I walked across the bed of white hot coals.
I walked right through my childhood.
I walked knowing it would end and eventually my burnt, ashen feet would be washed and cooled and healed.
The only thing that kept me walking was my daydreaming about the soothing coolness that would eventually releave my pain.
I walked and cried, I walked and believed and trusted.
I finally reached the finish line and all that I saw were hecklers; laughing and yelling, telling me the real finish line was a little further on.
They were just joking.
I keep walking, feet on fire, tears streaming down my face, clothes charred and burnt around the edges; just to find the same thing.
It was a big bad joke and I was the butt of the joke.
No matter how hard I try or how far along I keep trudging on this path; This bed of coals is laid in a ring.
I can't win.
And eventually it becomes tiresome to the onlookers...
