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Description
I saw him last night.
He sat infront of the fire place.
Nearly all night he thought of things.
About life.
About school.
About her.
He just sat there.

The log sat on the right sit of the fire place.
Burning.
Giving him warmth.
Giving him light.
He just sat there.

The lights were off.
His family were in bed.
He sat in the dark with only a flame.
He lay his head on a pillow he had pulled off the couch beside him.
He noticed the flame was smaller than before.
He just sat there.

The boy started to shiver.
He opened his eyes.
He looked at the fire and saw it was dying.
He didn't know what to do.
He just sat there.

The boy was getting colder.
He didn't realised that he needed the fire.
He started to throw small bits of news paper at the fire.
It didnt give him much warmth.
The paper would burn for a second then die down again.
He was sad.
He just sat there.

He started to get desperate.
He felt the warmth in the room had started to leave him now.
He found a few sticks of wood beside the fire place.
He threw them on and sat back.
The stick crackled and burned.
The fire gave him warmth, the flame gave him light.
But not for long.
He just sat there.

The boy was getting scared.
He was frightned of what will happen.
He adored the warming glow of that fire.
The colours were beautiful.
The reds and oranges and yellows, all of different shades.
Bright or dull, he stilled loved that fire.
He would do absolutly anything to keep that fire burning.
But the flame was still dying.
He just sat there.

The boy sat there and felt sorry for himself.
He was losing hope.
Suddenly, just before he was going to give up,
a spark from the dying embers flew out and hit him on the hand.
He didnt know how to react.
He just sat there.

Another spark flew out and hit his other hand.
The boy jumped up.
The second spark had hurt more than the last.
It was like the fire was trying to tell him something.
Once again the small embers of the flame had sent out a small signal to wake him up.
This time he cought the spark with both hands.
It didn't burn like he thought it would.
It was warm.
It was bright.
Very bright.
He just stood there.

He then knew what he had to do.
The fire had been trying to tell him how to keep her bright and warm,
but he was too stubborn to listen to it.
He placed a small tear of news paper into the fire place.
He sat the spark on top of the paper.
The paper started to burn.
First the smoke, then the sparks, then finally a small flame.

He placed a few sticks of wood onto the piece of burning paper.

He put some more sticks on.

Then more.

And more.

Soon the flame had grown into a large bright fire.

As the fire was burning bright and healthy,
he placed a log into the fire place to keep it going.
He closed the small glass door.
He stood back and felt the heat of the fire
warmer than it had ever burned before.
He stood back and saw the light of the fire
brighter than ever.

The fire gave him warmth and light for the rest of the night.
He loved his fire.

Description
I saw him last night.
He sat infront of the fire place.
Nearly all night he thought of things.
About life.
About school.
About her.
He just sat there.

The log sat on the right sit of the fire place.
Burning.
Giving him warmth.
Giving him light.
He just sat there.

The lights were off.
His family were in bed.
He sat in the dark with only a flame.
He lay his head on a pillow he had pulled off the couch beside him.
He noticed the flame was smaller than before.
He just sat there.

The boy started to shiver.
He opened his eyes.
He looked at the fire and saw it was dying.
He didn't know what to do.
He just sat there.

The boy was getting colder.
He didn't realised that he needed the fire.
He started to throw small bits of news paper at the fire.
It didnt give him much warmth.
The paper would burn for a second then die down again.
He was sad.
He just sat there.

He started to get desperate.
He felt the warmth in the room had started to leave him now.
He found a few sticks of wood beside the fire place.
He threw them on and sat back.
The stick crackled and burned.
The fire gave him warmth, the flame gave him light.
But not for long.
He just sat there.

The boy was getting scared.
He was frightned of what will happen.
He adored the warming glow of that fire.
The colours were beautiful.
The reds and oranges and yellows, all of different shades.
Bright or dull, he stilled loved that fire.
He would do absolutly anything to keep that fire burning.
But the flame was still dying.
He just sat there.

The boy sat there and felt sorry for himself.
He was losing hope.
Suddenly, just before he was going to give up,
a spark from the dying embers flew out and hit him on the hand.
He didnt know how to react.
He just sat there.

Another spark flew out and hit his other hand.
The boy jumped up.
The second spark had hurt more than the last.
It was like the fire was trying to tell him something.
Once again the small embers of the flame had sent out a small signal to wake him up.
This time he cought the spark with both hands.
It didn't burn like he thought it would.
It was warm.
It was bright.
Very bright.
He just stood there.

He then knew what he had to do.
The fire had been trying to tell him how to keep her bright and warm,
but he was too stubborn to listen to it.
He placed a small tear of news paper into the fire place.
He sat the spark on top of the paper.
The paper started to burn.
First the smoke, then the sparks, then finally a small flame.

He placed a few sticks of wood onto the piece of burning paper.

He put some more sticks on.

Then more.

And more.

Soon the flame had grown into a large bright fire.

As the fire was burning bright and healthy,
he placed a log into the fire place to keep it going.
He closed the small glass door.
He stood back and felt the heat of the fire
warmer than it had ever burned before.
He stood back and saw the light of the fire
brighter than ever.

The fire gave him warmth and light for the rest of the night.
He loved his fire.