The fire.

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.