They came hidden amongst the explosions as if the fire in the air had called them.  Dragons or fire-snakes, slithering across the night sky like slow, red lightning.  Their roaring laughter echoing with the explosives calling out for cheerful destruction.  For one night every year they come out to eat that which we choose to forget, every possibility which never turned reality.

In the morning only burnt out paper tubes remain, reminding us of ourselves.

No Comment.

Add Your Comment