The lanterns intertwined higher and higher, burning bright. Fay let herself sink slowly into his chest, trusting that his steady arms promised to support her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she blushed at the sensitive contact. Whether she knew it or not, her brown eyes flicked to the corner of her sight every time she blushed, and her lips turned up in a secret smile. During moments like this, she felt embarrassed that she still felt like a little girl giggling behind a bush as her crush walked by.
She noticed energetic little children running around chasing each other, pointing and laughing at the lanterns. They were probably on sugar rushes from all the candy they ate during the festival. Likewise, she saw older villagers admiring the scene with a different type of admiration in their eyes. No matter the age or situation, the lights seemed lift everyone's spirits.
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Fire is an interesting thing. It can shed light on a room from a hearth, candle, or lamp. In those ways, it is beautiful, life-giving, and bright. Just like people, fire can be helpful in times of need, washing away the darkness. People aren't perfect though and neither is fire; they are ambitious, greedy, and malicious. A little bit of power can be dangerous in the hands of a person. Power drives out the loveliness and leaves an insatiable hunger, a hunger for more power. In this way, fire and people are one and the same. With a little bit of freedom and power, a fire will grow violent, unable to satisfy its burning desire.
The tip of the candle shriveled and blackened like a worm on hot sand. It screamed greedily and demanded more fuel, and liquid wax dripped and pooled on the ground. The tiny flame lapped against the dry paper, and before long the tip ignited. The fiery line devoured the white paper and left a trail of brown ash. Silently, blazing cinders landed on the alcohol soaked ground. The cinders would've faded right then and there, and all of their fun would've been over, but another accident taunted them with power, enticing them to live a little bit longer: a spill. Perhaps a man poured himself a little bit too much and the cup overflowed: no big deal. Alcohol is excellently flammable though, and more than one cup spilled during the festival.
"You were so small back then. You had tiny hands and feet and you always had scabs on your knobby little knees. I remember you would always run ahead of me, your hair trailing behind you. Think about how the sun felt on your skin, how it tasted to breathe fresh air. Remember the way the cattails swayed in the breeze and how I put the white lotus in your hair." 589ccfa754
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