877 Love And Lies

Stepping outside after all that has transpired felt like waking up from a long, long dream.

Sprawled out on Irene's front lawn, the dazzle and pop of fifteen different fireworks at once was probably the alarm clock we all needed to snap out of the stupor.

The night sky was a mesmerizing show of light pollution loud and bright enough to wake any deep-sleeping phoenix from their slumber.

There were a couple of families out barbecuing, noise-making, and contributing their own supplemental supply of gunpowder toward lighting up the deep dark.

Barely anyone had noticed us, and the teensy few that did do a double take only did so to ponder precisely how inebriated they must be to hallucinate that one girl in the middle, spinning and spreading her arms out to the open air, inexplicably on fire.

Eh, probably a trick of the light, or the night. Whichever one sounds more sensible.