Felix watched orange-blue flames swallow the logs. The fire protected him from the horrible winter air. He looked up at the stars and wished he could be anywhere but here.
Anywhere.
“It’sss about that time,” Elmer croaked, as he rubbed the undulating weeping, red dot on his hairy potbelly. Elmer’s sausage fingers fused in a crude claw.
Felix knew it too. He shook his head incredulously and fought back tears. “I can’t.”
Elmer ripped his pistol from his belt and forced it into Felix’s hand. “Please, don’t let me turn, son.”
Like bodies swaying to the music, the flames swayed gently, as if fused with the whispering air. The only way you can see the wind is when it announces itself in your hair, in the canopy of a tree, when it sweeps across the ground, shakes the surface of the water, or when it joins the fire. The fire, the air and your breath, a kind of proof that one day, you too will be just a small molecule that feeds the flame of a campfire, when your last breath announces that it's time to return back to the cosmos
We packed up for the weekend and headed north, up to the mountains of NH. After surveying the area, camp was set up in a nice spot, a field adjoining and an easterly view towards the horizon to catch the morning sunrise. The dogs ran and played, happy to be free. To deter bears, the cooler hung high from a tree branch. Ample wood was gathered and the campfire lit. Darkness fell quickly. All settled into the tent, the dogs grew nervous, no scared. Rustling noises. Peeking out, I could see lots of eyes illuminated by the fire. A pack.
Yep, they're out there. They might have been coyotes, Fish & Game claims that New Hampshire coyotes are at least 9% wolf (https://www.wildlife.nh.gov/wildlife-and-habitat/species-occurring-nh/eastern-coyote). We have them in the woods near our house, we're used to the howling. They will go after dogs, but they tend to leave humans alone... they were probably just curious (or hoping for a doggy dinner), but all those eyes would have freaked me out, too. A dying rabbit's scream sounds just like a human...
Sylvia and Marvin enjoyed RV travels and meeting new friends. Their campfire was a joyous occasion as other travelers gathered around.
After many libations, Marvin would rake out the fire bed into a glowing sheet of embers. Sylvia would slide in the Hawaiian war chant cassette and turn up the volume. That was Marvin’s cue to remove his shoes and socks and girate to the music.
Fellow campers sat slack jawed at what was about to happen. Viewing this spectacle, the uncomfortable guests slowly disappeared.
“Thank God” said Marvin, I may have actually have had to perform that crazy stunt!
I was looking at the fire and it was like so cold — like 32 freekin’ degrees cold — and I was lookin’ at the letters my loser dad wrote me from cell block whatever and I’m like shivering, right? Cause it’s so cold, so I’m curling up and huggin’ my knees and all that while I’m watching these letters wilt in fast-forward, ya’know? And I’m thinkin to myself like, how come stuff shrivels when it burns, gets all curly-like, ya’know, reaching back to itself. But people, we curl up when we get real cold, we like isolate or something, reach back in on ourselves like mentally. It was probably the weed but like goddamn that just hit me so freekin hard and I started cryin, just like sobbing, yeah? I dont even know why. Maybe nature knows somethin we don’t though. Maybe.
They gathered around the campfire, their only refuge. It was warm and inviting and promised a nice escape. One by one, they walked into the flames. Rather than the fire consuming them, they consumed the fire. When they moved, it moved.
When the wildfire spread, no one knew its cause. It’s funny how something so bright could be so dark.
The firemen caught up. The flames did their best to avoid the water but were slowly put out. Afterwards, they transformed back into their human form. The firemen went to help, but discovered the fugitives were dead, their final escape.
If you like the imagery in that one, and the underlying theme, I have a longer treatment of it as part of my Fairytale Sunday series, which is called 'Stories my mother taught me'. I think it's lovely, if I say so myself.
When I learned of his betrayal, I packed up my sleeping bag and the rest of my gear and left. I needed to be alone and I knew the forest would keep my secrets.
That night, I stared into the campfire, watching memories of the past and dreams of the future flickering away into embers. I fed the flames with his love letters, his photographs, his promises, and all my hopes.
When the night is over, the detritus of our life together will be nothing more than ashes, and my broken heart will turn to stone and love no more.
