Bright

I am a beam of light caught ablaze, I am a feverish flame, I am passion, crackling, cracking, cheering. I am bigger, growing as I consume the pile of dry wood before me, my heat smacking each of these boys in the face. I grow higher until a shrill cry interrupts my advance.
A howl arises over my violent crackling.
“My specs! Give me my specs!” My eyes drift around for the voice until they land on its screeching owner. A fair boy bathed in my proud-red light hands a pair of glasses to the shrieking boy. The wails subside and my heat grazes this large boy, with sweat dripping down the sides of his face, his cheeks the ruby red of my fingertips. His voice gasps around the edges until he fades away into a vanishing mutter,. A dance begins and right away I climb cunningly to the top. My branches are white hot smudges that break beneath my feet. I am a double-edged blade, one side shivering with my translucent waves of angry-red excitement and the other I lean away from, the wind bending me out of shape. For yards round me my heat is like a blow, and the breeze is a river of sparks. Cinders and ash swirl below me as the fair boy screams:
“More wood! All of you get more wood!” All of the boys pour down the mountainside, away from my hungry-red touch. I am a clean flag, not smudging or smoking, but a smack of orange-red in the sky. The boys come back and pile more wood on, until I block out the rest of the sky. Then, the boys lie down on the ground, and I start to lose my footing. I am anxious-orange, my pile falls inwards with a soft, cindery sound and sends a great tree of sparks upwards that leans away and drifts downwind. I am undecided-yellow, I am hungry-orange.
¨¨¨

My eyes illuminate the ash around me. I am lazy-red, a smudge not even bright enough to move the shadows. I am out of air; I am almost not, almost gone, almost out. A shift in the wind blows some life into me, I flare up for a second, catching something in my light. My eyes throw the figure into the feverish glow, and I glimpse the humped back arched over its grayish fabric. I settle back into my tired smolder, flickering, fading, fading…
“…Out.” A voice says. I am a small spark so close to out that I sputter, weak with being so little. “No.” The voice breathes onto me and I gasp, glowing awake-orange. The owner of the voice appears, his face lit redly.
“Sam-give us-“
“-Tinder wood.” An identical voice answers. The blonde boy leans down and blows again. I am bright, I am beautiful, and I am hungry. Where…? The boy places a piece of tinder wood and then a branch. My glow increases, climbing and crackling. I am alive-yellow, I am awake-orange, I am angry-red. The boy puts on more branches with dry limbs and ugly brown skin. I can feel the bark, brittle under my searching fingers. I can see the boy clearly now, his pale face in my ruby light, and now there is not one boy but two.
“Don’t burn the lot.” The one on the right says. “You’re putting on too much.” Their conversation fades into whispers as I slowly grow. I throw the trees into frightening perspective, and cast shadows on the underside of the boys’ identical faces.
My flickering fingers of light reach across the ground and show the brown from the black. The steep side of the mountain is bathed in shadow and the sliver of the moon is faded white-yellow. I can see the boys avoid looking at that side of the mountain, their eyes wander and then glide over it, skipping to the next section. The gray figure is motionless now, and I can almost, almost, make him out.
I hear the boys’ identical laughter and glance at their now uneasy faces while I climb about the tent, devouring the frantically scurrying woodlice. The boys’ eyes are round, reflecting my light and I am bigger, brighter than the sky. I devour the dry wood, climbing higher and higher. I am hot-red, and the boys stretch their hands out to my warmth. The boy on the left walks around me poking sticks in where he can fit them. He is so close, so close to the figure that the wind turns me curious-crimson. I flare up once, illuminating the disfigured fabric among the cherry colored shattered rocks.
“Sam.” The boy says, his expression baffled.
“Huh?” The other one grunts, his face twists in concentration as he pokes a tinder piece into an open space.
“Nothing.” The boy’s face is distorted with confusion, trying to figure out what had sent the chills, nervous-blue, down his spine.
Crack! I splinter and crash, attached to the branch and throw a wide circle of light around the mountaintop. I explode and throw everything into sharp-red perspective and the boy’s eyes shine with terror.
“Sam-” he’s fighting to keep the fear out of his voice, but it’s shaking, troubled-yellow.
“Huh?” The boy is clearly annoyed at being addressed in the same way twice. He does not even look up.
“Sam! Sam!” The boy’s voice is almost a shout, his eyes glowing with terrible urgency. The other boy looks up irritably and freezes at the intensity of the first boy’s gaze. I shine my light red glow onto his face and the direction in which he looks is terrifying as he gazes at the figure behind the twin with a fixated horror. The boy scrambles round the fire where the other one grips him tightly in an awkward embrace. They are holding each other up for support as they stare, aghast at the looming figure. The boy has given up all pretenses of not being scared as he clutches the other in a white knuckled grasp. My light shadows illuminate the bottoms of their faces, making their features comically strange as they stare in horror. Far beneath my platform the wind sighs and the forest roars. I gasp and flare up once more, casting a smooth smolder on the figure’s arched body. The wind gives the body life and there comes the plopping noise of fabric being blown open. My light accidentally makes the whitish cheeks yellow in my inconstant light, and the wind sends showers of sparks and rivets of smoke down over the boys. The right boy’s mouth is open in a gape, disregarding the light. They flee, scrambling over each other and the ruby red rocks. They crash and collide into trees to get down in the fastest way possible. I am dwindling, tired-orange. The figure is back down in its sleeping position, its curved back settling uncomfortably on its grey knees. In my new lonely-rose light, the figure looks not threatening but broken. It is slumped in a huddled shape, exhausted from the strain. In my fading-black light it looks worn and lost. There are shouts from the beach, and I settle back into my tired smolder, flickering, fading, fading, out.

*any grammer mistakes are intentional because of the broken representation of the fire.

Sophia Mccreary, Age 14, Garde 8, Trinity School, Silver Key