Short Stories

Dying Embers

It was always a family tradition to sit round the fire at night. It had done it since I was little. We would toast marshmallows, tell stories, sing, talk about our day. All of us around on fire in our back garden. Nothing could destroy the mood. It was bliss. Everything was just right.

My sister was the first person to stop coming. She left for university. My dad stopped when he split from my mum. My brother was next. He was more interested in girls and video games. Then it was just my mum and me. It would still be fun, just not as good as old times. It was quieter. There was too much room. Not enough laughter.

But then she stopped. She would never come outside. She would just stay in all day. I was the only one. I would light the fire and sit listening to the world. I would stay outside until the remaining embers were blown away by the wind. This is what it had been like for the past year. Just me. And the fire.

The problem with fire is that it can't be controlled. We try as hard as we can to hold it back. To put it out quicker. Using any object we can find to get rid of it. But man can't always control fire. Sometimes it controls us. It laughs at us as we try to put it out. It mocks our panic as we scream as it come closer. It uses its smoke to remove our hope. We a beaten down by fire and we ourselves become the dying embers. That's what happened to me.

I was home alone that night. Everyone had gone out and I was left with the fire and a bag of marshmallows. I remember it clear as day. The way I rummaged through the log bag, so I could watch the fire for longer. Pouring a small bit of gas on the logs to give it more power, just like my dad had shown me. Throwing the logs onto the dying embers.

When I say I remember it clear as day, what I meant was a slightly cloudy day. I don't know how or remember how. But suddenly everything went wrong. The fire grew and grew and grew. It wasn't going to stop me anytime soon. It started to spread up our garden. Destroying everything in its path. It tormented me when it died down but suddenly sparked up again. I tried everything method I could thing of to put it out. I rang the fire brigade. I rang my family. Sadly, the one I needed the most didn't arrive first.

I heard the cars pulling onto the drive as I watched the fire spread. My mum, dad, brother and sister came running into the garden. They gasped at the sight at our once beautiful garden. The fire was burning through everything. But it never left our garden. We huddled together and protected each other from the smoke.

I looked at the fire. I had always admired it beauty. How the bright orange mixed with the dark, black smoke. The way it made patterns as it danced along the ground. How it would travel in colour but leave a trail of black.

But all the family were together. Watching the fire. Just like old times. A group of dying embers. Together.