There was always menace in the myriad
of colours dancing in the fire, the blues
greens, multi-oranges and yellow-reds.
Those clicks, cracks, pops and snaps.
The sudden shifting, falling of embers
and ash, framed in this dark fisted silence.
And those shadows convulsing on the wall,
a haunting raving of arms and heads.
Eyes protruding from emaciated heads.
He spat into the fire after a deep clawing -
harvesting the phlegm from his congested
lungs. The contagion - his poison exposed.
