The Dreaming Phoenix

                Francine Fletcher woke in a pool of her own sweat. Although she was sure she hadn’t wet the bed, the smell permeating from the puddle on her mattress reeked something awful. It was cold and damp, she wondered briefly if maybe she had wet the bed. She tried to remember what she had dreamt of but couldn’t recall. She knew there were rules for dreams just like there were physical boundaries to reality.

                She changed out of her drenched t-shirt and yoga pants. Phew, they too stunk. She once again tried to remember her dream, but it was somehow occluded from her mind. She put her red hair up in a bun, put on all black and went downstairs for breakfast.

                “Good morning, Phoenix,” her father addressed her by her nickname not the name he and his wife had chosen at Francine’s birth. Francine had demanded her parents call her Phoenix as she said she knew was her true magic name. She had even dreamed she was phoenix, well sort of, she wasn’t really a bird more of a girl on fire. She remembered that morning, her sheets had been soaked too. Francine saw an image of herself spontaneously combusting.

                “Morning Daddy,” Franny chirped. She sat next to Beatrice her older sister.

                “Do you have to dress like you're in a period of morning?” Beatrice asked.

                Francine ignored her and poured a bowl of cereal.

                The morning news was on, and they were talking about the latest California wildfire. The newscaster was saying, “Over ten thousand people have already been evacuated from their homes.” It was just background noise; they didn’t love in California. Franny iPod, headphones and in moments was transported into another world, where a man oddly sang, “Pardon me, while I burst and rise above the flames.” It was Francine’s favorite song, by a band called Incubus.

                Francine’s father was an exterminator. He was fascinated by things like fire beetles, beetles that thrived from fire by laying their eggs in burning logs, so of course Francine was an expert. She had done a report on it at school and Tommy Marino had called her the Turd Beetle Girl. Oh, how she longed to burn Tommy Marino.

All ends with beginnings.

All ends with beginnings.