After The Flames
Hey, everyone. Due to my now hectic life I will not be posting many stories, but I found time to write this frustratingly short story inspired by slash-and-burn agriculture in my Geography class. It's not great, but I just felt like posting it.
Every fire starts with a spark, however big or small.
And so it begins – the yellow-orange tongues hungrily licking the floor, like a starved animal, hunting for sustenance, tearing itself apart from within, eager to devour all in sight and within reach.
From brushing flints the flickering jewels fall, and the light from the fire illuminates the room with an angry red glow. The heat begins to increase rapidly and within minutes it is unbearable. How something usually so cheery and warm can burn away life's strings!
The beast's hunger deepens, and nothing is spared – the sofa set, the teak coffee table, the exquisitely woven Persian rug, its vibrant hues now dulled by grayish-black ashes, the silverware which reflects the spread of rage across the room on its carefully polished surfaces, the side tables on which had rested the silverware – everything falls to the ground in the zeal and fervour of the beast's battle with itself, not knowing whether it would win or lose, not caring about the destruction it was causing, not seeing the pain reflected in her eyes.
Then came the relief of the downpour.
'Hey!' Mercy and Ben Gates glared angrily at Abigail, who was holding a water gun in her well-manicured hands and had a self-satisfied smirk on her face. The soaking wet father-daughter duo stared at Abigail, plotting revenge, as she tsk-tsked about the state of her usually clean living room.
The sofa cushions had experienced a smooth flight through the air before knocking down the silver jug on the side tables. The Ming vase replica had crashed to the floor in all the frenzy, shattering into what seemed like a billion tiny and sharp pieces. The antique coffee table that had belonged to Mercy's great-great grandfather was lying on its sides, scratches adorning the cherry-coloured wood. The newspapers that had lain on the surface of the coffee table now hid the screen of the blaring TV. The Persian rug had bunched up in places.
Suddenly Abigail noticed the thing that had started the mega battle. She scooped it up from its hiding pace beneath all the chaos, and began to walk into the kitchen.
'Hey! Give it back, mom!' Abigail found herself being ambushed by Mercy and Ben, who had literally jumped on top of her in their quest to retrieve the item. Ben tried to push Mercy aside and clawed at Abigail, but Mercy was quick on the uptake and punched her father in his stomach. Ben retaliated by picking up a sofa cushion and hurling it at his daughter. Mercy ducked down, letting go of her mother. She lunged at her father, pinning him down on the floor. But Ben was heavier and stronger, and managed to push Mercy off his chest. Then Abigail, who had managed to make her way to the kitchen by crawling on all fours, stood up and yelled, "Stop!"
"Listen, you two," Abigail hissed in such a manner that a snake would have fled for fear of its life. "We have three damn TVs in this house." She held up the object that had started it all – the remote. "Start fighting over channels again, and we are not going to Six Flags this weekend!" Her threat, well-meant, hung on every wall decoration in the Gates mansion.
Grumbling, the two flints, the harbingers of the fire, slunk away to sweep up the ashes, embers still glowing as they blamed each other for the unfortunate turn of events.
And so, after the flames, everything became whole again.
However stupid, please review!