Star Talk

Once the fire was lit, we sat back on the cold stone, sharing the thin, frayed blanket. We wanted to make s’mores, but we were both too broke to buy any marshmallows.

Despite the fire already blazing, I continued to light the remaining matches. It was a cycle; I’d light one up, hold it a bit too close to my face, stare unblinkingly at the flame in a slightly creepy way, then watch as it moved down the match until it touched my fingertips, scorching the skin until I gently blew it out.

I’m a bit of a pyromaniac. Don’t tell my therapist.

Eventually, he snatched the matchbox from my grip and tossed it to the side. I guess he was fed up with my flame fixation. Grumbling in annoyance, I pulled the blanket closer over my shoulders before picking up the fire poker and prodding the burning logs, content again when the flame suddenly burst bigger with the shifting of the wood.

“Your fascination with fire is kinda troubling,” he mumbled quietly. “Fire’s not something you should play with. It’s like, impossible to control.”

“That’s why I love it, dumbass.”

I saw him glance at me through the corner of my eye. He scoffed and shook his head in indignation, but the smirk on his lips revealed that he thought the crazed behavior was at least a bit endearing.

“This isn’t some shitty movie where the angsty teen who finds comfort in fire is able to justify her freak obsession by making it seem like some deep metaphor.”

I shoved him.

“Alright well maybe just like the way it looks! I dunno why I like it, I just do. It’s kinda mesmerizing…” I played it up by sticking my hand straight through the flames. It hurt like hell, but it was worth it to see the horrified look on his face.

I cackled. He frowned and violently pulled my half of the blanket away.

We fell back into a comfortable silence and looked back at the fire pit. I gave it another five minutes before compulsively picking up the poker once more. I scratched the pointed end against the logs and watched as tiny glowing sparks flew off and floated into the sky.

“I’m writing a message to the stars,” I muttered.

He yawned and laid down on his back, tossing his arms behind his head to form a makeshift pillow.

“Tell them I say ‘hi’ I guess.”

I scratched more vigorously and watched as the sparks engulfed the sky. The fire was slowly dying but I wasn’t cold. I waited a bit longer. Waited until his guard was down and his eyes were slipping closed.

“Hey… they wrote you back.”

“What'd they say?” he sighed out.

“They told me you’re a loser.”