The night my neighbour burned down his house, I too set fire to my bedroom floor. Or rather just a small portion of the carpet, scorched by an ember from your now flaming image, fuelled by some long-forgotten grievance or betrayal. What I do remember is the sound of slapping that his shoes made as he ran from his burning house, the sight of those red and white trainers streaking by, like ghost flames filled with all the grievances and all the betrayals that ever were, escaping now towards the reckoning sky to blacken out the moon.
Trailblazing – Lucy Roulston
