Hell fires burn warm, inviting in the seeing by the seeker passing by. Glowing orange red through windows facing roads, the crystal panes are useless as a wall to sagely warn. Closer, peering in to watch the shadows dancing in the middle of the room, the human cries of sensuality so bidding welcome. Feeling heat that draws the breath from me to feed itself, I, closer still, long for the joining in the dance. But oh, a slip, an error in the footing and a hand reaching out to steady chars black at but a touch. Held in pain against the night, swaddled deep to chest within my woolen cloak, I pull myself within and trudge away.
(Writing 1001 symbolizes the number of this posting since last October. I thought it should be something deep and disturbing, just for fun.)
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology