Wildfire Short Story

However the brightness of the day may have dimmed, but not the joy from the people around me.  Everyone is either watching kids play basketball on the old wooden framed basketball hoop or enjoying a match of badminton while the zip-line flies by overhead.  The night however, does bring a mood about the people of the island.  It's a mood of vigor and excitement!  When the sun is beginning to set and the sky portrays a magnificent array of yellows reds and pinks which reflects off the water making a sort of etched painting glistening in the falling sun.  As the sun sets, dinner has just finished and we all part our ways,  many people sit on the back porch overlooking the water, a few go into to the square where people begin to prep for the glorious bonfire.  Although, I choose to sit in Toad Hall, this place is constructed out of old slender burned wooden planks, that have five little rooms cut out inside.  Toad Hall on the outside looks like a little ranch style home with wooden slabs on the outside along with a red tin roof, which is where I like to call my second home.  As dinner comes to an end so does the daylight.  As I walk out of Toad Hall a dark haze has consumed the island and I am excited by the smell of  burnt pine coming from a ferocious.  The fire has seemed to brought people out to see what the light is, buts it's when they arrive they are surprised to see the glorious fire which has brought people together around the old brick fire pit.  Here we tell stories, sing songs and make s'mores until it is pitch black and the crowd has slowly dispersed into their cabins or tents and it is now I say my goodnights to my family and friends and tread my way back on the dirt path.  I can see the gazebo, as I bank the corner, it stands tall in the moonlight and the water has

Piggy stands aimlessly, bewildered and loathing the abrupt actions of Jack Milderdew. The pile turns into an untamed flame, swaying back and forth in the wind. Fruit trees lure me into the forest as my stomach grumbles, and I leave the camaraderie of the boys. A succulent fruit dangles from a high branch above me, swaying back and forth tauntingly. A loud crash takes me out of its trance, as a flaming log rolls down the mountainside, bouncing off rocks.

“…I therefore started on my return, but, besides having to walk over ground almost too heated to walk on, and through burning piles of merchandise, I presently encountered such a shower of cinders, dense smoke, and driven sand (every grain of which seemed to me impelled with a force sufficient to make it sink in the skin) that from sheer disagreeability, if not

As I walked, the air of this haunted, dreadful and sorrowful land had sucked the life out of everything and roared as humanity began to disappear. As I carried on walking, I noticed that the small fraction of light was getting smaller and smaller, until it had been engulfed into a think black ash like smoke. Aggressively, the wind walked past the building with its cruddy feeling, blowing away all signs of life. Deeper and deeper into the land was a burning car door. The fire roared and crackled. The roaring and crackling of the burning car door merged with the aggressive air and created the loudest sounds ever heard on land. Growing darker, the skies made me feel nauseous. The fear of not waking up if a human fell asleep towered

The sky was lit up with blended colors of orange, red and yellow. The contrast created between the dark waters and the luminous sky makes the horizon look like a meeting of two worlds. The outer edges of the blazing sky have begun to cool with the indigo of the night, as it slowing sinks away. Before we knew it, it was pitch black dark and all you heard was a big pop, bang and boom. A soon as the firework popped in the sky, different colors lit up the sky. Fountain of colorful sparks, racing into the dark night sky. Crackling fire crackers creating a rhythm of sound. The ocean acting like a mirror, reflecting the colors of the fireworks on across the water. Everyone’s face lit up with excitement as the fireworks, pop and seen a glare of light across the sky. Kids running around with sparkles and roman candles, holding them up to the sky as they shot our like rockets toward the sky. The fireworks went on and on for about another fifteen minutes and we all called it a

Danticat, Edwidge. “A Wall of Fire Rising.” The Norton Introduction to Literature: Portable Tenth Edition. Ed. Alison Booth and Kelly J. Mays. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2011. 232-244. Print.

It had looked so far away it was hard to believe I would be on top of it in a few days. Besides in the campsites, we only saw one other group of people during the entire 12 day trek and the only human sounds were our own. Each camp was an island of civilization in a great sea of wilderness, and a wonderful solace to end the day’s hike.

