Confession 1

August 17th, 2012

She gave me a plum, so i wouldn’t starve. He gave me his back and a couple of words, so we could fight.
I ate in delight.
We fought with enthusiasm.
They gave me money and told to build a house, so i could take her in and invite him for a drink.
They gave me more to buy a car and drive her to the edge of the land, to bring him back home at night.
I can’t remember exactly what i did do. I can still smell the juice of her plum and taste the blood of his back.
I did not do it right, though, since i’m thin and beaten.
I could have had paradise of pleasures, protected by word, sacred in blood.
But i don’t.
For in all these times, through these kisses and fists, through all that love and friendship has to give, i was not able to stop telling myself:
i need to set this goddamn world on fucking fire.
I could not stop.
I ate the plum and spat the stone out, i erased the words and spilt the blood to dry. I drank the remaining money down.
I say:
i need to set this world on whitest fire.
I kept saying, as they got married, locked the car into the garage and enjoyed plum marmalade on the cosy evenings, centrally heated.
Some nights they will dream of the world burning in flames. They will wake up, lost and confused. The fire will seperate them, leaving traces of ashes.
I will be somewhere else, doing something else.
I will have taken care of the fire they left to die.

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