We had a generator, though like clockwork at a certain time at night—9pm I think—my father would turn it off. To save gas, I believe. So, when the blanket of darkness covered the inside of the house, a candle was the only way to unveil it. Often, I would stare at the dancing flame. Stare...I would stare. I was memorized, I was a moth.
Combustible material, oxygen, and heat are the trifecta that creates fire. In a great twist of irony, fire is the best element to represent humanity. Historically, fire is proclaimed to be man’s first invention or major discovery. There are myths, such as Prometheus, from Greek mythology, giving fire to humanity. Fire’s main function is to burn. However, through burning, it generates warmth and battles the stark, grim hands of the cold. Fire and winter have battled for ages.
Though, if it burns too intensely, it can destroy forests, or as in recent catastrophes, turn neighborhoods in California into a preview of Hell and leave nothing behind but ashes. Often, I see people make decisions on what type of flame they’ll be. Warm, pleasant, life-bringer, cold-repelling, comforting, I know flames like this, I know people like this. Destructive, cruel, flaming tongue with lethal, searing lashes, I know flames like this, I know people like this.
I played with fire too much. Hence, how I know flames of maternity and protection and flames of harm and destruction. I was afraid of the dark, if there were no candles. I’d stare out the window, staring at a star—which is also a giant mass of gas, a giant mass of celestial flame—until I fell asleep. The dark played tricks on my mind. My closet that was full of clothes, suddenly had something lurking inside of it once pitch darkness came together. However, with a candle, the closet became a storage space for clothes once more. Its warmth isn’t always a literal external presence, but more of an internal warmth, an installer of courage and peace. Though, it’s also an installer of dread. Much to my own youthful foil, I had lit a sheet of hand-towel on fire. As the fire spread through the sheet, my eyes widened with fear. It fell on the tile ground, then burned out. Fire is not something to be played with. But sometimes, dangerous flames chase after you.
In junior high, I had an inferno trapped in the heart of a mortal man. Unfortunately, he was my vice principal. He was a destructive, cruel, flaming tongue with lethal, searing lashes kind of flame. His first speech to me and my fellow seventh graders was that he owned us. “I own you,” were his first words to us, the speech went like this: “I own you. You’re in my school now. When you’re in your classroom, I own you. When you’re on the field, I own you. When you’re leaving the school, I own you,” and the most disturbing part of the speech is this: “When you’re home, under your mother’s bed, I own you.” The heat of the speech intensified as kindling fed the fiery speech, it came in the form of parents’ praise and support. They applauded him; they found comfort in that dangerous flame.
The cheers for that vice principal were like watching the sanctity of the School of Education burn away. Similarly, to the burning of the Library of Alexandria. The great library was burnt down. No one knows exactly how, the one universal truth is it’s nothing but ashes now. Though, I like to imagine, an ignorant person is the cause of the flame; whether it be a candle too close to the edge, or an intentional torching. Regardless, the ignorance is carried over to the flame. Thus, the ignorant flame forever hungry for kindling uses the surrounding knowledge to fuel itself. And when the flame was fed and satisfied, it blazed the entire building until the pair: flame and building was no more. And the destruction and absence of the ignorant flame made way to the dark ages.
The vice principal had a passion, dare I say fetish, for discipline. Or should I call it abuse? He had a stick; a bamboo stick wrapped in duct tape. The name of this phallic tool was Mr. Smokey. He was always excited to use Mr. Smokey. He made threats with Mr. Smokey. He said things like, “I could beat till dusk till dawn,” and “If Mr. Smokey break, I have Mr. Smokey 2.0 in my office,” he’d say. When it came time for discipline, he’d grab the boy’s pants from the rear waistband and Mr. Smokey would become a blur. I believe Mr. Smokey was too powerful for the vice principle, as a series of strikes would lash someone on the ass, the small of their back, and upper thigh. They were struck anywhere. Did the vice principle lack precision or was the movement intentional? A mystery.
In the myth of Prometheus, the deity gave fire to humanity for a great purpose, the advancement of mankind. As mentioned before, fire is positive and negative, life and death, hope and despair, creation and destruction. Like the candle from my childhood, there are people much like the flame of that candle; installers of warmth and comfort. The best person to compare to a comforting flame is those you’re in love with. A crush, a lover, a partner. Their mere presence makes a comfort to one’s heart. The heart beats faster, the skin flares with warmth, and a smile always threatens to creep onto your face—if it isn’t there already.
Everyday, a decision is made by every individual to determine what kind of flame they are going to be. Everyday, I make a conscious decision to be a comforting flame. Though, I don’t always succeed. I am human. I know rage, envy, contempt, and even grudges. Sometimes the swelling of the inferno rises in my soul, in my very being. But great flames burn out quickly. Steady flames last longer—like a candle. I want to bring comfort to the people I meant, to be a warm presence that lifts their spirits like a fireplace on a cold day. Everyone is a flame, the choice on what kind remains in the hands of the person.