NaNoWriMo Exercise of the Day: Fire
Sep. 15th, 2004 06:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingI didn't think any of these were very good, so I did the 5 minute writing in 3 different tries.
Fire, in a diamond, is scientifically called brilliance. It is the prismatic display of colors, the broken rainbow that happens when light passes through some facets to reflect off of others, shining out in scattered directions. The same travelled path of light also creates dispersion, not the colors but the brightness that returns to an observer's eye.
My birthstone is the diamond, and in the zodiac I am under a sign of fire. I am scattered to the eyes of anyone who will look at me, dispersed in tiny facets of my writing. I wish to be brilliant.
. . .
Together we blew into the coals, and the flames woke again and danced merrily on the last of their fuel. She took another breath. I inhaled to match her. Together we blew into the fire again, gently, the heat of our lives and the air in our lungs renewing the flames. The heat reached up to our faces, and to me it was a gentle touch. My creation. My fire. My soul, feeding the element. For those moments, my spirit blended with hers to bring forth heat and light, renew the fire, and burn away the silent, dead wood.
. . .
The rocket shot upward, but released its glider too soon, and the counterweight pulled the model rocket into a sideways and downward arc. My brothers yelped and ran after, while I watched, a silent observer to the rocket's crash into a dry dessert bush. In moments, flames leaped upward as the bush ignited on the model rocket's fire. It was sudden and magnificent.
My brothers ran around, squawking, but the fire was unstoppable, and had already stretched runners into other nearby shrubbery. Helpless to the waking blaze of wildfire, the adults gathered us quickly into the truck, removing all evidence of us except for the burning vegetation. Father drove quickly down the highway.
. . .
Fire, in a diamond, is scientifically called brilliance. It is the prismatic display of colors, the broken rainbow that happens when light passes through some facets to reflect off of others, shining out in scattered directions. The same travelled path of light also creates dispersion, not the colors but the brightness that returns to an observer's eye.
My birthstone is the diamond, and in the zodiac I am under a sign of fire. I am scattered to the eyes of anyone who will look at me, dispersed in tiny facets of my writing. I wish to be brilliant.
. . .
Together we blew into the coals, and the flames woke again and danced merrily on the last of their fuel. She took another breath. I inhaled to match her. Together we blew into the fire again, gently, the heat of our lives and the air in our lungs renewing the flames. The heat reached up to our faces, and to me it was a gentle touch. My creation. My fire. My soul, feeding the element. For those moments, my spirit blended with hers to bring forth heat and light, renew the fire, and burn away the silent, dead wood.
. . .
The rocket shot upward, but released its glider too soon, and the counterweight pulled the model rocket into a sideways and downward arc. My brothers yelped and ran after, while I watched, a silent observer to the rocket's crash into a dry dessert bush. In moments, flames leaped upward as the bush ignited on the model rocket's fire. It was sudden and magnificent.
My brothers ran around, squawking, but the fire was unstoppable, and had already stretched runners into other nearby shrubbery. Helpless to the waking blaze of wildfire, the adults gathered us quickly into the truck, removing all evidence of us except for the burning vegetation. Father drove quickly down the highway.
. . .