As Bridges Burn by Cooper Nelson

The orange-red glow of flames scorched the night sky. The flames licked the dark night air, feasting viciously on the abundant oxygen that dwelled laced within the tapestry of the ethereal sky. Every bite fueled the fire, nourishing its body, permitting it to bolster and grow. The razor sharp teeth of the flames, teeming with scorching venom, left the sky parched and blistered.
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Television handed out its Emmy Awards in Los Angeles last night, where stars and starlets and baby specks of stars not yet twinkling in the public’s eyes were dressed to the hilt; in Hollywood, thus undressed as much as physics and body glue would allow. A scarf strategically wound to this side, a spangle flipped casually over that side, and enough skin was bared before the American public to rival a gas station rack’s worth of girly magazines.

The girl timidly leans towards the window. Knowing that if she gets too close her breath will fog the pane of glass she is trying to look through. It is another day. From time to time she catches herself looking to the outside beyond the house she lives in to see what other people are doing, checking the weather, and somehow getting a breath of fresh air from the life she lives inside the house.