Thank you. It was way too long when I first wrote it - I'm learning that the message can be made stronger if it's whittled down to a more minimal word length. Thank you for the lesson!
“More wood! We need to keep this fire going all night!” my friendly pyromaniac Tim said.
“But we have no more marshmallows! The last big log took care of the last bag we brought up to the campsite,” I warned.
Tim stomped around, begging me to go back into the forest, and find more kindling for the fire. I got up carefully, as small embers eminated from the wood in the fire.
As I made my way back into the woods, I could hear Tim’s cheering turn into an ever fainting scream for help.
Kareva and Alakuz were standing on the cliff overlooking the one viable path up the mountain. From their vantage point they could see the entire enemy force—thousands of warriors around thousands of small fires.
“They must have brought their own wood.”
“None of it will burn for long. They’ll be hungry and cold tonight.”
“I can’t believe they all chased us here. I mean, I can. Here they are. But remind me to congratulate Turan.”
Alakuz smiled. The newest of their captains had indeed done his job as well as could be expected. “Yes, Oproz.”
Love this prompt because it draws together two of my favourite ‘micros’ protagonists … you, Miguel, and @justin deming (with his 50s by the fire). So, two for the price of one … a 100-word micro dose that includes a 50-word ‘story by the campfire’.
Running Hot
Hi, my name is Justin, welcome. The greeting was warm. There was a sense that sparks might fly. The prompt this evening is ‘campfire’, said the young man, rifling the pages of his flame-coloured notebook, his yellow Lamy fountain pen seeming to take on a life of its own. Begin:
“I found myself sat on a gnarled log next to a man called Miguel. What do you do, I asked nervously, my attention caught by the way the fire danced in his eyes. I am a writer, he murmured. My thoughts flickered into life. ‘The Campfire’. Start with a title.”
“Scorps: Ethuanasia”
Felix watched orange-blue flames swallow the logs. The fire protected him from the horrible winter air. He looked up at the stars and wished he could be anywhere but here.
Anywhere.
“It’sss about that time,” Elmer croaked, as he rubbed the undulating weeping, red dot on his hairy potbelly. Elmer’s sausage fingers fused in a crude claw.
Felix knew it too. He shook his head incredulously and fought back tears. “I can’t.”
Elmer ripped his pistol from his belt and forced it into Felix’s hand. “Please, don’t let me turn, son.”
Felix aimed at Elmer. “I love you, Dad.”
BANG!
Like bodies swaying to the music, the flames swayed gently, as if fused with the whispering air. The only way you can see the wind is when it announces itself in your hair, in the canopy of a tree, when it sweeps across the ground, shakes the surface of the water, or when it joins the fire. The fire, the air and your breath, a kind of proof that one day, you too will be just a small molecule that feeds the flame of a campfire, when your last breath announces that it's time to return back to the cosmos
We packed up for the weekend and headed north, up to the mountains of NH. After surveying the area, camp was set up in a nice spot, a field adjoining and an easterly view towards the horizon to catch the morning sunrise. The dogs ran and played, happy to be free. To deter bears, the cooler hung high from a tree branch. Ample wood was gathered and the campfire lit. Darkness fell quickly. All settled into the tent, the dogs grew nervous, no scared. Rustling noises. Peeking out, I could see lots of eyes illuminated by the fire. A pack.
Yep, they're out there. They might have been coyotes, Fish & Game claims that New Hampshire coyotes are at least 9% wolf (https://www.wildlife.nh.gov/wildlife-and-habitat/species-occurring-nh/eastern-coyote). We have them in the woods near our house, we're used to the howling. They will go after dogs, but they tend to leave humans alone... they were probably just curious (or hoping for a doggy dinner), but all those eyes would have freaked me out, too. A dying rabbit's scream sounds just like a human...
I guess bears weren't the only predator in the area. Great take!
Real life. They eventually left and there was horrible screaming from probably a rabbit in the field.
Damn. Well I heard that wolves do their best to stay away from humans in nature.
As Jeannine mentioned, coyotes. 100 words doesn’t allow for too many details 😁
Thank You Miguel,
I do enjoy your Microdosings! I will endeavor to try more often!
Sylvia and Marvin enjoyed RV travels and meeting new friends. Their campfire was a joyous occasion as other travelers gathered around.
After many libations, Marvin would rake out the fire bed into a glowing sheet of embers. Sylvia would slide in the Hawaiian war chant cassette and turn up the volume. That was Marvin’s cue to remove his shoes and socks and girate to the music.
Fellow campers sat slack jawed at what was about to happen. Viewing this spectacle, the uncomfortable guests slowly disappeared.
“Thank God” said Marvin, I may have actually have had to perform that crazy stunt!
Thanks for joining in Ken!
Microdosing - 100mg of a Campfire
===
She sat on the tree branch, feeling her face’s drying scars and hurting heart. The sunlight was almost gone, a few torches were already up.
Her eyes were on one cart, filled with the gang’s loot. Her family’s heirloom was in it, tucked inside a box of camouflaged gunpowder.
If only they never had it, the thieves wouldn’t have come. Her revenge wouldn’t bring anyone back alive, but it’s the last thing she wanted to do.
She came down, set up her bow and dipped the arrowhead into the flame.
In one breath, the cart would become a giant campfire.
That actually sounds like an ending of an awesome novel.
Hm... now I'm tempted to try :P
Go for it! 😈
“Campfire Curl” OVERDOSE (my first) 141 words
I was looking at the fire and it was like so cold — like 32 freekin’ degrees cold — and I was lookin’ at the letters my loser dad wrote me from cell block whatever and I’m like shivering, right? Cause it’s so cold, so I’m curling up and huggin’ my knees and all that while I’m watching these letters wilt in fast-forward, ya’know? And I’m thinkin to myself like, how come stuff shrivels when it burns, gets all curly-like, ya’know, reaching back to itself. But people, we curl up when we get real cold, we like isolate or something, reach back in on ourselves like mentally. It was probably the weed but like goddamn that just hit me so freekin hard and I started cryin, just like sobbing, yeah? I dont even know why. Maybe nature knows somethin we don’t though. Maybe.
Omg that's awesome haha. I have an absolutely clear picture of the protagonist without a single descriptive sentence lmao. Love it.
Haha thanks - and thanks for hosting, as always - it was very much a stream of consciousness exercise, and a lot of fun
They gathered around the campfire, their only refuge. It was warm and inviting and promised a nice escape. One by one, they walked into the flames. Rather than the fire consuming them, they consumed the fire. When they moved, it moved.
When the wildfire spread, no one knew its cause. It’s funny how something so bright could be so dark.
The firemen caught up. The flames did their best to avoid the water but were slowly put out. Afterwards, they transformed back into their human form. The firemen went to help, but discovered the fugitives were dead, their final escape.
PROMPT: CAMPFIRE
THE CAMPFIRE
We set up our little tent, and then got a small campfire going.
We were planning to toast some marshmallows while we took turns to tell each other ghost stories.
It was going to be fun, and a bonding experience for us all.
So we sat down around the gently lapping flames, and got ready to be scared whilst enjoying some delicious treats.
But we’d barely had time to hand out the forks and get the packet open when disaster struck.
The smoke alarms went off and woke our parents, and our indoor camping adventure immediately came to an end… 🔥😎🔥
😂
😎👍
100mg of a Campfire
A visitation in the ice age
--
All human life can be found in a group of friends, sitting around a campfire.
This is how you once were, I know.
One of you tells a tale of the one that got away.
Another, the dangerous fairytale, the monster in the woods.
A warning and a life lesson in the ice age.
We visited you then, when you were unafraid of our otherworldly difference.
No fear of the other.
For you were one with nature and forest and all her myriad spirits.
We joined you around the fire, listening, telling.
Our timeship, there in the clearing, can wait.
If you like the imagery in that one, and the underlying theme, I have a longer treatment of it as part of my Fairytale Sunday series, which is called 'Stories my mother taught me'. I think it's lovely, if I say so myself.
You can find it here: https://inadifferentplace.substack.com/p/fairytale-sunday-08092024?r=2s9hod
[Hope you don't mind me sharing that, Miguel?]
Not at all! :)
When I learned of his betrayal, I packed up my sleeping bag and the rest of my gear and left. I needed to be alone and I knew the forest would keep my secrets.
That night, I stared into the campfire, watching memories of the past and dreams of the future flickering away into embers. I fed the flames with his love letters, his photographs, his promises, and all my hopes.
When the night is over, the detritus of our life together will be nothing more than ashes, and my broken heart will turn to stone and love no more.
That's so powerful I love this take!
Thank you. It was way too long when I first wrote it - I'm learning that the message can be made stronger if it's whittled down to a more minimal word length. Thank you for the lesson!
“More wood! We need to keep this fire going all night!” my friendly pyromaniac Tim said.
“But we have no more marshmallows! The last big log took care of the last bag we brought up to the campsite,” I warned.
Tim stomped around, begging me to go back into the forest, and find more kindling for the fire. I got up carefully, as small embers eminated from the wood in the fire.
As I made my way back into the woods, I could hear Tim’s cheering turn into an ever fainting scream for help.
“Nope, he wanted wood,” I thought.
Friendly pyromaniac Tim lol
Fun fact: this was inspired by my trip up to Inlet, New York last year, where Heritage Christian Services has a couple of cabins.
Heritage Christian Services has a friendly pyromaniac? 😂
December Flames
We gather around this primal comfort,
marshmallows turning slowly on whittled sticks,
while winter constellations wheel overhead
like ornaments on nature's evergreen dome.
Someone starts humming a carol softly,
and I think how these dancing flames
must have warmed shepherds watching their flocks
on that holy night so long ago in Bethlehem,
their weathered faces glowing orange and gold
just like ours do now, wondering perhaps,
as we do, at the way fire makes family
of strangers on these cold December nights,
while stars pierce the darkness with ancient light,
telling stories of both then and now.
“That’s a lot of fires.”
“We knew as much.”
“It’s just impressive to see them all.”
“True.”
Kareva and Alakuz were standing on the cliff overlooking the one viable path up the mountain. From their vantage point they could see the entire enemy force—thousands of warriors around thousands of small fires.
“They must have brought their own wood.”
“None of it will burn for long. They’ll be hungry and cold tonight.”
“I can’t believe they all chased us here. I mean, I can. Here they are. But remind me to congratulate Turan.”
Alakuz smiled. The newest of their captains had indeed done his job as well as could be expected. “Yes, Oproz.”
—
https://shieldbreakersaga.substack.com/p/the-last-of-the-etela-chapter-5
Love this prompt because it draws together two of my favourite ‘micros’ protagonists … you, Miguel, and @justin deming (with his 50s by the fire). So, two for the price of one … a 100-word micro dose that includes a 50-word ‘story by the campfire’.
Running Hot
Hi, my name is Justin, welcome. The greeting was warm. There was a sense that sparks might fly. The prompt this evening is ‘campfire’, said the young man, rifling the pages of his flame-coloured notebook, his yellow Lamy fountain pen seeming to take on a life of its own. Begin:
“I found myself sat on a gnarled log next to a man called Miguel. What do you do, I asked nervously, my attention caught by the way the fire danced in his eyes. I am a writer, he murmured. My thoughts flickered into life. ‘The Campfire’. Start with a title.”
Damn I totally missed that! That should've been a collaboration lol. I'm gonna tag him lol.
I couldn’t resist!
Also a great pen choice 👀
I have exactly that pen!
I don't have one, yet. But I'm planning on getting the Safari All-star fountain pen, I tried it in a store and it's just maginificent.
I sometimes think the very best words flow from a fountain pen in actual ink!
“How did this start?” asked Bonnie who was warming her hands over the gigantic campfire in an effort to keep them warm.
“Christmas around the campfire has become a time honoured tradition,” replied Fred as he sipped on his cup of lukewarm cider.
“We spend all summer around a campfire. It inspired Ben, so here we are,” responded Lily.
“One of the greatest gifts is to celebrate with friends,” reflected Gil as he raised his cup of cider.
“How long do we stay out here,” Bonnie inquired.
“Until the fire in the fireplace becomes more inviting,” said the others laughing.