This short story was written as part of a series of “Neurodivergent Primers”. It’s aimed at lower high school, I guess. It’s just over 3000 words.

Weren’t there three men that we tied up and threw into the fire?
Look! I see four men walking around in the fire,
unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.

Nebuchadnezzar II, King of Babylon 605 to 562 BC.

Chapter 1 

“Do you mean this?”  Maxine tugged at her large white cloak, but she was not sure what the lizard wanted. The lizard was ugly and warted with a stumpy tail. He narrowed his eyes, and his thoughts came directly to her mind, but jumbled like they were under water: It is for anger, she thought she heard him say.

The lizard wanted her to understand, and she could see frustration and effort on his reptile face. In the bubbly, muffled confusion she caught the words, fire and throw.

“Yes, I think I understand,” Maxine said out loud, but it was a lie. This was a nightmare.

The lizard nodded. Come.

Then they were in a round room with a pale stone floor and a domed roof of interlocking pale brick. The lizard pointed with its chin. Maxine turned and saw a small arch, a cold dark sky and distant lonely stars. Maxine went to the arch. There was no rail and a cliff dropped away into neverending black. A freezing wind blew. She shivered.

When she felt a nudge at her hand, she turned, and the wart lizard flicked its tongue. She followed it back into the room. A brick chute, like a narrow tunnel, was built into the far wall. When she looked in, she saw a solid metal trapdoor, coloured with rust.

Ready? the lizard asked.

Maxine wasn’t. How could she be? It was a nightmare. She nodded anyway.

There was a distant metallic clanking, like a chain being pulled around a wheel, then a distant rumbling roar that grew louder. The sound filled her with dread.

Be brave! 

Without warning, the trap door swung back. Fire rushed up the tunnel, devouring the air.

“No!” Maxine yelled, but in an instant, she knew what had to be done. She tore off the cloak and threw it over the mouth of the chute. The cloak’s pure white fabric was thick and tightly woven and she felt its smooth surface against her forearms.

The fire blasted the cloak, trying to make her let go, trying to force through, but Maxine held it down, yelling for dear life. Acid pumped through her veins. The cloak shook and shuddered. The fight seemed to go on forever.

Then, without warning, the trapdoor clanged. The fire withdrew.

Maxine rolled away and gulped for air. It was like she couldn’t breathe. If she had not held it back, the fire would have roared into the stone room, swirling and burning, engulfing the whole room in flames. But she had held it back. She had acted in time!

What colour? the lizard asked.

But then she heard the same dreadful metallic clanging, and a moment later heard the rumble of approaching flame. As the fire burst into the room, she threw her cloak again over the chute and pinned down the fire, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes with effort.

Time and time again, the fire came. In the moments between, while Maxine gasped and spat and wiped at her burned face and fought for air, the lizard asked its incongruous question: What colour? What colour? What colour?

The nightmare was such that the fire seemed to go on for eternity.

Then it was done.

Maxine slid down the wall. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and pushed back her sticky hair. “Did I do well?”

She knew she had. She was sure of it. She had kept the both of them safe from the flames!

But the wart lizard did not answer. He looked at her with tenderness.

“I didn’t do well?” Maxine frowned. Her voice echoed back to her from the curved walls.

The lizard waddled closer and touched his ugly chin to her head in blessing. What colour?

“White!” Maxine retorted and shook the cloak at him. “It’s white! I did what you said! I put the anger out. You told me. The cloak is for anger.”

The wart lizard blinked once, blinked again, then twisted its head, like it was trying to hear a distant sound.

Maxine narrowed her eyes. “You brought me here and I did what I had to do. The cloak is for anger. It’s what you said.”

No. The lizard shook its head, and with great effort, communicated more clearly.

The cloak is your anger.

Maxine snapped awake.

Chapter Two 

To be fair, Maxine was so relieved it was only a nightmare that she forgot about it. Nightmares were not a new thing.

Maxine had good reason to be angry. She knew, more than most, how unfair and cruel the world could be. She had seen things young girls should not see. She had heard things they should not hear. She had lost to injustice. So much had been taken.

So she was angry!

Her anger curled deep in her belly and she kept it covered and simmering, but in an instant she could summon it to devour and destroy any threat. Her anger kept her safe. It warned people to back off, to leave her alone, to not even try, it warned them that she would bite and scratch if provoked.