Thomas, a California native, describes the Santa Ana brush fires in a more excited and astonished tone. Since she is a native, she decides not to display her experiences to the reader in a factual way. Instead, she writes more informally, and uses techniques such as word choice and imagery to display the beauty that she sees. “The condition is perfect for fire that can rush up a canyon like a locomotive, roaring and exploding brush as it rages.” While describing a particularly hot and dry spring, Thomas uses both imagery and simile to depict the fiery winds as a train rushing over the brush. She does not only make this comparison for dramatic effect to entice the reader, but she also does it because she sees the

The author of Brush Fire establishes a soothing and poetic tone. Thomas’s choice of words and the diction of the essay reveals this. Throughout Thomas’s essay, she views the wildfires in Santa Ana as “an amazing sight” and “gorgeously beautiful.” “On this evening, neighbors have arrived, too, their dogs and children in tow. Some have brought soft drinks. Most have cameras...” (Thomas). Thomas describes her neighbors admiring the wildfires to show how others also glamorize something destructive. On the other hand, The Santa Ana has more serious and dramatic tone. Instead of viewing the wildfires as beauty, Didion shares her experience as “uneasy” and “makes people unhappy.” In Didion’s essay, she mentions how the Santa Ana wildfires are destructive and creates a depressing atmosphere to the area. She also includes statistics of where and when the wildfires struck the southern parts of California. Both Didion and Thomas’s choices of words are used in order to demonstrate the tone they are attempting to convey, whether the Santa Ana winds were sinister or graceful

Oh how the flames have changed. No longer did the flames signify destruction, eating away at the pages that had once shaped society as we know it. No longer did the flamethrower clenched in a fireman’s fist burn the ideals that make us people. No longer did they dash the hopes, the dreams, of man. Fire, which was one demolition and violence, is now hope.

Fire is very common in basic human life and has many purposes. With its many uses, fire’s symbolic meaning is open to various interpretations. In regards to Fahrenheit 451 fire can symbolize knowledge, destruction, and also rebirth. Ray Bradbury illustrates correctly the ambiguity of fire’s metaphors through Montag. As Montag gains new perspectives on fire readers are shown that fire is a very prominent symbol with multiple meanings.

By using sight as a sense, fire has risen in the middle of the story. Specifically, the meaning of fire itself, is something being burned, or is going to be burned. In the same way, fire also spreads drastically everywhere. As it states in the book, “He saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunks and branches of a

You feel almost as if you are walking on the sandy beaches of Panama City, Florida, and the heat of the sun perfectly matches the slightest breeze flowing through the air, while the smell of bonfires fills my nostrils; but you’re not walking on the beach, you’re not in Panama City, Florida, that’s not the sun you feel and that’s not just a slight breeze, and that is most defiantly not wood that you smell burning. No, it’s not any of that. you just like to imagine it sometimes, to help distract from the real thing. It’s far better than seeing what is truly real. Better than walking through miles and miles of ash, ash that is never ending, ash that not only covers the ground but also fills the air. It’s better to imagine than to feel the constant

It was dark. No city lights were visible from the forest trail; the only light source was the dim light of the crescent moon in the clear night sky. A lone hiker walked down the trail in the night. The trail was nothing but a pale brown streak that wound through the endless canopy of trees. Leaves glistened with droplets of water that shimmered in the silver moonlight. Water soaked earth soiled and froze one's feet with coarse sandpaper like dirt and icy water. All was quiet except for the constant sound of sloshing from the wet ground. New scenes of trees, more trees, and an occasional body of water appeared in the distance ahead and dissolved quietly into the darkness behind. Still nothing made a sound except for the ground which sloshed when stepped upon. The smell of fresh pine and sage permeated the cold night air.

I gazed up at the mountain now drenched in light red and squinted, trying to keep my eyes open, as the bright sharp light burnt into my eyes. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I finally closed them unable to the pain any longer; I wiped my watery eyes and thought where Samneric’s fire was? There was a rumble inside me, and I looked hopefully at the jungle wondering if I could find Samneric’s fire as well as something to eat. In the morning light the jungle seemed like an old and tattered rug chewed to bits by moths, yet despite this the jungle and the whole island was beautiful shining in the sun’s warmth. I kept on walking as the jungle beckoned me calling me with its beauty. As I passed between the trees, the canopy overhead plunged me into velvet darkness. The only source of light was from the small gaps in the shell of overlapping leaves, where the sun glistened through. Moss and lichen covered the ground in abundance, thriving in this humid atmosphere, and feeding on the eerie green light that managed to penetrate through the ceiling of emerald leaves. The strange green shade and the various knotted pillars made it impossible to see for great distances or to walk about freely.