Fire by Keona Caraballo ’24 The Fire to the Boy I rubbed my eyes. What I saw couldn’t have been real, but then again I wouldn’t mind seeing her again. I was patiently waiting for my marshmallow to roast over the fire. I needed a break. School has been a lot and it always helps me to stare into a fire to let my troubles melt away like a drop of marshmallow that fell into the fire before it could make it to my last s’more. The smoke blew into my face and snapped me into being worried about my stinging eyes. When the stinging went away I raised my eyes and lost myself in the fire again but this time I was lost in the mesmerizing dance of the fire that eventually formed into the shape of a young woman. Her skin was a gentle charred coal color. Her beautiful, bouncing curls were dancing with her. The flames were her dress and she moved unpredictably yet gracefully. She kept dancing beautifully until the flames died down and the small red hot coals of the burned wood were the only things left. How I wish to see that dance again.
The Boy to the Fire I’m tired, so tired! How much longer? One dance to the next then another, with no break. I wish for nothing except for more room to dance. I dance and dance in smaller places. I am so hungry, so very hungry. I need more yet they must contain me and feed me less. Feed me more! After I eat I get lonely and tired. Then I fall asleep and wake up and dance somewhere else. One day I woke up to dance in an average backyard, like always. This time though I was facing a young man that looked just as troubled as I. His soft straight bright brown hair was gently laying by his face as he laid his heavy face in his hands. He stared at the fire intently and intensely. I danced to impress. I tried to cheer him up, but soon I realized the stress he was under could not be easily lifted off his shoulders with any dance I could perform. In the same way, I could not be satisfied with one measly log to feed me. I wanted to give him a gift so he could always see my dance so I sent him a silver lighter with the inscription of a dead tree in the winter. Oh, how appetizing it looked. I hope he uses it soon. I wish to see him again. Wait patiently, you can do that.
46 | Spring 2022
