Earth On Fire by Kateryna Kotsur

For this entire day, Gia has been mattress rotting.

No bed for her yet. No pretty curtains, no cushions, no rugs, no sofas, no armchairs, and no wardrobes. 

It's eerily empty here, don't you think so?

“No. It's about time I start living on my own,” Gia ceaselessly repeats this self-made declaration in her mind. 

What a curious prayer you have, Gia.

“Give me some freaking space!”

... A little anxiety is normal after moving into a new house, especially if you have never lived alone before. Сoping mechanisms are normal ... bed rotting ... mattress rotting. Lying, gobbling snacks, binge-watching series, checking socials... 

Is it working? Is it helping you?

At nine in the afternoon, Gia gets sick and tired of these activities. They haven’t been relaxing at all. And just as the realisation dawns on her, the laptop runs out of battery. 

Gia expects soothing silence, but instead, gets ringing in her ears. Neither falls the anticipated darkness. The room is flooded with unnaturally vibrant red hues. They are pouring from the giant ceiling-to-floor window. The sky, all crimson, and orange, is on fire. 

This is the most beautiful sunset you have ever seen. 

It’s blood-curdling. The world has got a fever. The air seems to have become thick translucent honey (Gia drowns in it like a fly). Time passes at the speed of melting gelato–her nerves are being wracked with every endless second.

Why are you so horrified, Gia?

Panic devours her. She glances left and meets the sight of the bare wall. She glances right, and the picture isn’t changing. She glances up, and the ceiling, the equally grey ceiling, is ready to fall and crush her–bury Gia under the layer of concrete.

Why don't you look out of the window? 

Gia wants to escape it. Gia needs to escape this reality, or otherwise, she is going to end up in a psychiatric ward in a few hours. 

She grabs her phone as if it were her last resort. The fingers barely comply with the commands in her brain. Hastily, she browses for Spotify, her “Liked Songs” playlist, and puts the headphones on. 

What's the haste, Gia?

“It is my salvation.” She hits the play button, turns the volume to max and closes her eyes. No reality. No reality, except the music. 

No reality? 

A rough guitar riff sneaks into her ears. The tune is dark, heavy and so familiar–Gia’s listened to it hundreds of times since discovering the song in “Twilight” (are you recalling the blue colours of Forks, Gia?); she knows its every note; she’s hummed it, she's danced to it, she's dreamt to it. It is so familiar. 

But it feels so strange to you. 

All of sudden, it springs to Gia’s mind that this melody could be the sound of rippling mercury–ominous, sharp, metallic. With this thought, she shudders (Gia can swear it is not an inner impulse but a shake from outside). 

The woman’s voice, shaped in mellow whoas, overlays the monotonous tune. “I’ll seek you out,” she promises with a totally contrasting tone, bored and lazy. Throughout the entire couplet, the manner remains the same. 

Gia cannot decipher her feelings: the song lulls her as much as alarms. Perhaps, this method of therapy has just failed. (Gia’s doomed; why is it so hot in here?) 

Look out of the window!

“I won’t soothe your pain,” the phrase introduces the steady beat of the drum. Gia can’t help swaying her foot synchronously to it. 

“Eyes on fire,” the vocalist’s voice is finally amplified (it’s frustration, isn’t it?), invading Gia’s head simultaneously with the splashes of the cymbal. “Your spine is ablaze,” Gia sees the flaming sky, the picture so vivid that a drop of sweat runs down her neck. 

It’s not working. It’s worsening; she needs to open her eyes. 

Open your eyes, Gia! Look out of the window! 

“And just in time…” Gia’s paralyzed. Her body’s numb, she cannot move. “… in the right place…” She needs to open her eyes. Why can’t she open her eyes? “…steadily emerging with grace,” her soul thrashes inside her body as if it became her cage. 

The next few notes are so low as if they were designed to be in a funeral march; the howl of entering wind instrument interlaces with the drum rolls. 

The steady beat of the drums gets prominent again. “A-a-a-a-a-ah,” wails the vocalist, and no sky is left in Gia’s head. It’s hell. The sun is ruby-red amid the burning meteors, resembling tongues of fire as they are coming down. “…felling any foe with my gaze…” Gia feels all the flames on her skin. Everything is red. “…steadily emerging with grace…” She won’t be able to open her eyes. She surrenders.

Why so easily, Gia? 

The vocalist wails again, repeats the lines about the gaze and the grace. Gia’s head throbs. No. There is no salvation.

You haven't even tried, you know?

The song ends with the distant vibration of the guitar. 

You should be witnessing it yourself, Gia.

Darkness finally embraces her. 

You're missing such a spectacle, Gia. 

Behind the window, with each moment, the sun progressively reddens. It reddens more and more until the first luminous dot appears on the crimson canvas.