I used to Row by AptPupilofLife2

It was a noble endeavor. And I miss it. Life was simple. The highest burning triumphs ... the broken, blasted dreams. All around one goal, one trail, one destination. The Perfect Piece. 9 men, 6 minutes of perfection.

I loved it. More than loved, I was it, it was I. Consumed, wrapped, reformed, a part of a whole. Obsessed, quivering, shaking, ready to lunge at the command. On Command. No hesitation. No fear. Row.

And I went. Again. And Again. And Again. And I got tired. And I went Again. And Again. And Again. Until My legs were past shaking. Until my entire world had distilled down to nothing but an obsessive need to never fall, to never weaken. It was all I'd ever wanted. The best of me. All of me. Then the floor gave way. It wasn't me. It wasn't. I swear. The floor fell. And I fell with it.

And eventually it landed. And I looked up at my shaft of light, and I screamed. I roared, I cried at it. And I stretched, jumped, flapped my arms maniacally, but I couldn't fly out.

I started building. I scraped dirt off the walls, and put it under me. Eventually, I ran out of dirt, but I was still short . . . so I used pieces of myself. I don't need all this sleep . . . trim a bit here . . . or this . . . or these two fingers . . . .

And I was almost there. I was back at the floor. I was where I had been. But I couldn't stop climbing. I had to get higher, above where I had been, above every other cog in this damned boat, to prove to the sky that I
belonged among the shooting stars, and should be returned to my bristling brothers. I don't need this . . . or that . . .

. . . Or this smile. The Smile was the last part to go. It was the big one, it made the difference.

I flew. I was on fire. The rest of the factory was empty, the other forges were cooling, but I was blue flame. I was not tempered, because to temper one must turn off the forge. And I was NOT going to turn off the forge. I loved the fire. It had sustained me as I clawed myself up, and it would
forever ride with me.

It was all I knew. It was all I had. It was all I'd saved.

Then the others came back to their forges. Work began again. And somehow, someone's billows aimed at me. And they cooled me. I screamed, I hissed, I
fought, but I cooled. And then I looked around, and realized I was alone. They were here, but I was still blue hot, and it seems my companions were orange. They would burn longe perhaps, but I was alone in my desperation. And seeing this, I cooled. And I fell back to the floor. Not below, just to the
floor.

But I couldn't handle the floor again. Not after hating normal so much.

And I couldn't climb upwards. I had no materials with which to build. I'd burned every piece of myself in that flame.

So I doused myself in water, tempered my flame, and walked away from my oar, away from my boat.

Maybe I'll go back some day. When I've rebuilt myself, twisted the corners of my lips up again. But I doubt it. I've been to the blue; I know it's beauty, I know it's pain.