So there’s another one burning by the fire. Again.

Light ignites bright red as figures in the dark warm themselves amongst flames.

Sparks stride and dance lightly on its burnt feet- amidst the center of the circled silhouettes chanting a soft song- welcoming warmth. The fire illuminates the people, and the ashes rise.

The sky is beginning to darken- the stars are watching from above, -yet stay- far above.

The fuel burns and groans in the heat- the base of the fire, a scream. It’s loud, shrieking, and- rather bothersome, critically speaking. Maybe it would have been less bothersome, if- there was a solution to it. But he’s tried- and the singing doesn’t go away, the screaming doesn’t stop.

A young child burns in the fire.

Hands rub at the warmth and the blood that stains onto them. Fitting. Now all is red.

The singing stops with a frown. It looks like the fire stopped. Hard to tell. It seems that as the fuel dies, the darkness of stars recedes. Yet the lack of fire seems to make everything else brighter in comparison.

A mark of fire is emblemed in crimson stain across the snow. And from the distance that he is watching, it almost looks like the fire is yet there in- stain. Blood stain.

Someone tries kicking the fuel- trying to spark back the fire, probably. Like a wet surface will light back with enough force. He finds himself half-heartedly wishing for the folk’s boot to spark in sudden red as he does so. But it doesn’t, in the most unfortunate honour.

The contents of the fuel spill-

Wet- scarlet insides of the log pour out in vain-

A heart beats lightly under someone’s foot. It beats dull.

Thump, thump, a pause-

Thump, thump, another-

Thump.

It’s loud, and beats continue to ring in his ears-

there's a splat-

And-

He waits for confirmation.

Heartbeats are no longer heard.

The silence is louder.