The first time I saw it, I was thirteen. I thought maybe I was about to have a migraine. Mum always said she saw flashing lights before they came on. It was a ring of fire, whirling like a vortex above my Grandad’s hospital bed.
“What’s that?” I said, as Mum tearfully held his mottled hand. His breathing rattled like Darth Vader.
“What are you talking about, Jake?” she sniffed, distracted.
“That circle over Grandad’s head?”
“They’re just wires. Medical equipment, that’s all,” she said.
“No! That ring of fire.” I said. It blazed larger and brighter by the second, the heat melting me, though everyone else shivered with cold.
Then the machines started beeping and the doctors came running.
They say that death’s image is the grim reaper, but I can tell you that’s just a myth. The band of flames looms closer as death approaches. Sometimes it creeps up over weeks and months, like the time Ellen, my wife, had breast cancer. I literally saw it coming, and sure enough they caught it in time. The ring faded away, and I knew before the tests proved it, that the cancer was gone.
Other times, it takes me by surprise and there’s no time to intervene. That’s the way it was for my best friend, Ben. The other car came out of nowhere. I swerved, the car spinning uncontrollably as the ring of fire engulfed Ben. There was nothing I could do.
“But you can see death, Jake. Why didn’t you save him?” screamed his brother. “Funny how you manage to rescue your own family but not anyone else’s!”
It’s a heavy burden to bear. If only I could put out the flames every time. I could be a hero instead of a helpless onlooker. Ben’s brother has never forgiven me, and who can blame him?
“Is it there?” whispers Ellen every time we visit her elderly parents.
“No, darling,” I say, but my eyes give it away. Still, she nods and chooses to believe my words. It’s like the flashing neon elephant in the room, and we dance around it, pretending that we can’t feel the heat or smell the smoke.
I’m grateful for the quiet times like today, when it’s just me and my beloved dog, Ember. On moments like this, with the wind in my hair and the roar of the sea beside me, I can forget all about my fiery curse.
Ember’s acting strangely today. She hasn’t left my side.
I feel it before I see it. My face burns. Then flames encircle us. Oh no. It must be Ember’s time. With tears stinging my eyes, I bend down to kiss her.
“Bye, old girl.” I bury my face in her fur, grateful that she’ll die in her favourite spot on the beach. As I look up, I glimpse a figure crouched behind the sand dunes. I stand to get a better look. Ben’s brother?
Gunshot. I’m sucked away to the sound of fading barks.
