General Prose

Fire...

She loved watching the little flame, wavering, curious, peeking its orange head over the top of the clear purple-blue lighter, reflecting off the fingers that gave it life. She killed it quickly with the flick of her thumb, then brought it back a moment later, a phoenix, reincarnated...

She lit leaves, tiny twigs, isolated in shallow pits she scraped in the cool September dirt of the park. It was sandy soil that didn’t grow much but stiff-stemmed grass. Dried rivulets and gullies snaked across the field, steep-carved little canyons downhill. To a mouse, the tiny streams were giant lakes, slim rushing oceans. The girl’s small flames were bonfire signals that flashed against the night.