Write a story involving a fire, either real or metaphorical. Structure the story so that it begins with something that is set alight. In the middle of the story it is ablaze. At the end it is extinguished, leaving burning embers
The door slammed shut. The noise from the impact rippled through the room like a recurring reminder of what had transpired. Claudia stood still, body frozen in time, holding back a wave of emotions rising within her. The corners of the picture frame disappeared, crumbling to ashes on the ground. Claudia’s smiling face looked back at her innocently through the embers.
The buildup to the photograph had been one of the most joyous moments in her life. The morning alarm missed the start of her day - an unusual occurrence, as she would typically roll around in bed and fight the snooze button at staggered intervals. She had rarely felt so much excitement to be awake and on the move. She stood giddy and tall in the kitchen, scrambling eggs on a pan that had gone unused for weeks. Her golden canine, Laila, pranced around her, encouraging a synchronised swaying of bodies as they danced to a song blasting from Spotify radio.
A feeling of pride swelled in her chest. She had worked so hard all her life to embrace authenticity, and every action and moment felt like it had led to this iteration of reality. She tossed the eggs onto a ceramic plate and clawed the drawer for a fork, shoving mouthfuls of food into her mouth - and some onto the floor, to Laila’s delight.
One gulp of water later, she stood in front of the dresser. Her outfit for the photoshoot hung gracefully against the door. The knitted flowers on the linen caught the sunlight; their silky threads deepened in colour, highlighting how they were framed together in bunches. Dressing up had once meant covering up a body, until Claudia met Feigh. She began to see fashion as a way to present herself in the brightest colours, with expressive emotions, a nod to the impact that Feigh had on her life.
She wore the dress and ran her fingers through the locks of her black, luscious hair. Remembering the need to accessorize, all credits to Feigh, she clipped on dangling white flowers to the bottoms of her earlobes.
A bus ride and a short walk later, she found herself outside the studio.
Before she knew it, a soft hand grabbed the widest part of her waist, lunging her backwards, then twirling her around in a defensive instinct. Feigh’s brown eyes locked with her own, and shy, flushed smiles swept across their faces. Feigh grazed her hand against Claudia’s, inviting her into an soft clasp, like an unspoken promise she swore to keep.
They made their way into the studio, ready to capture the first set of “official” photographs together. There was no explicit moment that marked the decision to book the shoot. They had heard raving reviews about the photographers’ ability to capture love and were hopeful to immortalise their own in a way that seemed practical and possible.
Claudia’s mother knew that. She knew the significance of the photograph, and the reminder it served inside the ebony frame that stood atop her daughter's dresser. In a way, setting fire to it symbolised how her mother really felt about everything.
Rage rose in Claudia’s chest, bubbling with such intensity that it felt like unbearable heat, a likeliness to the fire that had now melted their faces to a point of being unrecognisable.
To exist is to be recognisable.
To remain is to be reminded.
To immortalise is to be convinced.
Laila winced from under the bed, an unlikely witness to the unprecedented events that unfolded moments before. Laila loved Feigh just as much, and was enveloped with the ache and sorrow that came with the forced separation.
Claudia's mother’s words hung in the air. “You cannot let this happen. We want the best for you.” Her expression, as she uttered those words, mimicked an unconscious need to be convinced, and she failed to hide that.
The ashes settled into a pile, taking with them the evidence of a precious memory. Claudia dropped to her knees, the blaze in her veins reduced now to ashes of hopelessness.
An anticlimactic chill covered the room, followed by numbing silence.