“What’s on fire?” He asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know!?”I thought but gave no reply.
Taxicab privacy screen was locked in place; I have held myself at arm’s length even from my own family, situating interstates and time zones between us.
I was no longer a reactive object to be manipulated.
I granted myself distance and anonymity to write through my struggles.
After determining isolation wasn’t the answer, I succumbed to existentialism and got on with living.
I felt awakened from a stupor.
I put pen to paper, and the spark of inspiration ignited a flame within me.
Sirens blared as firetrucks scrambled, and the curious cabbie drove away from the burning apartment building.
“Where to, Miss?” the driver asked.
“Home,” I replied as if he knew where that was.
“My soul,” I said, “that is what is on fire.”
I smiled at the reflection in the window and admired the blazing trail left in my wake.
– Written for YeahWrite.me Weekly Fiction|Poetry Writing Challenge 261 Question Prompt “What’s on fire?” and Prompt Up previous line combo for fiction. WC 157