As days turned into weeks, Maxine could feel the anger awakening. A dripping roof destroyed precious photos. Sister Mary Jacob was unkind. The boy who delivered the groceries saw her blue ribbon but he just laughed and turned his ugly, sharp back on her.

It was all too much, and she found herself out of control. She ranted and yelled and threw cups, plates, vases. They had to hold her back from attacking little Emma. Then, when they put her into her room, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed hot tears into her pillow.

It was only there, facedown and hidden away that memories of the ugly, wart lizard returned. Maxine remembered that room with the domed ceiling. She remembered the fire and the cloak, and the repeated question: What colour? What colour? “White,” she had said, because of the cloak but, now that she remembered, the fire seemed to go on and on simply because she got the question wrong.

What colour?

The warted lizard had said fire and throw and it was clear that he was warning her about the flames, so she’d thrown her cloak over the fire. It was obvious. That’s where the danger lay.

What colour?

And he had kept asking, like it meant something. Like it was important. She remembered the sound of the rumbling flame, remembered the opening trapdoor and the racing tongues of fire.

What colour?

Then she was asleep, back in the nightmare, in that nowhere place again. She turned and, as expected, the wart lizard stood nearby on its stumpy legs.

“It was blue!” she blurted out, triumphant. “The fire was blue. I saw it, just before I threw my cloak.”

The wart lizard waddled to her, nodding eagerly.

“Why was it blue?” Maxine was genuinely curious.

The lizard concentrated. Fire is not anger. Fire is—

A jumble of thought syllables followed and Maxine could not understand.

Maxine held up a hand. “I thought you said the cloak is for anger, but that’s not what you said is it? The cloak is your anger. That’s what you said, right? The lizard nodded again, eager and proud, like it was almost smiling.

Brave girl. Throw.

“Throw my cloak over the chute?”

The wart lizard hopped from foot to foot. No. Throw.

“Throw it down the chute?”

No.

Heat drained from Maxine’s body. “Throw my cloak–away?” The last word came out in a whisper.

The lizard levelled its gaze at her for a long moment. Then it nodded.

Throw. Brave.

“So you want me to stand in that room, and—”

The lizard interrupted. —Furnace. Room is furnace.

Desperation clawed at Maxine’s throat. Tears pricked her eyes. “But I can’t. I’ll die!”

Be with you, the wart lizard said. Trust.

Maxine was crying now. Her hands went up and she cradled her own head. “But why?”

Brave girl. Trust.

Chapter Three

They stood before the chute, and all the bone weary tiredness of the last nightmare filled Maxine with an ache.

The clanking came, and the rumbling. Down the chute Maxine saw the trapdoor open. Flame roared out. But this wasn’t blue. It was—green!

Maxine couldn’t help herself. In an instant, she had her cloak over the chute, and she was yelling and screaming and holding the fire in, and it was like she had never left. She heard the ugly lizard trying to say something, but she didn’t care. She could not be brave! It was madness to stand in that room without her cloak!

The trapdoor clanged shut and Maxine spat away sweat and loose hair.

Brave girl, the bubbly underwater voice said behind her. Give cloak.

Maxine rounded on the lizard. “I am not giving you my cloak! You can go and get—”

The lizard looked up at her, not moving, waiting for her to finish her rant. Then it blinked slowly. Its voice was calm. Give cloak. End nightmares.

The unfairness of it all and the despair brought sharp tears to Maxine’s eyes. She saw her choice. Hand over the cloak and be consumed by flames, or fight the chute for eternity.

Your anger.

Maxine made her choice, and it was a nightmare.

And the nightmare jumped forward, giving her no time to prepare.

She stood before the chute with no cloak. She felt the clanking through her feet.

“Just to be clear, you are very ugly and I hate you!” Maxine said.

She heard the roar. She saw the trapdoor open.

Brave girl!

Green flame clawed past the trapdoor, up the chute. It roared into the room, somehow bigger than she had ever imagined. The green fire engulfed her, swirling hot wind around the dome. Waves of heat washed over her. It felt like her skin blistered. There was roaring in her ears. She found herself crying, curled into a ball, protecting herself.

In that green, hot world, a hand touched her shoulder and she heard a voice “I am here!” She knew it was the lizard, because she recognised his voice. Somehow, in all that heat, she could hear him with her ears, strong and clear. She knew he was ugly, and she thought she would recoil at his touch, but it steadied her and set her on her feet.

“What colour do you see?”

Maxine opened her eyes to the green flames swirling about the room, pulling at her body. The lizard’s sure hand remained on her shoulder.

