fire and flames; water and waves

Alicia Wu ‘25

The flames engulf me.

This is the end.

I am drowning.

I can’t see past the wave of red in front of me—I close my eyes at the heat—it blinds me.

The water rushes over me, waves crashing unrelentlessly, pulsing, seeking, reaching to suffocate me.

Now I hear the roar in my ear—it reminds me of a lion or a dragon or death.

I had closed my eyes on instinct, but now I fight to see.

It calls my name.

If it is to be my last breath, my last fight, let me be a witness to my fall.

I want to reach up and block the sound, but I know it will be for nothing.

The water stings at first, but then the feeling passes . . .

The sound will not stop.

It fades to a constant rush—constant to almost ease away, always at the edge of my mind.

It will pulse.

It pushes me on all sides, squeezing me, shaking me—

It will overcome.

It will consume me whole.

And spit me out as though I am nothing.

I will fall to the depths.

And perhaps there I will stay, decay with the years, millennia will pass before anyone finds me, fallen, ashes.

After all, I am only but a small speck in the universe, a single burning light in the endless darkness, about to be snuffed out.

It will be my end.

But I feel this kick almost inside me, just as harsh and unrelenting.

It will be my end . . . if it is my end, I shall see it through.

People did always say there is some intrinsic part within us humans that searches for life, that commands you to stay alive, to just stay alive and everything will be okay, somehow, one way or another.

I fear the heat will sear my eyes, but I know I have to try anyway. I open my eyes, slowly at first, they feel burned shut, but I see it all now.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m doing the kicking. My legs beat against the cold waves, even as my mind begins to surrender.

The flames dance all around me, licking at me. But they haven’t reached me, not yet.

The salt stings my eyes when I manage to pry open them, my arms are moving in the thick fluid around me, I’m trying I’m trying I’mtrying to push.

They seem to be around me, making a halo, as though I’m an angel—some fallen angel who’s waiting to be rescued.

My ears groan with pain, the pressure pulls me under—well, tries—but I’m fighting, I’m fighting.

I am still in the chaos, a single figure unbending in my will.

And I can’t seem to fight my body in its fight, but as I rise from the depths, I begin to think that maybe I do want to fight too.

I think it will be okay.

Maybe there is a chance I could make it.

It is hot, but I think I am becoming part of it, easing into it. It’s familiar, and I am finding a home within it.

And even if that chance is the smallest one there is, just a blinking star in the endless sky, well, maybe it could become something beautiful.

I am no stranger to the heat, even in one like this.

I almost stop kicking and sweeping my arms in front of me—something unconscious within me flails.

I find it familiar, almost, I realize, in some way, as if I came from this originally, like it was my home, and I emerged victorious against the light on some bright, new day so long ago.

And even with the surge of energy, I start to feel the cold, truly feel the cold.

I can breathe deeply, close my eyes at those moments too, and feel whole.

People talk about it seeping into your bones, sapping you of strength, but when you are surrounded by it, enveloped in its chilled fingers, you start to have an inkling of what they are saying.

The fear has burned away with the heat, there is a crackle of wood as the flames swallow it whole.

You start to fear—even without consideration for what might also haunt the waters—you begin to fear no one will see you, that you will fall, sink, flail to no avail—just another nameless soul flickering out in the universe, flickering . . . flickering . . . flicker . . .

But I am not afraid.

The water swirls around my feet—I look down in panic—but it seems alive, it feels alive, and it pushes me, propels me forward.

This I can say with absolute certainty. I don’t fear the flames, not now, not any longer.

Don’t look back, it seems to say. Whateveryoudo,don’tlookback.

I take a step forward, watching the fire resist for a moment before bending before me, my will unbroken.

And I have no choice but to listen to this haunting echo of words in my mind. It avoids me—just barely—it too is alive and fighting, it does not want to be controlled, but I am in charge here.

Because I know I want to survive.

It will listen to me.

I know I will survive.

For it is my will.

The path to victory is not without casualty.

I kick now, harder, with all my might. I know my strength is fading, but I have put my mind to this task, and so it must be done.

Here, it may be a few hairs on my arms, singed in the licking flames, caught in the crossfires of my path. It may be the smears of ash across my face, the relentless heat beating down on me, causing me to perspire.

It’s brighter up ahead. I think I can see the water part before me, offering me a glance up into the sky.

But when I step out of the fire, step into the night and gaze up at the stars in the dark sky, I understand that this is victory. I understand

I gasp when I break the surface. Light rain falls upon my face, and I laugh because I know this is the beginning.