A Slow Fire Burning Novels & Stories

Thankfully, the burn rate had slowed to under four miles per hour, but firefighters hadn't contained the progression. I dragged my aching body to my truck, and I slowed onto the gravel road that exited the Adams' property. Cross Acres had a fancy, iron gate and a ton of flowers and shrubbery at the entrance-not that I could see it in the middle of the night. And the amber haze of wildfires cast an eerie glow on the horizon and created an unnatural veil of darkness around everything else. Regardless of whether or not I could see the view, every morning and every evening for the last six years, I'd rolled down my window to listen to the crunch of my tires on rocks. It was a sweet torture, a pa

Rose POV I walked into the dining room very moody, maybe my period was coming, that thing come without any notice but then I noticed my mark is burning, I kept rubbing it to get the burns away but it was getting worst and driving me crazy "are you okay" my mother asked me with concerned look on her face "I don't know, my mark is burning and my wolf is not okay" the pain is getting worse and my wolf is weeping in my head "her mate is trying mark someone else, his mark on hers is responding to it" my father who was just coming out said seeing me and rushing t my side to support me

she shouted, calling out Aracelli’s name. Fire. Heat. Sweat. Burning. Blaze. Fire. It was repetition. She can’t see anything except fire. It was a hell of fire. “Aracelli! Where are you?!” she screamed, even more, louder than before but as she shouts, the fire gets bigger, destroying, burning more kinds of stuff. The combustion of the wooden cabin causes the fire to spread faster despite it, being covered with the dense snow.

It was just remaining just a little branch of the fire when they creature left with the hope that he has already turn off the fire. "Oh my gosh, what the hell is that thing! mother fucker!" "Mother fucker!!!!" She said that she stepped out from the bush and rushed the little fire. She picked up the firewood and started trying to make the fire to continue burning again. "Come on come on!!!!" She said trying to make the fire and she's already sweating but the fire keeps burning down slowly without even touching the wood. Just in the fire went off and she stares at it with her eyes widely opened as she feels that all hope has been lost.

Whatever that was becoming. I walked back into the control room. And the fire that the corridor had lit, small and specific and mine in a way that nothing about the last several days had been, came with me. Burning quietly. Not destructively. The way fire burns when it has found the thing it belongs to.

Otherwise, if I turned to Professor Orran, the two dangerous people would get together and things would get even worse. I said to him, "Okay, I'll listen to you and wait for your news." Two days later, I waited for the news of the fire in the D district. The fire was said to be spontaneous, and all the Slave were outside when it happened, no one was in the room, but the fire started without warning. Some people said, "Could it be the legendary wildfire?" I just give a blank stare to this speculation. The temperature of wildfire is very low, burning on the skin is only a slight burning sensation, it is impossible to start such a big fire.

First, the fire tasted the grass, then a bush, jumping to a twig, to old pine needles, then winding up the base of the dying pine, feasting on the dry fuel. The flames danced and played, gleefully jumping from grass to bush, feeding and consuming without end. The light grew brighter the more it fed on the landscape, gray smoke beginning to cloud the stars. ***

Because it would be a great disaster if that happens. The quietness soon acquired suspicions from the outside. They ordered their people one by one to inspect inside the burning house. It looked completely devastated from the outside but since the rest of the cottage was made of stone, the fire is slow on eating it up from the inside. Before they could enter, they heard an ear piercing scream from behind them.

And somewhere in that darkness, Cassandra’s camp fires burned orange and steady. The shimmer around them pulsed, slow and rhythmic, like something breathing.

Hotter. The fire crackles behind us like it’s watching.