Fire

These are a handful of stories that I wrote months ago for a contest on deviantART. The prompt was Fire, and it had to be exactly 50 words. I wrote these three, but ended up not entering the contest because... well, I forgot. Oops.

I'm not as crazy about these now as I was a few months ago, but I think that they're still okay. So, here you go!

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When I am (finally) alone (and lonely) at night...

I feel it. The fire. Inside of me. It can’t burn me. It can’t hurt me (or so I thought). It is simply... there.

And I know why. It’s because I (know that she’s better) hate her.

She causes my fire.

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She is fire. Everything about her. Her hair. Her eyes. Her spirit.

I am ice. From my appearance, to my demeanor, to my spirit.

I know that when you touch fire, you only get burned...

And yet I am drawn to her like a moth to a flame...

Foolish moth.

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Fire can burn. It can destroy. It can hurt.

But it can also provide warmth, and food. Essentials.

It can kill you.

And it can save you.

It is evil.

And good.

It is a contradiction that makes sense.

But, then... If I’m fire...

What can that say about me?