Red-Hot Lullaby

Glowing, red ash slowly falls down around me. I watch in awe as each piece floats gracefully down, down, down, until each one lands gently on the old, wooden floor where I sit. Its beauty is hypnotic. I am unmoving, rooted to the ground beneath me; the same ground that welcomes the flying, flaming bits. The glittering pieces fall so softly that life seems to slow with them. I sit with a stillness I have never achieved before, wondering what I did to experience something as beautiful as this. 

I feel a tingling sensation each time a burning snowflake kisses my skin. I am enveloped in a blanket of warmth as the walls accept the flickering fire. The only sounds in my ears are the slow breaths that my lungs release, the low growl of the flames dancing around me, and the gentle crackling percussion it produces. Its lullaby is a whispering persuasion and my eyes start to grow heavy. 

I lay my body on the floor and look up to watch as the ash falls like snow from the dark cloud above; a beautiful, black storm. Orange flames tease and kiss the old curtains in my periphery. They lick at the glass window panes with idle curiosity as they climb higher and higher. 

The heat cradles me and lures me to sleep. And as I close my eyes, I think I hear a new song: a faint cry growing louder and louder. As I drift to sleep, bright flashes of red and white paint the backs of my eyelids.