For I am Heat
I remember with shame the weakness of my first attempt to embrace my victim. In the beginning, my pitiful gift of heat came as a rush of energy—almost a pleasure to her. The failure to cause her proper torment showed my weakness.
On my second go, I resolved to make her miserable. Determination brought forth my strength—bit by bit, and with practice I had my victory! Pride filled me when finally my blast incinerated her.
Since then, always somewhere in the middle of her chest I take hold. I hunker down for a while gaining strength. She feels the flame of my evil intent. I know she does, because she fidgets, pulling at her clothes. It is her feeble attempt to get some air movement between her skin and her garments. My vehemence occupies all of her—tissue, muscles, veins, cells, and best of all, her confused, unhappy mind.
I move faster and farther, invading her arms, shoulders and neck before flushing to fill her cheeks. Her ears turn red; she is engulfed, sensing nothing but the burn now. Next, I race from her upper body, pulsing down to her toes, before rising again to disrupt her brain. I bring wicked waves of heat and she knows not how to rid herself of me, her uninvited visitor, her bringer of change.
It gives me great joy to know the ride with me forces her to burn in a hell of my making. In her ear I hiss, “Nothing can stop me.” I laugh as her hair forms into ringlets. Drops fall from her face onto her white blouse. Drip. Drip.
She focuses every ounce of her resolve, longing for relief from my hot, tight grasp. Ha! She can’t get to the window for some sweet air or rip off her outer layer fast enough. She’s frantic. “Open the window for God’s sake,” she says. “Where is the damn fan?”
I do so relish the time we have together. Her body is my vessel; I am her furnace. It’s my purpose, my job to make her blister with my blaze.
But it is enough for now. I am bored with her, though satisfied with how pathetic she looks flapping her fan, pulling at her clothes, soaking up hot sweat with a handkerchief. Her fever lessens as I release my grip, but I can’t resist jeering. I vow to occupy her again. Soon. How I cherish knowing she dreads my return.
For weeks, months, possibly years, she will suffer with anticipation of my inferno. After all she’s been through it’s a dirty trick, I know.
And that’s why I make my flame so fucking hot.
