It was at dusk we gathered. Our separate journeys at an end. We came to the flames to gather ourselves, to escape from the toil of the day and to enjoy the company of those we would come to call friends. As the night cooled the fire roared within the center. Keeping us entranced within its warmth. Each evening we waited until the last of the crew joined our ranks and embraced the firelight. When the last man arrived the circle was complete.
The Flame Dwellers of the Firepit Monologues, a party of five. There was The Gull. A woman with a passion to race. Who loved the sea but only ever flew above land. She turned our individual differences and used them to bind our fellowship. The Dancer, a man whose mind and body were so full of zest his only escape was to move his long limbs within the rhythm of the night’s breeze. The Sheep. A kind hearted fellow. Who shared comradeship amongst us. Warming our hearts where wool could not. Then there was The Artist & The Thief, A woman who wore both mantles. A late comer to the group. Her acceptance had been won using her wit and a smile, as bright as the sun itself. At last there was The Writer, an observer of sorts with hair that blazed even when the coals did not.
With the gang fully formed the night truly came alive. Brews were shared and stories were told. Tales from lands both distant and peculiar. Contrasts were highlighted as flames moved shadows across the courtyard. One word was exchanged for another and one by one the differences disappeared; Forgotten amongst friends. Laughter echo’d through the night and each person burned brighter for it.
Beyond the flames there were adventures to be had. Each of our crew was a traveller in their own right but this land was not their home. We explored the untamed wilds, met people, won competitions and broke bread together. Journeys fueled by nectar crafted from the very gods themselves.
We were rule breakers and when the time came we escaped into the mists. Plunging ourselves into the depths. Bringing with us the fire’s heat that bubbled up to the surface. We swam from end to end. Jumped from one pool to another going unnoticed by the keen gaze of The Watchers.
The Watchers, guardians of the flame, stood their ground and observed the revels each night. They were patient and kept to their duty. Enforcing the laws of the land. It was the charm of the Flame Dwellers that kept fire fueled and the festivities ablaze long into the night. But in the end it was time that stood as our one true enemy. For no man can stand the test of time and pass unscathed. Before dawn light broke the flames would withdraw. Our party would disband and, as friends, we would go our separate ways. We will never travel alone. For each one of us carries with them an ember, a reminiscence, our own fond memories of the fire pit monologues.