The Boot

Hot. That is all I could think of. Heat. Heat and more heat! 
No shadows to be seen. Just thick, cracked dirt beneath me. Lines where the earth had tried so hard to get a drink, it had torn itself open. The sky above me almost hummed with the heat but the trees were still. Not a whisper of wind to whip the dead leaves off the brittle branches. I was ok with it though. I was used to it.
After all, this was the centre of Australia, in the height of Summer. Winter would see freezing cold out here. I would crunch through autumn leaves and wade through the precious water when the rainy season came. In Spring, I would be cushioned by the new patches of grass. I liked those months when my road was not so hard to walk. Australia is just like me. I am tough. I am fearless. I do everything I promise to do and then I never complain. Not when I am dirty. Not when I am wet. Not when I am dry. I just keep going. Some days I get to rest. Just dangle in the back of a ute. Swaying as we drive through the grass. Other days I get to rest in stirrups and look at the ground from a different angle.  If I am really lucky, I get to dabble in a cool puddle. 
As I said though, it is Summer now. Day after day, I walk the same path, see the same things and feel the same way. Today though, I felt different. The heat was more intense. I felt like I was turning to liquid. Slowly dripping away, a millimetre at a time. Leaving some of me behind on the path.  The air smelt different too. Dangerous. Expectant. I realised there was no sign of any animals in the dust beneath me.  No little bird claw marks, No kangaroo paws. They had obviously decided there must be a better place to be. Then it came.
Over the ridge. The once still air now roared with a ferocious sound. A death sound. There was crackling mixed with a whine. The air had turned to orange and red. The sky thick with the dust from the road. But it wasn’t. This was smoke. Thick, choking smoke. It smothered everything in its path before the angry dragon called fire came behind it. 
It raced through the brush, over the once green grass that had long since turned brown. It twisted and turned and danced with the rushing wind. Twigs and branches were devoured in its way. It was relentless. Red hot. Glowing.
This is why I thought I was melting. I was. Literally. The heat of the fire was destroying me from the inside out. Melting the thick outer layer that protected my softer inner layer.Shrivelling my strong foundations where they stood on the ground. My tongue was next. Too late. I had gone. All that remained of me was some blackened pieces of charred laces.