“Green,” she said in a small voice.

“This is grief,” his sure voice said from somewhere behind her. “Green fire. Grief is when you give up something good that you had. Grief is how your heart heals.”

Maxine became aware of the precious memories that turned in her mind, rolling on each other like shiny, wet pebbles. Memories of her family, of her innocence, of her childhood lost forever. They were too small to hold. They slid through her fingers.

She felt a squeeze on her shoulder. “Tell me something good you had. It’s time to say goodbye.”

“I can’t!” Maxine wailed.

“I know you can.”

Maxine knew the memory. The good thing she once had. She even knew the words, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get air.

Green flames whispered around her, pulling at her hair in gentle caresses.

Maxine forced the words out, one at a time. “One. Sunday. Morning—” She stopped. She couldn’t go on. Why was this difficult? The next two words were like a mountain to be climbed and she didn’t know how to utter them. She screwed up her face, willing herself to speak the two syllables “My. Dad–”

She heard a whimper, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Oh, how she missed her father. He was her tower and her rock, but he had been taken! Gone forever. But she was over the worst. She felt a squeeze on her shoulder.

“One Sunday morning, your Dad—” the lizard prompted.

Maxine nodded, and finished in a rush, as quick as her lungs would allow. “—took me out for breakfast.”

Such a simple memory. Such a small pebble. But it was precious and it was gone. A dam broke. Maxine found herself enfolded in the embrace of the ugly lizard, and she sobbed and sobbed into his shoulder. The lizard rocked her back and forward and held her for a long time.

When she let go and stepped back, the green flames were no more. The room was warm, but not uncomfortably so.

The lizard was as wart ugly as ever. Look.

With its claw it nudged at something on the floor. Maxine reached down and picked up a green ring. She looked at the lizard.

Well done, brave girl, his thoughts said. He nodded at the ring. Put on.

Maxine slid the green ring over a finger. It felt comfortable. Special.

The lizard looked around at the furnace, then at the chute, then back at Maxine. Bad as you thought?

Maxine pulled a face. “Yes.” then, “No.” then “I don’t know.”

Chapter Four

The lizard invaded her dreams. He was always there. Always waddling. Always ugly. Always wanting more.

Ready?

She never was, and every time, at the beginning of the nightmare, she had the cloak in her hands. Sometimes, she forgot, and found herself screaming over the chute, smothering the flame, and the lizard stood behind her demanding, What colour? What colour? and she dared not look to find out. But mostly, she handed the cloak over to the lizard, and told herself she hated him for what he was doing to her.

There was clanging and yellow flames came out, whooshing her hair. “This is sadness,” the lizard said. When the furnace air swirled and wobbled with heat, his voice rang clear like a bell. “Sadness is the name of the feeling when you give up good things you hoped for. Sadness is how your heart heals.”

“I wanted him to walk me down the aisle when I got married,” Maxine said, and when the tears had ended, the lizard retrieved a yellow ring from the floor.

When she woke in the mornings, she always felt hollow, wrung out. Not inside her own body. She went to sleep, telling herself how much he hated the lizard.

“What colour is the fire?”

“Blue.”

“This is Hurt. Hurt is the feeling when you’ve offered something special of yourself and been ignored. Hurt is how your heart heals.”

Maxine’s forehead drew together in a question. “How the heart heals? Isn’t letting yourself feel this feeling of hurt just being a sook? Sister Mary Jacob tells us all to get over it.”

“Sister Mary Jacob doesn’t know about your heart,” the lizard said. “Letting the flames wash you is the only way to heal it.”

Purple flames.

“This is Rejection. Rejection is the feeling of when you have offered something to someone, and they take a part and leave a part. This is how your heart heals.”

All the colours were uncomfortable but some were much worse than others. They all felt different… They all had their own flavour. Red was Terror. “Terror is how you feel when your world is in danger of collapsing.” Orange was Horror: “Horror is how you feel when you are being treated monstrously.” Maxine literally felt like throwing up in that fire.

Always, the lizard stood behind her in the furnace. Always, he was with her, with his hand on her shoulder. She never saw his face. She just heard his kind and calm voice. “You need to learn, in the real world, that just before your anger, there’s a moment when you can see the emotion.”

“It’s why you always ask, ‘What colour is the fire?’” Maxine said.

“Exactly.”

