Phantom of Memory

I sit here staring into the mesmerising dances of the flames of my fireplace. He sits in a chair across the room, watching me. Watching over me. He is an old friend. A very old friend. The flames dance with unbridled energy. Still he watches. The clock is ticking so slowly, the flames dancing so quickly. It is a dream. The world is a dream that someone else is dreaming. I am a figment of another’s imagination. He is a figment of another’s imagination.

She is a figment of another’s imagination.

The door opens and she enters. The gust of wind disturbs the flames, and they retaliate with dances of such intensity that I want to leap into the fire and dance with them. She approaches me. He stands, moves between us. Blocks her path. She stares at him for a moment, and then he is gone. He never existed; I do not remember him. She approaches me. She stares at me for a moment. The dancing flames are ice. The room is ice. I am ice. She sits in the chair across the room: his chair. She watches me. Watches over me.

The door opens and he enters. The ice melts. He is an old friend; I do not remember him. He approaches me. She stands, moves between us. He does not react. She stares at him. He sits in his chair across the room. She walks into the fire and dances with the flames. He watches me. Watches over me.

Still the clock ticks so slowly.

Still the flames dance so quickly.

Still he watches over me so incessantly.

The flames devour all. They devour her, they devour him, and finally they devour me. Now there are the flames. Nothing more. And I do not remember him.

I sleep. He is awake. I can see him in my dreams, watching over me. Stoic. Silent. Strong. He scares me. I am frightened, frightened to my heart. He is watching me. He will not stop. I want to sleep, but cannot. He will not stop watching me. Watching over me.

The door opens and she enters. He still watches me. She is not welcome. She becomes ice. She becomes the dancing flames of the dreamt-of fireplace. He is the ice. I am the ice. She is the flames. She is the ice. We are the flames.

Still he watches. He watches as she burns. He watches as she freezes. She is gone. He watches over me once again. He is an old friend. A very old friend. He likes me. He protects me. Protects me as I sleep. He watches the room, guards it. He watches for flames. He watches for ice.

He watches for her.

He is an old friend. A very old friend.

He died long ago.

And so I sit here staring into the mesmerising dances of the flames of my fireplace. I remember him now. I remember.