Prose #3

Flickering across the cracking plaster ceiling, the firelight dances like water flirting with the sunlight. Its peaks and valleys accented with shadows and orange glow. Eyes flickering down each avenue, backtracking when that proved fruitless, but yieldless or no it serves to distract from the hurricane of thoughts barricading my skull, hundreds of blades of thought, regaling me with memories; or perhaps misconceptions if you heard right. A soothing light of 'calm, calm my sweet' is pushed aside as the malicious, dangerous side whispers in the inner ear, hissing things only a snake would find honorable, that serve only as another reason to turn away.
But that firelight flickers on across the expanse of the white ceiling and I stare, listless. Wanting perhaps to turn away from my thoughts, hanging in the air in cruel orange letters, flittering between the shadows legs and skittishly around the firelight dancers. Thought never spoken, the letters jumbled into an unintelligible array, and yet it screams itself out so clearly only a fool would miss it.
I most dearly wish I was a fool.