Friday, 01 May 2009
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My Metaphorical Dream: The House on Fire
The warm, late-spring breeze danced through the landscape. The sun was on its last minutes of light in that side of the world. During any other day, its duties would've been left to the Moon, which would arrive a few hours past. Tonight, however, was different.
Whatever light the sun wasn't shedding on the area, the fire in front of me was happy to supply. Up and down the street, people were going on around their business, as if the source of the unusual brightness didn't exist. Or, rather, as if this were something expected...very expected. One particular passerby turned his attention to me, gave me a sad, condescendent nod, and went on his way. I stood impassive, just staring at the flames. The house there was built over a faulty gas pipe; the neighboring residences had been remodeled in order to resist the impending explosion...all except the one on fire.
Mine.
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