Short Fiction #25 Fireplace

Flames caressed the logs. Smoke curled upwards. The glow flickered through the room, casting shadowy movements on the walls and ceiling.
“Time for bed,” said James. Elizabeth
kept staring at the fire. She snuggled even closer to James.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
The grandfather clock chimed midnight.
“It’s really getting late.”
“I know.”
James yawned. Elizabeth cuddled even closer. A log broke open; a stream of sparks flared upwards.
“I really love this house,” said Elizabeth. “It’s so cosy, especially when we have a fire.”
“Yes,” replied James. “And I really feel cosy every time I chop the wood.”

All rights reserved. Copyright 2006 Trevor W. Hampel.


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