Page 20 - The Grotesque Children's Book

“Don't be silly,” said her father, “Fire can't be afraid. Fire doesn't have
feelings.”

“Well, maybe not afraid, but -- but -- tired. It's been such a long winter.
Fire just needs to rest.”

“I've set the straw wrong. Or blown on it too hard. Or too soft. Odd,
though, I've been making fires in the hearth with charcloth all my life long, and
my father before me, and my father's father.”

“Maybe it's us, Father. Maybe we were too greedy this winter. And
maybe we've used up our share of Fire. Maybe there are other people in the
world who are colder than we are, and now Fire has left us to be with them. Or
maybe --”

“Amelia!” said Father, exasperated, “Stop your foolish tales. It will be all
right. I've added some more moss, and some dry pine needles, and given the
kindling breathing room. Now stand away. The fire might leap out of the
hearth!”

“But not if it's already on its way to --”

“Amelia. Shh.”

Father struck the flint and watched the spark land on the charcloth
which ignited as it had always done. Father held the cloth to the dried moss.
And as before, a white fire leapt up high and flicked red and yellow. “There!
There, you see!” said Father, clasping his daughter to his side. “We'll be warm
at last.”

But as before, the flames withdrew, slithering away like water to a drain,
and then went out. Amelia leaped away from her father and knelt by the
hearth, plunging her hands into the moss, pfluffing at it, attempting to coax the
fire to ignite.

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