What was your stake-the momenat they wanted to burn you for who you are?

I feel an inexplicable peace as I gaze out the window. The screeching of bus brakes disrupts the silence of the morning, and the gray sky has completely merged with my soul. The building across from mine seems to be watching me with its sleepy eyes. Everything has stopped in an instant. Or so it seems.

My toes begin to burn. A small flame licks at them. I uncross my legs, hoping to extinguish the fire. I pull the lace away from my thighs and slip my fingers beneath it, just to check if she is awake, if she is sending me any signals. She starts to pulse. Good. She’s alive.

I almost thought I had turned into a frigid whore, repulsed by the sight of a cock for life. And maybe I have. They waved it around me like a golden bar, but all of them were nothing more than rusted scrap metal. Until my body and my cunt grew tired. My soul most of all.

The fire continues climbing my legs, over calves that still radiate freshness and taut muscles. It reaches my bony knees, which I love the most during summer. That’s when I look my best. Despite the fifth decade reminding me that nothing works the way it used to, my few remaining friends tell me I’ve never looked better. They know how to stab me with words, just to wake me up—for my own good.

The long hair I once tossed with pride is gone. I no longer sway it as I walk through the streets of this infernal city, a city that seems to have built a square just for me—to tie me down, set me ablaze, and inhale the scent of my burning flesh. The stake. That’s where I belong. To burn to ashes and disappear forever, taking with me my silicone lips, long legs, deadly stare, and military haircut.

I hear voices around me:"You deserved it, bitch."

Distorted faces, half-dead yet alive, leer at me, sneering, getting in my face. And I burn. It feels warm and pleasant.

I watch my two fairies on the seesaw, one up, one down, taking turns. I am there with them, spinning on the carousel. Faster. The world blurs. I don’t stop. The flames now consume me completely. I am nothing but fire.

Only my eyes remain, from which my soul has fled. It hovers above, watching. Watching this wretched world, those pathetic bastards dispersing from the square. My shadow, enormous like the city itself, has scorched them all. There is no one left. No gypsies, no judges, no fake moralists, no righteous whores, no erect cocks…

Only my two fairies still play on the seesaw. I approach them, take their hands, and whisper:

"It's time to go home."

Maybe they thought they had broken me. But they didn’t. I’ve learned that I don’t disappear in the flames. They taught me that from the ashes, a new, strong being rises. Those who believed they could burn me at that stake didn’t realize that the flame is just a way for me to free myself, to be reborn.

Every wound, every word, every battle I’ve survived left a mark on my body, but nothing could destroy my soul. These hands are not just for love, but for survival. And now, I stand here, on the edge of the abyss, as someone who has finally freed herself.

Have you ever felt like the world put you on trial?

What was your stake—the moment they wanted to burn you for who you are?

How many times have you had to rise from your own ashes?

#Fiction #DarkFiction #PsychologicalFiction #ShortStory #WritersOfVocal #WomenPower #Survivor #Freedom #ToxicRelationships #BreakingChains #Storytelling #BurnItDown #PhoenixRising