Another drabble for Friday flash! Not sure where it came from. I was looking at a picture of a wild-fire when I thought of this.
Fire licked at the floor, like a dog lapping at a bowl of water.
The flames parted for me; I was its master and it could not harm me. The doorknob would be hot for my soon-to-be-deceased wife, but felt cool under my palms.
Warm humid air hit me in the face when I opened the door. I walked down the steps and across the yard. The fire followed at my heels. Such a well-trained pet.
I paused on the sidewalk, held out an arm and said, “Stop.”
The fire touched my palm, but went on to explore the yard.