We sit by the fire I made. Each on little fold-out stools. With wine in hand we stare at the flames. We watch the orange and yellow and blue dance over and on and through the fallen wood of this forest.
And I lean towards her, eyes still on flame, and say, “I believe every man has the ability to convince himself he can conquer the world.”
The fire crackles before she responds, “In what way?”
“In the way that man is all powerful.”
“No,” she says, turning toward me. “In what way would he conquer the world? If one comes to understand the world, one has essentially conquered it. And anyone can do that.”
My brow furrows and the cup rises to my lips. The tart taste of a cheap red. “Well, that could be one way. Maybe, a nihilist way, or something. But I’m saying, man can convince himself he can do it in anyway. No matter the obstacles.”
“So, man is crazy.”
I wince, “No.” There’s a pop from the fire as a log breaks and slants the tent-like structure. I rise and grab the shovel. Begin poking and prodding. Sparks fly up to the darkness.
The girl tilts her head back and watches them. Raises a hand and traces their dance with her fingers. “So you believe man can conquer what he wants as long as he convinces himself he can conquer it.”
I sit back down beside her. My stool wobbles, which takes me an extra moment to settle. To straighten my back. Sip my wine. “Essentially,” I say, feeling warmer and warmer. “Even sitting here, in the light and heat of this fire I’ve made, I feel quite powerful.”
And a smile creeps over my face as I embrace this feeling. As she turns to look at me again, while my eyes are still on flame, I feel powerful. With my straight back and stoic figure in the shadows of the flickering light. I have a firm grasp on my existence. Then an ember from the fire flicks out onto the back of my hand, causing me to shriek in pain, spill my wine, and fall from my stool.
“But he can still burn.” She says and sips from her cup.
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