Hissing as they kissed the hot coals with their posonious lips, the rain began to whisper, the embers began to choke, and for one last time the dying flame danced its heart out, goodnight, to the sky.
Forgotten at the sound of thunder, a blue, fleece blanket and four cushioned lawn chairs, surrounded the smoldering fire pit. Four former tree branches rested their sticky heads upon a rock nearby. The sticks had no intent to roast any more marshmallows tonight. Instead they laughed, mockingly, at the foreign furniture, that would only be junk by morning.
Then, it began to pour.
The rain invaded a stranded, half eaten bag of potato chips. It began to seep into every crevice of the leftover hamburger buns, and an open can of cheese dip.
The cushions didnapos;t even want to talk about it.
The colorful leaves that the trees held, high above the ground, began to give in to the pattering of the rain.
The rain never stopped its feeling of fury. It desperately wanted to see the roaring fire, wishing intensely to be able to spend hours feeding the flames. Using logs from the immense woodpile, which would slowly diminish over time.
The rain was feeling jealous.
The sky gushed raindrops that poured all over the tarnished, red wheel barrel and an axe with a wooden handle. It began to drench the undersized fire pit to a point so sever that it seemed to imply that a flame never here exist again.
But no matter how much rain the sky let loose, the smoke smell still remained. And the memory of the dancing flame, would one day dance again.
M.Cerio
female perversions, ethnic conflict in yugoslavia, ethnic conflict in sudan, ethnic conflict in sri lanka, ethnic conflict in rwanda.
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий