Marie spun in terror, the bottom of her dress flowing outward like the petals of a crimson flower, her hair catching blue fire. The red-and-yellow stage lights created the illusion of flame on her dress, and I couldn’t help thinking how much more exquisite she’d be if she actually were on fire.
![flickery flame kit flickery flame kit](https://www.jaycar.co.nz/medias/sys_master/images/images/9166097023006/KC5234-flickering-flame-lighting-kitImageMain-515.jpg)
When Marie took the stage with a grace far beyond her twelve years, I thought I was watching the most beautiful girl in the world.īut even then, reality was not enough. Marie, my first girlfriend, presented as Madame de Pompadour, her hair magnificent in her subject’s signature gravity-defying style. In sixth grade, my classmates and I gave presentations on historical figures. Hands shaking, I ask myself how I got to this point. A cold realization freezes me: I, Daris Afrit, have burned every beautiful thing from my life. When my fire reaches the first long row of homes, I lift the flames up as a great wave, its orange crest curling over rooftops, poised to descend and destroy.Īnd as I think of the people inside those homes, nausea extinguishes my euphoria. A rumbling avalanche of flame crashes down the wooded slope, rushing around me toward the neighborhood below. I throw my arms out, signaling the coming finale, and sweep my hands forward. I turn around and scan the city’s downtown lights, glowing pink and green. Tonight, burning every square inch of these mountains will not satisfy me. It’s a wonderful touch.īut it’s not enough. Turquoise rings ripple out everywhere they land. I can feel its frustration - until a school of crimson flying fish leaps from the flames, soars over the retardant-soaked ridge, and dives into the next canyon. My child reaches the wet, sticky strip and pauses. It sets its course above a ridge and drops a load of chemical retardant. The next hero to try slaying my dragon is a large fixed-wing air tanker. I sculpt the flames into a fist - middle finger extended - that burns so hot the pilot’s water drop evaporates before it can reach earth. The pilot drops her water bucket on a column of fire probing up toward the ridge. My assignments have a tendency to burn rather long and out of control. I’ve worked with the pilot in my day job fighting fire. When the first helicopter arrives, I recognize its tail number. I close my eyes, breathe deep, and smile. I watch the mountains burn until red-and-blue lights rattle up fire roads - wildland engines come to contain the inferno. At times like these, I can feel that flames have desires of their own: ambitions to spread, to conquer new lands. It even breathes: the wind whipping past me is my fire inhaling air from below to replace its exhaled smoke plume, glowing with firelight. It is born, it consumes, it grows, and it dies. I brim with the pride of a father watching his child thrive.įire is a living creature. The mountain range - a dark, blank canvas just moments ago - is now a work of art, a living Pollock-splatter of incendiary shades. Transformed into a dozen Icaruses, they plunge back to earth on wings of fire. It’s my best work.Ī flock of phoenixes rises from the flames and soars out for a mile in every direction. I pause to appreciate the canvas come to life. A few twists of my wrists and I sculpt a stampede - orange bulls of fire, a few charging tigers, and one galloping zebra striped red and blue.
![flickery flame kit flickery flame kit](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/31LFACcJlQL._SL160_.jpg)
I sweep my hand from left to right and a mile-long slash appears like a knife wound in the mountains, bleeding fire.
![flickery flame kit flickery flame kit](https://img1.etsystatic.com/054/2/6578127/il_570xN.690820307_5amr.jpg)
Arms of flame climb the bark and the canopy explodes, turning trees into torches, illuminating my canvas. A glow flickers to life in the inky darkness beneath a grove of trees. I face the forested mountains, raise my hands like a conductor readying an orchestra, and point to my first section.