The tiny flames leaped and crackled quietly, growing in leaps and bounds.  The yellow-orange flames leapt with joy, consuming and blackening all in its wake.  The acrid scent of burning photo paper filled the air.  Dancing shadows waved and dimmed the bright colors of laughing people.  Soon the pile of paper was consumed, gray dust, a few flames still hanging on, warm and happy, glittering in the cold, hard eyes of the man.   The sudden burst of warmth from the mini bonfire did nothing to warm the onlooker.  He blew on the coals and watched as ashes scattered before him, fleeing.

            He flicked the used match into the sad pile.  He wished that his hurt could be burnt up with the pictures of her.  He would be careful next time.  He knew that trying to swear off close relationships would be stupid and he wouldn’t keep the promise.  He’d tried it before.  He had no idea how he would pull it off, but he was determined not to get hurt again. 

            Turning his back on the charred face of a beautiful girl who looked up at him, startled.  He was sick of being manipulated or ‘loved’.  Taking one last picture out, he stared at it.  There he was, looking up with the adoration he always held for her then.  She was looking at the camera, mouth open in a laughing grin, one that seemed to never leave her face.  Bet she was laughing at him now.  Snipping out himself and tossing it in the trash, he lit the picture in his hand and watched her consumed by the fire.  It was therapy.  Cleanse, chase away the past and get on with the new, free of reminders.

**that was really random.  Bwaha, of course.  Is this little ficlette to your liking?   I have to say now that I have no real intention of updating, but if you have a good idea, I probably will.**