Cocooned

Cocooned

I float in my cocoon, supported above the fray.

In softness and whiteness and comfort, as in a cloud.

In ease and comfort…

I hear the chaos below me – faintly…

I hear the chaos below me – distant and far away…

The chaos rages but affects me not.

I remain above, beyond, aloof, unaffected.

The soft wool of my comfortable position mutes the voices.

The soft wool of my comfortable position restricts my view.

The soft wool of my comfortable position keeps most things out.

But the soft wool of my comfortable position can’t keep out the smell of burning!

Burning! Fire! I rouse, alarmed, from my comfort.

Burning, fire - but where?

Burning, fire - am I in danger?

No.

The burning and fire are far below, remote.

I subside back into my comfort, reassured.

I subside back into my comfort, into blissful uncaring.

I subside back into my comfort, sure that the burning and fire are not my problem...

…and suffocate in the smoke.