The chilly night stretched to the longest hours I've ever endured. The forest whispered many mysteries as the fire crackled before me. The wind was like a siren that sang a haunted song as faint scuttles came from above and below- critters seeking shelter from the cool night.
I sighed and stretched my arms toward the fire, feeling the glorious heat that radiated from it. I knew that the fire wouldn't be able to stand against the wind that was beginning to pick up. Yellow rivulets of the flame lashed left and right as if it were being dragged harshly by the bitter wind.
Just one night I prayed. Civilization was only another day's walk ahead. My legs were aching and my arms felt like heavy weights at my sides from the long journey. Soon, it would be resting on cushions.
To my dismay, the fire doused. It gave way to the screaming wind. I shivered and pulled my blankets closer, hoping to sustain the faint heat it still held.
One more night, and you can finally save your village.
I reached into the flap of my robe and grasped the small letter- our plea for help.
I could do this.
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Written 7/24/19
I found this prompt- dying fire- on Pinterest the other day and felt the urge to write this.
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Short Stories
Short StoryA series of short stories. They will all likely be different genres.
