Flame so blue it was almost translucent spread slowly like a cat licking her lips, tiny mercurial droplets speeding down the glass like flaming seraphs. Kevin blew the wave out with a thin curl of smoke.
They say you get to a point, cross some line like overcoming a threshold and you no longer feel the pain, just hear the leaden impact against a body you cling to the remembrance is yours. That’s a trifle deceptive. You don’t feel, because all you feel is a wall of pain. It’s like throwing paint on a canvas – it’s vibrant at first, stark as the color bifurcates the dusty white of the canvas, but after a time there is no more white, you’re just adding color on top of the same color.
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