UPDATE: Word Prompt "Pyromaniac"

"Thrilling Embers"


Originally written on Dec 10, 2011 @ 8:10 AM.


A:N/ Added a little a few paragraphs to this piece at the end, to make it feel more complete. 


Her body was silhouetted by the fire that raged angrily through yellow and orange flames—tugging through the air to sustain life. The girl sat near: perched on a log, staring hungrily into the flames.

Holding the pile of sticks in her hand, she acted like there was an interesting game playing out as her fingers uncurled from her outstretched hand. The sticks fell, one by one into the fire . . . leaving sparks that dissipate into the cooling air.

The flames continually reflected against the oak tree and bushes—giving everything in its path, a strange orange glow in its presence.

The heat burned into her cheek, revealing the smile that was tugging on the edge of her lips. It was a deceptive one as her head tilted to left— as she never took her gaze off the flames, even once.

Her motions were almost robotic as she finally looked down at the dirt covered ground. Her deep chocolate eyes were searching . . . longing for anything that she could pick up and fuel the flames that were already raging within the depths of the burning logs.

She twisted so that she was facing darkness, and found a rather large branch that she dragged just behind the log she had been occupying.

Placing her foot in the middle of the branch, she tugged upwards and heard a satisfying snap as it broke in two. Taking the much larger piece of branch, she did the same thing before and heard another snap—giving her three pieces of wood to throw into the fire.

The first one, she stuck the tip of the wood into the flames, until she pulled out the branch and blew out the flame with a smirk. Leaving the wood charred with blackness, she drew all over the rock until it looked like a peppered piece of coal. Any remaining pieces were thrown into the fire—before she picked up the next branch, and threw it into the fire.

Tiny sparks of fire floated through the air, as the heat coursed through her veins. Excitement danced in her eyes at the thrill of watching the branches burn to nothing.

The third she held onto: savored and cherished. Her excitement has been replaced with indecision at what to do with the last stick. The night was growing colder and from a sideways glance, she could see the bucket of water that she reluctantly brought with her—almost as if she were expecting to watch the flames burn until they were only embers glowing in the now dark sky.

The way the heat had made her sweat, was like taking a mile long jog on a hot summer night. It was hard to break away, but she had work in the morning, and the last time that she had overdone it, she could hardly pull herself up out of bed.

Pausing mid-thought, the bucket swinging in her hand, she smiled at the slightly smoldering ashes. “I’ll be back for you.” She whispered. Trailing up the stairs, she closed the door behind her, as if she had never left at all.