Monday, April 8, 2013

Week 22 (week 20 on list) Playing with Fire

Sorry I missed a week. We decided to share our germs around the house. Add to that all the work that goes into starting a company and you wonder how I find time to sleep.

Prompt: Playing With Fire
You come across a pack of matches that sets of a series of uncanny events. Start your story with "My mother always told me not play with fire."

My Creativity
My mother always told me not play with fire, but I never was very good at listening to her. Perhaps this time I should have. Just don't tell her that I said that.

It all started with my daily run. While, what I like to call a run. Anyway, I was out for my morning run, and I stopped at my usual bench to rest. I bend down to tie my shoe lace when something caught me eye. It was a small box of matches. I picked them up and put them in my pocket. I didn't want to leave them at the park; I visualized some child picking them up and playing with them.

I stood up and returned to my run. I was refreshed with energy. It was strange though, I wasn't panting, I had no pain in the side, and my legs had no cramps. Even stranger was how quickly I was running. As I continued on my regular route, I started to smell smoke, not a nice fireplace smoke, but almost a burning rubber. I tried to slow down, but my legs were determined to keep moving. So I continued to run; the smell of smoke following me. Sirens now in the background.

I caught the faint sound of someone yelling, "Mam, mam, you need to stop running." It stemmed like an odd request. Again I tried to slow my pace but my legs would have nothing to do with it. "Mam, mam," the panting voice continued. Rather than slowing down, I turned around and started running backwards. That is when I saw it.

Etched in the path was a clear line of smouldering ashes and small flames, very clearly following in my gait. Behind me, people were running towards me. They were so far away. No one seemed to even be close enough to catch me up. Who was calling?

"Mam, you need to stop running."

I looked to the right. Beside me was a police car. I was easily keeping pace with it. How was that even possible? "I wish I could," I called back. "My legs won't stop moving."

There was a moment of silence. The officer was likely trying to figure out how to respond. "This is no joke. We've had to close the park. Thankfully the fire isn't out of control yet." Another short silence. "The joke is over. If you don't remove what ever motor or jets you have in the soles of your shoes, we will have no choice but to apprehend you with force."

Motor? Jets? And the fire, the fire that I someone how seemed to be creating. I put my hand over my pocket and felt the small box of matches. No? Was it? It couldn't be. I grappled the matches and threw them towards the ground. Instantly my pace returned to one that I was more accustomed too.

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