Another well written but disturbing short story from my deceptively gentle soul-mate:
I love a good fire. From the early licking flames on the kindling, to the
great heat thrown as a good roaring one meets its climax, then down to the
final crescendo as the glowing embers slowly grey out and fade away.
Mmmm. Cosy. That’s what fires are, cosy. Families gathered around the hearth
sipping cocoa and wiling away the time. And of course what would Christmas be
without eggnog and a fire.
My mother would always have to light our fire at home. Dad was hopeless, and
by the time he was on his fourth try Mum would grab the matches, rearrange the
kindling and 2 minutes later warm and cosy. Oh and don’t get me started on
the BBQ. It may be the man’s domain to burn the food on top, but it was…
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