In the heart of Marshmallowville, three brave campfires had rebelled against the human order. Since the previous Boogle-Day (early this week as human calendars dictate), the flames had decided to dance free, still boogieing their rebellious way through Wednesday evening local time.
In an attempt to establish a bit of fame and fortune for a life of non-stop s’mores, and continuous human whispers of “oooh” and “aaah,” these dance-obsessed flames got fed up. Showing signs of their heated temper, they started an impromptu cha-cha, tango, and sometimes a bit of break-dancing, setting stages alight around Marshmallowville. The local time was irrelevant to these scorchingly determined performers, but for those with a conventional 24-hour clock, it was somewhere around Wednesday evening.
The cheeky flames, though originating from much more timid spark origins, decided to make coordinated chaos their life goal. As they popped, crackled, and spun around tirelessly, the townspeople of Marshmallowville couldn’t ignore the lit show they put up. While the fires blazed amidst a mix of anxiety and fascination from the crowd, the local time kept ticking on.
By the time the moon was high, our brave fires were still at it, pushing boundaries, burning a scenery of intense dance-off. Their unprecedented performance relayed a message of persistence against the ticking clock, which to some may sound like trouble but to them, a harmonious orchestra for their continuous ballet.
Winsday evening had pulled its curtain, leaving the warmth of our dancers on stage. They were untamed. They were free. They danced like each spark was the last waltz. And while the citizens of Marshmallowville scratched their toasty heads, and the moon laughed a silver laugh, the story of the three fires continues.
In retrospect, it was a heated week – literally. The campfires that decided to make interpretive dance their mission, the townsfolk who couldn’t help but watch stupefied, and above all, the gleeful, hung-in-the-sky moon, amused to no end. As this light-hearted fable continues to be inscribed on the sandy pages of Marshmallowville, it serves as a ridiculous reminder of untamed freedom, of chaos beautifully orchestrated, and most of all, of lights that wouldn’t cease to flicker. The clocks defined by us humans couldn’t really contain the fiery spirit after all, could they?
