5 Minute Free Write: Fire.

Sometimes I see flames flicker under my feet and onto the ground, campfires that have happened on top of one another and are burned into my brain. Till the candle of them dies and all I'm left with are the memories of flaming marshmallows and low deep voices of fathers telling stories intended to terrify.
The tent was sheer and illuminated shadows around me, of hands and feet and faces that still sat and talked around the fire. They talked about what they waited to say to each other in the dark. When I was warm. When I was safe. The deep red glow hovered in the left hand corner of the tent, showing me where the embers glowered outside, and around it, people.
People I knew and loved. People who loved me. The warmth would eek up from my toes and to my face, wisping around my cold red nose. Eyes shut, I could make out the words. I could hear conversations that longed to be heard by comrades of the night. Heated rocks, plastic glasses of wine and coffee and tea...the cold hard ground was alright that night. The rocks were happy beneath my bony hips. The pillow cold and soothing. The night noises were singing us to sleep, saying welcome and join us in the great outdoors, for you are meant to be here. Why do you not visit us more often?

End time.