The magician shows me his trick. He can conjure fire from thin air. It’s fake of course, not a real flame. No heat or smoke, nothing burns, but still the flames look as real as anything. He even explains to me how he does it. Shows me the inner workings of his trick. How with light and disguise he can make something seem like it’s not. 

And so he places the fire on my skin. And it burns. It burns white hot. So hot I scream. So hot I think I’m going to die.

He puts it out with a snap of his fingers. No burns, no marks, no sign there was ever any fire. 

Why do you scream, he says, it’s not real, see, it’s only fake. You know it’s fake, I’ve shown you. 

He conjures the flame in his hand and holds it without issue. No smoke. No heat. No burns.

I see what he says. I see what he does. The flame’s not real I know that. There’s no smoke, there’s no heat, there’re no burns. 

He places the fire on my skin. And I scream. In agony, the pain is searing me, scorching me, the burning takes me over; I’m sure I’m going to die. 

With a snap the flames are gone again. No burns. No marks. No smoke. As if nothing was ever there.

I know this fire isn’t real. I know it’s a trick, I’ve seen it done. He’s explained it to me again and again, I understand. I can see him handle it just fine. But when it touches my skin, I burn. I burn and I burn. The pain takes me over, I can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think. I am burning alive. 

Am I stupid? Does my conscious mind hold no control over whatever else there is inside me? Am I simply looking for an excuse to feel hurt? Or for any reason to justify what I already feel? 

How is it that I don’t know.

Have I always been burning?

You just want the attention, he says, you’re acting to get a reaction. I know there’s no fire, so I know there’s no pain. Why do you want to ruin my trick, make this all about you?

Am I? Do I? It feels real to me. But yes, I know it’s not. I think the attention makes it worse. I don’t want to scream. I think. No, I know. I don’t want this. But I suppose I must, as it’s not real. 

Maybe I want what I don’t want, so that I can take pleasure in not wanting what I have. Is that any different? 

Please tell me you still like me.