ethosa

"You planning on heading into town?" she asked as she sashayed out the back door and over to the dinning table outside, ashtray in one hand and pot of coffee in the other.

"Later. Tonight," he replied. She placed the ashtray in front of him and sat down across from him as he put out his cig. She refilled his mug and he rested his elbow on the table, chin in the palm of his hand, and sighed. The chicken in his other arm clucked and he dropped her.

"For the fair?" He took the mug and sipped before wincing. He uncrossed his legs and briefly looked behind him at the far off view of the lake.

"Yeah."

At some point long after the sun had set, when the land was black and a foggy haze hovered over the rolling hills, far off in the distance few lights danced into the sky.

He drove along the curving roads and glanced out the window each time the fair came into view, the bright ferris wheel being the object of his attention.

When he arrived, the party had already began on the concourse. Music was blaring and bodies were dancing to the rhythm. The warmth of a summer night was felt all around as alcohol was passed around from buddy to buddy.

And then from the center of the concourse the pyre was lit. It was engulfed almost entirely in a near instant, striking awe in few. The dancing continued. Some took off their shirts, the heat overtaking them.

And then the pyre exploded in a flash of fire and light and smoke and people cheered and laughed and cried out in excitement. Fireworks shot into the sky and smoke loitered around the scene.

On the ferris wheel, Jean watched all this from a perpetually encircling motion. Hearing the music in his mind and feeling the beat in his chest. A smile covered his face and a cigarette hung limply from his lips.

What a fantastic night, he thought, and it went on like this until the sun rose.

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author's notes
wrote this with some inspiration from booooooom.

wordcount:347

The fire was hot, the heat warm. He shoved his arms out toward the dying embers in hopes of collecting the fragmented, dispersing heat.

Faint light beamed down at a crooked angle onto the cold, dusty dirt. His arms were bare, a light blue tshirt being all he wore. His straight cut jeans had dirt on them and his sneakers had slight smudges of blood on the heel.

His eyes were dark and clouded, his hair messy and matted with dirt. Neither of the men could see the moon through the thick boughs of leaves above them. A frigid wind blew through the trees, weaving around each one and striking the backs of the two males.

Dark eyes. Dark eyes.

The older male picked up the shovel again and attempted to cultivate the embers on the ground, grouping them up in a taller pile. The younger's arms were still splayed out at the heat source. He sneezed.

"Is this bad?" the younger one asked.

The older male shook his head and gave a slight grunt. "No. No one will find out."

Clouds of smoke and kicked up dirt floated through the white beam of light from the overhead lamp. The older man coughed before repeating, "No one will found out," as if it were a mantra to protect himself from harm. Words of comfort that made him feel at ease.

No one would know what the fire was for. No one would know what they were burning, or why the dirt here was disturbed. No one would know the missing third pair of dark eyes, which to the world seemed to have just vanished overnight.

Their skin was dry and their bones rattled. Anxiety set in as the night went on. The embers cooled, leaving only a pile of charred blackness in its place. They buried the shovel with their hands.

The next morning they drove home, relaxed and feeling refreshed as if the night before never happened.

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author's notes
wrote this today, took about a half hour? Maybe.
inspired by the album art of Half Moon Run's album, "Dark Eyes."

wordcount: 328