In this part of the world, it’s bonfire time. This requires a roaring blaze, the pervasive scent of woodsmoke, autumnal chill upon one’s cold-flushed cheeks, and maybe some marshmallows precariously blobbing off a long stick. The fire, however, is the critical element of a good campfire, well before sugary treats and camaraderie. And some weeks, a story needs a spark to get started.
|Fiona Grey||A choreographed dance of magical dust motes||AC Young|
|AC Young||The siblings’ familial nicknames were “littl’un” and “littler’un”. There was one slight complication – these days littler’un was taller than littl’un.||Fiona Grey|
|Padre||“The storm rolled over the house, rain and lightning hammering down on them from on high.”||Cedar Sanderson|
|Becky Jones||The morning coffee klatch lasted until well after midnight.||Padre|
|Leigh Kimmel||A faint whiff of skunk||nother Mike|
|nother Mike||There was a rock in his pocket…||Leigh Kimmel|
|Cedar Sanderson||they were late, quick, and dirty||Becky Jones|
Forgot to send a prompt into firstname.lastname@example.org this week? We’ve got your story embers right here with the spares.
|Spare||“Ketchup,” she squealed with a giggle, and sprinted toward the finish line of the French Fry Race.|
|Spare||In autumn the leaves of the Indigo Oak turn a deep purple.|
|Spare||The group comprised the most artistic of known aliens, but it was disconcerting to find out the Odds of the human world were, in fact, part of a greater, likeminded whole.|
|Spare||Of frogs and men|
|Spare||Under the boardwalk…|
|Spare||“And I am ethereal girl”|
And if that story that started with just a glowing coal turns into a towering blaze of an inferno? In that case, we’d love to read it!
Header image by Fiona Grey, Stone Bridge, Hocking Hills