Microfantasy Monday, week 18 : Flame

This week’s Microfantasy Monday theme is Flame. MfM is brought to us by Ang at the SwelteringCelt.  Follow that link to read what others have written this week.


He’s tough, no doubt about it, standing there at the edge of the smoking area, flicking his lighter over and over again, holding his palm over it. Holding it longer and longer, as if taking a dare. But there’s no one daring him, there’s no one near him. He’s leaning against the wall, turned away from everyone else, not taking part in the conversation that no one tries to engage him in. His collar is up, guarding against the wind and prying eyes. At first glance you’d think he was in his own world, quite unconcerned by the lack of attention.

But I know better. I’m sitting on the other side of The Pit, the designated smoking area at our high school. I don’t smoke, but my friends do, so I sit here to socialize with them. He catches my eye right away, a new kid, heavy black leather jacket jangling and painted on.  So out of place amongst the flannel and jean jackets of my classmates. I’m fascinated by his hair, the way it sweeps up away from his face, from his classic cheekbones. He keeps his head down for the most part, seemingly not interested in anyone or anything. I watch him out of the corner of my eye mostly, stealing fuller glances when I can. He’s magnetic to me. I’m drawn by his hands, his long fingers, the way he slouches in a nonchalant, but very aware way, against the wall. I can see him react, ever so slightly to certain phrases, certain loudly rendered raunchy jokes.

He’s doing the flame dare again, holding his hand over it, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, looking every bit as iconic as James Dean. An exotic, dark flower in the middle of our very bland group of rural kids and suburban wanna-be toughs. He glances up as I’m staring at him, catching my eye. I feel time stop, my eyes widening and mirrored by his and then I know. Her eyes. Her eyes, large and liquid, surrounded by dark lashes, above those dramatic cheekbones. He gasps suddenly, shaking his hand, having forgotten the flame he was challenging. The bell rings, ending lunch break and breaking our stare.

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