“In the dream you open the cupboard door to find not the array of coats and boots you were expecting but a fire, so hot it’s blue and raging. The kind of fire that’s a black hole for attention, for fingers, sucking you towards it like a tidal swell. The walls are burning. The floor is burning. You just stand there and stare, gripping the edge of the door like you’d grip the very edge of reality.”
Two stories about the difficulties of language and the difficulties of fire. Published in Kitchen. Read online here.