Two islands connected but apart. One is hers, the other her problems’.

She sees the bridge that connects her to her problems. She sees images from her past and present and even some transparent images that are scheduled to haunt her future walking around the opposite island.

She runs across the bridge to them and removes all their shoes off as fast as she can. She runs across the bridge again back to her comfort zone. She pants while holding her problems’ shoes in her arms. She throws them to the ground.

She moves to the buckets of gasoline she had to the side. She soaks all the shoes in the buckets and waits. She stares back at her problems and then back to the shoes. She remembers how the shoes were worn to follow her around and nag her and make her life like a hell without an exit. She was kicked, cursed and offended. She had had enough.

She feels the fumes from the gasoline sting her nostrils. She realizes the shoes are ready. She picks up the buckets with both hands and walks towards the bridge again. She walks across the bridge and listens to her footsteps. Calm and determined. Not as nervous and shaky as her heart feels. Her problems are waiting. They want their shoes back. They can’t haunt her if they don’t have their shoes. Their shoes are a means of transportation. They’re stuck to the ground. Immobile.

She remembers they have no senses or feelings. She gives them their shoes with her head down. She doesn’t want to see their faces. She never lifts her head for them. Not before, not now, not ever. They put their shoes on and start to follow her. The lack of common sense doesn’t tell the problems that their shoes are soaked with gasoline.

She walks across the bridge for the very last time and tilts the buckets a little. She pours the remaining gasoline all over the bridge. It forms two thick lines alongside her throughout the length of the bridge. She gets to her island and smiles. Her plan is going as smooth as she wants it. The gasoline has run out at exactly the end of the bridge. She throws the buckets away.

She pulls out the book of matches in her pocket. She strikes a match and walks to the bridge. No wind. A calm small fire at the tip of a match stick. She lets go of the match stick so it lands on one of the lines of gasoline. She watches the line of fire expand and move fast. Her problems are there. They want her. They want to feed on her like they always do. She has had enough. She strikes the second match and ignites the second line of gasoline. Both lines of fire are wide enough.

Her problems aren’t allowed to pass through to her. Their shoes catch on fire. They have no senses. They feel no pain.They burn on the other side of the bridge. The bridge crumbles into ashes and sinks. There is no connection between her and her problems. Her problems, past, present and future, fade away. She stands on her island and stares at her problems’ now-deserted island.

She turns around and walks away. Never looking back.