The tiny flame flickered furiously as it bent to resist external control. Its un-rhythmic dance served to tease its master as the glow swooped and swayed, paying homage to the wind. Rising swiftly upward then all but ceasing to exist, the fire defiantly demanded its audience take heed. In response, two burly hands encircled the performer to which it slowed in tentative obedience. The master was in control now. His breath drew the flame into complete submission, enticed into a thin strand of light, which crackled at its success. And then, without warning, the fire was extinguished and the master exhaled in a billow of smoke. I woke the next morning covered in ash. Peering out the tiny window I could see the silent flakes fall, like black snow onto a world which feared their origin.
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