Ow.

Note to self: fire burns.

This should be obvious, but if you saw me in day-to-day life you’d understand why I always forget.  I pour the last of my drinking water over my throbbing hand and wish I were home.  Where no one stares at the flames I conjure without thinking.

I shove my singed hair out of my face and touch the tattoos like tears that run down my cheeks.

I have no money.  No food.  I wonder if she would take me back after I abandoned her.  I turn my face toward home.

It’s worth a shot.

--

I wrote this drabble probably three days after Corby, an old character/friend of mine, turned up in my head again after a long absence.  He offered it sort of as an explanation, sort of as an admission that he needed me.

I was so darn pleased to be writing with him again, I didn't really care how silly the actual writing turned out to be.  We needed time to fit into each other again, remember how it works.