fireworks - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
"We are the fireworks in this velvet dark, the blaze that dares to light up the night."
The fireworks are chaos and predictability - their explosive gifts finding their own time and space to own. As they do, I am the spectator, the one seeing their blazing trails arc above. There's something about them that warms me even in the cold, as if their stray sparks passed into my blood.
I always wanted to draw rainbows in the dark, hold pencils of pure light, I guess that's why I love fireworks so. As we head out together with the stars all around, a blanket for this planet that's half asleep, half awake, I'm already imagining their colours, cradling a box of matches in my hand.
The firework in my hand is an innocuous paper tube with a cone at one end. Hey, my kid brother could have made it, but he didn't. I did. I had to take apart six fireworks to make this baby. It's not just gonna blow it'll rip the ears out of the neighbourhood. Every colour is in there plus extra gun powder, robbed it from a few of Dad's bullets. Like he'll ever notice. I'm not dumb through, the fuse is super long and we're going out to a field to set it off. I've got the whole thing recorded for YouTube, the shopping, the building and soon the exploding. My folks don't know of course, but what can I do? Failing every math test hardly makes me a candidate for a high paying job. Might as well make some money from my stupidity.
At the field everyone stands well back. I light it and run like hell to cheers and whoops. But nothing happens, no detonation. So I creep forwards a little at a time. I can't see a spark until my face is right up close, but by then it's too late...
There was a time these fireworks would have symbolized demons to me. In the burning colours my mind would create a narrative, seeking meaning where there is none. The fiery sparks would have either filled me with dread or inspired a whole new crusade. Sometimes I feel so deadened on all these pills, I loose track of what they're for. But now I can see the brilliant soaring vermillion, golden and acid green flares for what they are; igniting minerals crafted to resemble flowers bursting at high speed. Now I can marvel at the skill of their makers and "ooh" and "ahhh" along with the crowd. I enjoy the thrill of shuddering at the sudden bangs and smile at the startled gasps of the children. When the show is over the sudden silence is brief, applause ripples around the chilly park and en-mass the people turn to leave.
The fireworks had sat in their package under my bed for a couple of days, burning their way into my dreams. I'd chosen the box for the Catherine Wheel. It reminded me of when my uncle Bubba had come over from the States and had taken over the display. He planted all the fireworks in the mud, not realizing that the Catherine wheel should have been nailed into the fence. It took off like some crazy fiery chariot wheel, but flying horizontally as a frisbee would. The damn thing chased him all around the yard, even singed the back of his coat where it hit him. I'm gonna nail this one to the fence, but I'll post a video of it on Facebook for Uncle Bub, I know he'll love it.
Fireworks burst through the dark night, fiery blooms amongst the stars. Rainer is less interested in the display than in watching Autumn's expressions, how they light up her face just as she smiles, like a perfect real life photograph.
Fireworks explode above, vivid colours to ignite the otherwise black sky. Autumn clasps Rainer's hand, her pink glove inside his bare fingers. The air has a tincture of gun powder, a smell that takes her back to every bonfire night she went to as a child, watching the flames lick up the make-shift Guy Fawkes. How odd it is to be back in England, especially with this beautiful man, but at the same time it feels so right...
Fireworks cut through the black like they're super-imposed on the night, like the stars behind are only a backdrop brought in for the occasion. Every streak bares a curve of sorts, brilliant lines with a living feel, organic in the way they grow.
The fireworks burn with impatience, everything at the speed of a camera flash. They send hot sparks into the cool evening air, soaring until they are extinguished to blackness.
Fireworks burst above, searing their brilliant light and vivacious colour onto my retinas. Each one draws a pattern into the sky, something unique and breathtaking, never to be repeated exactly no matter how many are ignited and sent to their sky-bound destiny.