Smoke Slick
The Initiation of Fire
A taste of the untamed—raw words, wild truth, and a story still catching fire. Sneak inside before it names itself. Born of shadow and flame—read what hungers to awaken.
She tried once.
Tried smiling at all the right places, saying “thank you” when she meant “fuck off,”
but her mouth tasted like blood every time she bit her tongue.
She woke slowly.
Not all at once.
Like scales falling one by one from the eyes of her soul.
The first time, she dreamt of fire pouring from her belly.
The second, she felt her spine vibrate like a thousand serpents dancing.
By the third, she stopped dreaming.
She was the dream now.
Other people’s.
And her own.
She walked with a kind of madness that made sane people nervous.
She spoke truths that shook foundations.
She touched others and they remembered things they didn’t know they’d forgotten.
Some called her cursed.
Some called her divine.
It didn’t matter.
She wasn’t here for names.
She was here for impact.
She walked into temples that were collapsing and didn’t try to save them.
She let them fall.
She watched the dust rise like prayer.
She wept.
And then she laughed.
Because the soul remembers.
And sometimes remembering means breaking.
She did not seek war.
But she came with weapons.
Truth was one.
Silence was another.
Love—the kind that sears through falsehood—was her sharpest blade.
They wanted her to be sweet.
She was salt.
They wanted her soft.
She was storm.
They wanted her still.
She was Becoming.
And when they tried to burn her, she didn’t scream.
She slithered out of their grip, left her skin in their fire, and walked away smoke slick and reborn...
