Page 37 - Student: dazed And Confused

T E A R S O F FIRE

PROLOGUE

The girl was angry.
Then the anger subsided a little and pain pushed its way in. How could he hurt her
this way? Just be absent from her life for so many years, then suddenly turn up and act as if

he had never be away. Didn't he understand that things didn't work like that, were never
that easy. If something was ever going to mean something, ever going to be worthwhile,
you had to work at it. Even at such a young age, the girl understood that. Maybe she was
more grown up than a lot of people because she had her own view of the world.
Why did people just expect things to work themselves out when they hit a problem?
That was an age-old problem, but she knew the answer. The old adage - ignorance is bliss.
If they pretended that a problem didn't exist for long enough, then maybe, one day, it just
wouldn't be there. That must have been his problem. He had convinced himself that he
could just make up for all those lost years by just turning up one day, and she would

welcome him into her arms. He had made himself believe that those years would be
forgotten, suddenly, when he turned up on that doorstep. He didn't understand how there
were still problems, and how it might take him forever to rectify all his mistakes.
The girl walked away from her spot in the meadow and went to sit by the gushing
river. No problems there. On and on it went, forever flowing, calmly, peacefully,
harmoniously. "I wish I were a river," she said, mournfully. "No problems. Unity." They
didn't object to the fish and pebbles invading their space, or get hacked off when the river
separated and rejoined.
She sat and watched the river rushing past her, feeling as though this were a
metaphor for the life that was also speeding by her. She lazily picked a buttercup that was

growing by her hand and twizzled it between her fingers. Thoughts of picking all the petals
off raced through her mind. There would be more flowers like this one. She delicately
picked off each petal and watched them settle on the ground by her knees, thoughtfully
leaving one petal attached to the flower. Where would be the sense in stripping it of
everything that made it so beautiful? She picked it up by the stalk and gently laid it on the
cold surface of the river, flowing fast enough to carry it along, but slow enough so as not to
tear it. The water was icy cold, fresh really, and carried a certain air of purity - not like
people. The girl supposed that it was because it was so clear and see-through, not clouded
and soiled like people. Gently, she let go of the buttercup with one petal, and watched it

float down the river to make a new life for itself. Until it was out of sight. Maybe it eould be
a beautiful thing again, one day. Maybe it would float on forever and ever, kept alive by the
purity of the river. Maybe it would come to a stand-still under some bridge or other and get