Fire

It was cold outside. That was no wonder though in the middle of December: snow covered the grassy plains, the rooftops, and the trees of the nearby forest too. The white blanket was practically sparkling in the light of the streetlamps and the bright windows of the houses around. There was nobody outside. It was too cold to bear. Everyone preferred being in the houses, wearing two sweaters and three pairs of socks, with a mug of hot cocoa in hand. There’s nothing better than that at times like this.

My job was to keep the house nice and warm. I was burning with passion for this purpose, and after having been given some wood to work with, I didn’t waste a single second. The house was rather big, and all of it must be kept warm. The job must be done.

I worked on the wood I was given, burning it bit by bit. I was excited. Not many houses had an appointed fireplace nowadays, I considered myself lucky. I saw people come and go in the living room. It was probably just after dinner at the time. I watched them, looking them over, noticing that they were all wearing warm clothes. Sweaters, thick trousers, socks, some even had jackets on! I didn’t understand why. It made me afraid. Am I doing a bad job? Are you not warm yet?

Eventually, the movement slowed until I assumed people went to sleep. It was nighttime, and the only remaining light source in the house was my fireplace. Thoughts were chasing eachother in my mind. I wanted to do a good job; I wanted to make them proud. And warm. The wood was running out though.

My fireplace was made of chiseled stone, but as I tossed and turned nervously I noticed the floor. I never really got a good look at it before. It was not part of my job in any way, but as I examined it, I noticed that it was made of oak wood and had a checkered pattern painted on it. Looking at it, I knew how to make them proud.

A spark jumped out of my fireplace, and I followed it, landing on the floor. I wanted to share my warmth, my passion, my light. The wood accepted it with open arms. It didn’t take long before the entire living room was nice and warm, but the house was big, and nobody was in that room at the time. The rest of the building may still be ice cold. That won’t do.

I spread the warmth onto some doors and into other rooms. That chair is made of wood too, I can make it warm! The bright light engulfed the house more and more, making it nice and warm and bright. I looked for more, there must be more! That portrait has a wooden frame! The tables are made of wood! The stairs are made of wood! The closets too! The beds! The wall! The ceiling! The job must be done!

It was only a couple minutes before the entire building joined my passion for warmth and light. I could hear sirens in the distance celebrating my success as the house cracked beneath me.

I was happy. I made them proud.

Are you not warm yet?