Fire
Many voices. Fire ants are having their lunch as they crawl up my arms and legs. There is no ceasefire, nor will there be. No aid will get through. Hot and cold.
Blue and purple mottled patterns snaking from the soles of my feet and up my calves. The electric bar heater is too hot. I don’t move away. We red-headed people are told we have a temper and are feisty so why am so I silent. This withdrawal is a bitch. I curl up as if paper torched by the sun. My ashes swirl in the room as if sparking the voices into chilli red flakes.
Air
Oceans deep and the deepest of space, unexplored. So much unknown. I am vulnerable to the invisible. I am vulnerable to the empty space inside. A black hole, never to be filled. Scared, drowning, I can’t catch a breath. I wish I could see you once more before I choke.
Water
70% water. You’re kidding, right? More voices from the TV. Loud. I laugh. My thirst is constant. I am drowning in the shallows of little saliva. Floods everywhere. Homes washed away; cars overturned. Strong trees brought low, slumping over roads. My body tight, holding on, whilst my eyes ache, waterless.
Earth
Bodies in white shrouds, bodies under flags, bodies in coffins, bodies in mass graves. You take all the genocides in your stride, for you will be there when we are long gone. You will cough up our bones when you are good and ready.
The voices are louder. There are no walls. There is no peace for such as I. The voices are knocking loudly.
They say they are saving me from burning, that it’s all in my head.
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