When things went wrong during the daytime Maxine found herself doing something different. Normally, when the anger came, she would be blinded by it. But now, in the split second before, she was able to recognise something else the anger was covering up. She still flew off the handle and felt silly about it, but she began to become more curious. What was the feeling that appeared just before the anger smothered it? 

The nightmares went on and on. Every night, the lizard named a different feeling. Some of them were not so bad. “Lost is how you feel when…”

“What about guilt?” Maxine interrupted.

“Guilt is not a furnace feeling,” the lizard’s voice said from behind her in the fire. “Guilt, Worry, Shame, even Feeling Good are similar to Anger. They are used to cover up the deeper feelings so your heart can’t be healed.”

Maxine forgot all about the cloak. She was too busy learning the colours, telling the lizard stories of her life that matched with the feelings. Sometimes there were tears, but there were less and less.

Then came the night they  stood before the chute.

Hottest ever. Be brave!

The trapdoor opened, and golden flames charged up the tunnel, whooshing and tearing into the air. Maxine had braced herself to feel something awful. But this was delicious. White hot. Golden. The air was charged with electricity. It vibrated with energy. The heat was nearly liquid.

Always, the lizard’s hand had been on her shoulder, but now, surrounded by the golden flame, she felt it slip away.

“What is this?” Maxine said.

“This is Aloneness,” the Lizard’s said, and its voice, above and behind her, echoed around the cavern. “Aloneness is how you feel when you’re not afraid to step into the furnace, when you have been through the flame, when your heart has been healed. Aloneness is what you feel when you are with me as I truly am.” In the vibrating air his voice echoed off the walls.

Maxine was conscious of the memory of his hand on her shoulder, now absent. “But I’m not Lonely.”

“No, we did that one already,” the lizard said. “Don’t you remember. Loneliness is–”

Maxine rolled her eyes. “Loneliness is the feeling when you have no deep feeling connection with anyone,” and she waggled her Loneliness ring.

The lizard’s grunt of approval bounced around the chamber.  “You are correct. This is not Loneliness. This is Aloneness. You know, the feeling of just being yourself? Of liking yourself? Of being safe in the world? Feel it now. Aloneness has another name. Tell me what it is.”

Maxine closed her eyes and lifted her hands. She breathed in the hot, hot air, but it didn’t burn. She made some humming noises and heard how the sound bounced off the walls. “It’s…” The word was on the tip of her tongue. “It’s Joy! I’m feeling Joy!”

She wanted to share her newfound discovery with the lizard. They had been through so much together, and she wanted to see what he thought.

She turned and saw—

The lizard was transformed. He glowed. He was fire and gold, and instead of waddling, he moved with power and strength. He was breathtaking.

“I thought you were just a lizard,” Maxine blurted out.

He danced down from the inside wall. “Just a lizard? Just a lizard. I am a Salamander, dear heart. This is my truest form.”

“But—”

“I was always like this in the fire,” he said. “You just never looked to me.”

“You’re beautiful!” was all she could say.

The Salamander threw back his head and laughed. It was an easy sound, a glorious sound. “Look down. Maxine.”

Maxine looked down at her arms and saw them glowing. She saw her legs were glowing too.

She looked back up, unable to speak.

“Tears of joy, brave girl.” the Salamander said, wiping her eyes.

“I still hate you,” Maxine said, and her sniffle turned into a laugh. 

The Salamander laughed as well. “Shall we be friends?”

---

The theory of Deep Feelings is not mine. It comes from a psychiatrist, Ken Fabian, who is now deceased, but if you do a google search, you can find his work. His idea is that Deep Feelings are associated with mental health and are hard to label. Many of them are terribly uncomfortable (“nonconcomitant”, he said), and we call them things like Fear, Terror, Horror, Grief, Sadness, Embarrassment, Deeper Embarrassment, Anguish, Rejection, Hurt, Bewilderement, Lost. There are only a finite set. Other deep feelings are comfortable, and have names like Awe, Curiosity, Mastery, Aloneness, Joy, Happiness.

He explains that surface feelings (categorised into Guilt, Anxiety, Anger, Shame, Feeling Good) are associated with mental disease and are used to cloak, or to cover up Deep Feelings.

Much of Fabian’s work was done with children with autism. His theory was that children with autism had a traumatic experience, often before speech was formed, and learned to cloak their own deep feelings and self-soothe, which kept them isolated. (I think I’ve done that justice)

In my work experience with young people in education and ministry over the last 20 years, I have constantly drawn on his model of emotions. They are more sophisticated than any other theory of emotion I have seen.