Twisted

When I was three and a half, my parents and I moved into this town without me knowing why. Maybe I was so young, my parents thought I didn’t need to know why. And I didn’t, really. I thought of moving as an adventure.

My young mind thought of this town as strange and I still think that. The first thing I found strange were the ‘fire dances.’ They were only held once a year when I first moved here but they seemed to be getting more and more frequent as I grew up.

Even at a young age, I loved the fire dances. The seven fire dancers, who are the people that held these fire dances, danced with fire. They played with the fire as though they could never be burnt by it – and they were never burnt. That just made it even more breathtaking.

These dances drew me, entrancing and terrifying me every time. The first time I went to one was when I was just four. I remember every detail.

I remember being impatient to go. I remember we had to use torches because the street lights weren’t on. I remember everyone else’s torches switched off the minute we arrived at the river and for a moment, my torch was the only one on – but then I turned it off.

I remember a drumbeat starting and I remember wondering how the drummer could see. I remember following the drumming, slipping away from my parents easily in the darkness. I remember walking into people more than once. I remember walking into the drum.

I remember circling around the drum and finding the drummer. I remember concluding that the drummer must have forgotten his torch and was just guessing how to hit the drum. I remember tapping on his arm and offering my torch to him.

I remember he gasped and asked me my name and I remember I told him. I remember he muttered something that I didn’t catch besides the first bit: “She, whose eyes hold the fire of the present."

I remember my parents calling my name. I remember telling the drummer I had to go, shoving the torch into his hands. I remember following my parents’ voices and finding them. I remember Mum holding my hand for the rest of the night.

I remember an overwhelming silence fell before the drumming started again and the fire dancers emerging from behind the trees. I remember they were all men, with bare feet and chests. I remember I was captivated by the way they danced and that they held large sticks, on fire at both ends. I remember they never once dropped the sticks or burnt themselves, no matter how fast they swung them or how hard they threw them to the others.

I never missed a fire dance since my very first one. I loved them too much, so much they were almost like a part of me.