Fire, part 1

Pride be damned, I wanted to eat. A small pile of matches lay scattered on the ground below my fingertips as I struggled to catch the ever-ephemeral flame to the straw. Failure. Another match. God, how pathetic. The sun had gone down and I couldn't get the fire to start. Hell, I couldn't even get the match to stay lit for more than two seconds.

Looking up I saw young Lazarus making his way down the path. Oh the shame. This kid half my age is going to show me up again...

Lazarus bent down over the pile of charcoal topped with kindling and delicately took a match from the box. Recognizing their master, the instruments--as if by magic-- responded to his touch. One match struck and held the flame, quickly catching and igniting the heap of straw. With great care Lazarus placed tiny sticks, one at a time, on the growing inferno, cocking his head sideways and lightly blowing into the glowing ball of red-orange light.

As the sticks caught the heat and bent to its will, Lazarus lifted the brazier and swung it in a great arc along his right side. His teeth glimmering in the fading light as the charcoal responded to the heat, sparks popped and illuminated like fireflies in quick bursts around his torso. Intrepid, bare hands reconfigured the glowing embers and repeated the centrifugal swing, feeding the infant fire and placating the heap of impatient black rocks. With anger they sparked and shimmered and joined the others in their bright and silent fury.

Lazarus set the brazier down and flashed another smile. "I am going," he said. I watched him leave in silent humility. I could mourn my dignity later; At that time I could only reflect in the awe and magic of the moment.