"Smoke," by Bethany Worrell

Hi there! My name is Bethany Worrell, and I am an Accounting and Theatre double-Major at Marian University, and a San Damiano Scholar. Pretty much any and all free time I find, I spend writing! I wrote Smoke as an amalgamation of several relationships within the past year. My hope is that it will help readers process and heal from relationships that did not turn out how they hoped---it certainly helped me. The best writings spark conversation, so hit me up if you want to talk! 

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We were walking through the woods when I first sensed its presence. Quiet but persistent. 

Smoke.

With my hand resting in yours, I wasn’t bothered. When you were by my side I felt untouchable. So I paid it no attention. 

And yet, we don’t always sense when the wind touches us. 

But we smelled it the next day, lingering on our clothes and catching us off guard. The panic rose whenever we smelled it. But why? Smoke is harmless on its own. 

We feared the source. The fire. That monstrous beast whose hunger for destruction is rarely satiated. 

I did not want there to be a fire. I wanted us, beautiful, unified us. And so I did not look for the flames, and chose to ignore the distant sirens.

Like a listless creature, it marched behind us, gaining closer every day. You didn’t seem to see. I never asked you to. But when I felt its heat, dancing on my cheeks like an unwanted kiss, I knew it was too late.

I began to run, pulling you with me. It never wavered. 

Pushing through the underbrush, dragging you along. Our arms grew scarred as we sprinted. I could feel you slowing down. I could feel your grip loosening. Slowing enough to look back, I could see the fear in your eyes. But behind you was the fire. And so I ran. Stay with me, I begged. Keep your eyes on me. 

Crushing your hand, I plowed on. We couldn’t stop. If we stopped—would it all end? What would remain? 

Gritting my teeth, I pushed for the next wind of stamina. Surely there was level ground ahead. 

Surely these dark woods weren’t forever. The shadows grew long and the wind picked up. Strange, that there was a chill, with so great a heat so near. We had traveled too far, overcome too much to come up short. But would this thicket ever end?

My heart stopped when I no longer felt your hand. 

Whipping around to survey my past, I saw you lying in it. Bruised, battered, and bleeding. Unstoppable and unrelenting, the fire came and took you with it. 

All I could do was watch. I wanted it to take me too. That would have been too kind. Instead, it gifted me the wreckage. The burnt residues of the forest we once loved. The forest of our love.

I walk it now, a slow waltz of remembrance. Somehow, the green is even brighter after the blaze. There are flowers I never even stopped to see. You would have loved them. 

And still your voice, like a melody of the grave, plays through my mind. It is a haunting tune, one of regret, and wonder. Your greased fingerprints burned into my skin, so much that somedays I wonder if it is even my own. 

I still smell you on my clothes. 

My beloved smoke.