Heat

I can feel the heat.

My forehead intensely warm with a feverish sweat, my body defending itself from a virus.

My nose is filled with the thick smell of smoke from fires raging across the Australian bush. The great inferno swiftly erases the backdrop of eucalyptus and acacia.

My parched throat burns, but there is no water to be seen.

The back of my neck is hot. Both from the bright desert sun and from the strain of battle - intense fighting from to house in some humid Iranian city. 
There is a searing sensation as a bullet rips past my ear.

 

I wake up, blankets tossed from my bed. I turn down the heater and open my door a crack. I look over at the window in reassurance.
Beyond its frost covered frame is a familiar white landscape, draped in undisturbed snow.
I find myself lowered into the embrace of the matress, my eyes closing once again.
 

 

Andrew Knight

VT

YWP Alumni

More by Andrew Knight