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i.
history repeats itself.
the fire doesn’t touch you. tall licks of flames reach to the sun, the fire scorching the ground, and leaving its mark on every branch and block of soil it touches. an invisible hand stokes the fire. your feet stand on cool cobblestone, one hand curled around a sword and the other a shield. the fire reaches for her, and she dips a burning foot into the fire. i’m not afraid to fight, she bluffs.
you grin.
the fire doesn’t touch you, but your lungs fill with smoke as you jump down, chasing pearl with swiftness. you’ve been here before. this time, lady death is on your side.
you shoot to kill. after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.
ii.
in simpler times, you loved.
buckets of lava and inventories of cobblestone weigh you down as you build up into the sky, only a shot away from death. you’re not sure why you’re doing this, but you’re here anyway: feet on cobblestone, one hand holding a shield and the other holding lava bucket. you build your way up until the world won’t let you anymore.
just in case this goes wrong, your wife says, i love you.
i love you too, you say back, before you pour down the lava. you run down, sure and steady until the end of the bridge and reach out your hand.
the fire doesn’t touch you, but she takes your hand, and that’s reason enough for you to burn.
iii.
history repeats itself.
you burn. once in lava, another time in a fire. the third is with a blade, an enchanted flame that first hits your back and then spreads over you, a criss cross pattern that wraps around your shoulders.
the fire doesn’t touch you.
you die anyway.