A Call To The Sky

    "I'm cold," she whispered, listening to the fan drone in the dark.

 "This won't do, take it away please. Not now…" She folds herself up at a corner, her chest pounding against her rib. She could be easily mistaken for a drenched chicken. 

   "Fly Heart! You promised. So, fly!  Remember? You swore to me you'll bear the torch. You swore you wouldn't mind the heat!

  Don't you dare cower now. You don't look so good without your guard up. Sit up!" Her voice in its shaky waves tore through the roof. Her flabby arms shook as the floor felt the hit of her fidgety fists. 

  "Stop crying! No one is here to catch you if you fall. Stop crying!!!" She could barely hear herself as she wailed, she didn't stop crying. She tore at her hair instead, shaking her head violently. 

   "No! It was wrong…" Her body shook. Her breath reduced to pants, she gave her chest a few more pounds. 

   "It aches… Make it stop. God." She covered her ears with her palms. 

Her palms burned. And when they met her skin, she shuddered. Her tears burned her skin too. 

  "I'm cold…" She whispered with her head buried in her thighs.  

 Inhaling her own scent one last time, she threw on a jacket and walked into the dimly lit hallway. Her footsteps announced her presence. 

  Her eyes are used to the harsh lights. So, she waved her hands, her smile enrapturing every seated heart. 

   When the claps had died down. Her hands firmly on the mic, her voice razed the building down. With her mascara laced eyelashes unblinking, her red lips firm, her soulful eyes on the audience, she watched them sing aloud to "Call to the sky"... 

   "I'm cold…"

©Jane Bliss