I was the one on fire. No, no actual flames ever touched my body, but it certainly felt like it.
I was a possession of a small town, the writer. I had worked hard for the title, putting hours in each day to create something I was proud of. I found the flames the first time I released a novel for the world to read. Over three years later, with the fourth one published, I’ve come accustomed to the fire of other people’s opinions and high expectations.
I’m far from being alone though. The sports star, the school’s highest achievers, and the dreamers have all felt the same flames that I do.
I’ve witnessed the graceful moves of the basketball player, who worked hard to make those three-point shots that the watchers applauded. The viewers cheer for the team’s win, not even being able to imagine the hours that were put into that beautiful domination. I’ve observed as the players were reminded of their bright future, scholarships that will certainly help pay for their tuition. An act, originally seen as support, that puts a great pressure on the player’s shoulders.
The high-achievers, who certainly impress me every day, have tasted their own versions of the flames. The focus of their time seems to go towards grade point averages and assignments. Constantly, I’ve seen them obsess with class rank. A beautiful passion—an extraordinary flame—can be found within their hearts to create the best future possible.
The dreamers have a unique position. They have doubters. I once found myself doubted upon by others, being told that I would never complete a novel. Hundreds of thousands of words later, the only person doubting me is myself, because when the pressure is placed on someone by the ones they love, the dream isn’t only theirs anymore.
High expectations can be painful. As much as the people see a light in the heart of the one who is succeeding, the hopes can lead to darkness. A level is set that supposedly needs to be touched, even if the level is truly unreachable.
Reputation is focused on. One wrong move and it seems as if the world—the empire that was created through hard work—has crumbled.
At points, it seems as if the empire isn’t for the person working towards it anymore, but the people who are placing the expectations. The hard work isn’t just for the one person’s goals anymore, it’s for the whole community’s.
Being metaphorically on fire isn’t always a positive, even though it’s a term that signifies that the person is doing great, while being powerful and heated. Once the idea of the person being on fire is created though, a new level of thought is formed in that person’s mind. Now, they no longer seem to be living for themselves, but for those around them also.
The real question is, when the flames burn out, is it a sad feeling or one of the sweet touch of freedom? Does the hold of a flame brighten a life or confine it?
