The fire crackled, sputtering snapping sounds.
The evening began with a quiet conversation about something, she couldn’t remember what.
Then, slowly but surely, everything started collapsing. He snapped, venomous words, venomous sentences and venomous hatred. He sputtered spite and a storm of grudges, loading and malevolence. His skin sizzled, tiny drops of sweat popping here and there on his forehead.
She sat in silence. The fire used to look so beautiful, so warm and welcoming. But, for some reason, it didn’t today.
Silence, the whole evening. And the fire spoke and crackled and snapped.
The next morning, she was gone.
Every morning we had a team motivational meeting, designed to inspire us, build mutually beneficial relationships, and fire us up, ready to face the challenges of the day ahead.
It was supposed to energise us, and enable us to start the day with energy and pace.
It was as awful as it sounds.
Calisthenics to start, then group hugs, a song of the day and a rousing shout of affirmation!
We’d do anything to get out of it: Arrange early morning meetings, and appointments, or just get stuck into work as soon as we arrived.
I guess the meeting succeeded!
Fire pit special roast.
First, prepare your fire pit: Dig out a large, shallow hole in sand.
Next take one prime human, well-matured, seasoned and spiced to taste, and sear on a spit over open flame, until the skin crackles and caramelises.
Line the prepared pit with stones heated in the fire, cover with a layer of straw and lay the meat upon it. Drizzle generously with olive oil, and knobs of butter, then cover with straw and sand.
Bake for three hours.
Serve with your favourite accompaniments.
And I bet your mouth is watering, despite your revulsion!
You Are Not Safe
Tom knows fire. In the last five year, five forest fires have caused me to leave my home, not knowing if that home would be standing when I returned. A few months ago the three largest fire in the state’s history burn directly above, below and next to where I write this. To escape the last fire I drove directly into a pyroclastic cloud. To the casual listener that’s a god damn mushroom cloud. When we finally rounded the monster down US 5, the sky turned Mordor red and black. I know fire and I know it’s coming for me.
Billbert sat in silence as his mother drove them home from the hospital.
Pulling onto their street a commotion in front of their house forced his mother to stop the car. Red lights of fire trucks flashed in the night while the blue lights of police cars held spectators and residents away.
“That’s our house,” Billbert’s mother gasped. “It’s on fire.”
Mr. Blanketmaker paced back and forth on the sidewalk, frantically looking past the firefighters.
They parked the car and ran to Billbert’s father who threw his arms around them. “Honey. When I drove up, Nuclear Fission was running away.”
Centuries ago, I sold my soul in return for living “so long as the sun’s fire burns”. I thought that meant forever, so the devil could never collect.
I’ve done a lot of things since. I was once king of a country that no longer exists. I’ve been shipwrecked and fought in wars, but I miraculously survive everything.
Now, scientists know when the sun will go out. In less than 10 billion years. The universe will be habitable a lot longer. Some say our future descendants could reincarnate all their ancestors, and everyone will live forever in paradise.
The Fire Triangle
I don’t know the secret to a fiery relationship, but anyone who knows the Fire Triangle knows how to extinguish any fire. Every fire requires fuel, oxygen, and heat. Even metaphorical ones.
Separate a burning stick from anything combustible. Once the stick is consumed, the fire goes out. Block a fire from getting oxygen or take all the oxygen away – the fire dies. If things are cold enough, there’s not enough energy to ignite the fuel.
Keep two lovers from touching long enough…
If one lover feels smothered, or ignored…
Start giving your partner the cold shoulder…
No more fire.
Fred was the laziest guy in the company.
Sure, he got his work done, but it seemed like he was always napping at his desk.
Metrics showed Fred was outstanding in productivity and quality, but it didn’t seem that way.
“I’m going to light a fire under his ass,” said his boss.
But nothing could motivate Fred to stop napping at his desk in between tasks.
So, Fred’s boss got out a pack of matches, stuck it on Fred’s chair under his ass, and lit them.
Fred quit and moved to the competition.
And they kicked his old company’s ass.