Spontaneous

Earlier, I went out on my deck in my shearling coat, unbuttoned, and a pair of fireproof socks. Socks because my feet get colder than the rest of me. You see, I felt a brief spark in my heart this afternoon, so in the interest of pseudoscience I thought I might intensify it with some meditation exercises. I didn't think I was in any real danger of combustion, but I'm afraid of burning clothes and skin grafts, and I can shed the coat quickly. There's no reason to take chances, especially with my hefty insurance deductibles.

Once seated on the snow-covered chair, I took a breath and rolled my eyes down, giving my heart a jolt of electricity from my brain, the signal that inhibitions are no longer appropriate. And a whoosh and it's aflame. I close my eyes and turn off my thoughts. Fueled by a good memory or two, my heart burns that slight orange flame, swollen and tender, and I think it might pop like the weasel. I continue concentrating inward, feeling crimson handprints on touched flesh, growing more and more aware that the heat radiating like lust from my gut has invigorated my thighs and my biceps and from there slid down my calves and wrists to the tips of my toes and fingers, tingling everything, and my heart quickens, growing larger and hotter and brighter, and the awareness of the now pounding heat doubles its effect. The tingle now a tremor, and now another, and my eyes might glow red, rolling back into my head in a very lucid dizziness while my body hums and hisses. My hands shake and the chair shakes, and the winter cold is but a distant pleasant dream, and I scream the worst words I know just to relieve the heat and pressure, and they are just squeaks next to the hiss, which is not even from me, but rather snow turned to water turned to steam.

At that moment a burst of white fire consumes me , and I think I'm going to burn alive. I throw my coat off. But wait! It's only that my neighbor has turned on her porch light. I cross my legs. Ouch. Her door opens. Oops.
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