General

Lauren looked at flower and her sense of darkness grew. It was just the right shape and her favourite colour, but it was made of refined crude oil products. What function did it really have in her life? It had no fragrance, it didn't turn toward the sunlight that streamed through the french doors. She never picked it from a meadow. There were no memories associated with it other than buying it from a store. So why did she want it anyway? Because it never died? Was she too lazy to replace a real flower? She stuck out her hand like it was jet propelled and plucked it from its equally plastic vase. It was just another fake thing in her fake world and she wanted it gone.

By maria, February 6, 2015.
General

The plastic recoils like it can feel the heat, wrinkling into a ruche around the burn. Ricky watches with motionless eyes and brings the flame in again. This time he holds it on until a black wisp of smoke curls upwards, eddying in the late fall air like the perfect strokes of an artist. In seconds a yellow flame consumes it entirely. He flies to open the window as the acridness of the fumes stings his eyes into motion and makes him cough. When he turns back it is simply black and fragile, its flexibility lost. Then his face cracks into a sly grin. Already his mind is searching his home and school for more things to burn. With one strike of his match they would never be the same again, it was a similar thrill to the one he had when he made his first maze in woodwork, but so very much easier.