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Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Hulloa boys, Hulloa boys, let the bells ring.
Hulloa boys, hulloa boys, God save the King!
Traditional English rhyme
She?d promised him a bonfire in the street. Even though he was gone again, she intended to make good on it. There was a metal barrel in the back alley that they used occasionally in the neighborhood to burn leaves and debris. She waited until late, until both Raza and Lirssa were in bed, sitting in his chair in his library and listening until heartbeats and breathing were regular and quiet.
Earlier, she?d hung his birthday gift in his office downstairs, a new painting depicting a way station in the country they loved. The greens and blues were soothing and familiar; she?d done it from memory and a wish to be there again. She had plans to replace the ones she?d sold in the conference rooms, as well, but this was a start.
When she was certain neither would wake, she slipped out of the apartment and took the stairs down to the street level of their building. There were a few old wooden packing crates she?d earmarked for this earlier, and she carried them outside first. Then she went around the back to drag the barrel around front, tipping it on its bottom rim and rolling it along the uneven pavement until she got it onto the cobbles a safe distance from the front of the shop.
It didn?t take long for the wood to catch, once it was broken down. She lit three matches, dropping them in onto the tinder one at a time with a murmur of a wish to stars that were or were not really stars (she didn?t have a chart, and couldn?t read one if she did). It didn?t matter. They were stars to her eyes. The flames licked high reaching for them, so they believed, too.
The scent of wood smoke wrapped an arm around her, the crackling flames whispering reassurance. She crouched, hands on her knees against the front of the building, and watched it burn and listened to its secrets until there was nothing left but the occasional silent spark swirled up by a plucking breeze.
Then she rose and went inside to find her bed.
Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Hulloa boys, Hulloa boys, let the bells ring.
Hulloa boys, hulloa boys, God save the King!
Traditional English rhyme
She?d promised him a bonfire in the street. Even though he was gone again, she intended to make good on it. There was a metal barrel in the back alley that they used occasionally in the neighborhood to burn leaves and debris. She waited until late, until both Raza and Lirssa were in bed, sitting in his chair in his library and listening until heartbeats and breathing were regular and quiet.
Earlier, she?d hung his birthday gift in his office downstairs, a new painting depicting a way station in the country they loved. The greens and blues were soothing and familiar; she?d done it from memory and a wish to be there again. She had plans to replace the ones she?d sold in the conference rooms, as well, but this was a start.
When she was certain neither would wake, she slipped out of the apartment and took the stairs down to the street level of their building. There were a few old wooden packing crates she?d earmarked for this earlier, and she carried them outside first. Then she went around the back to drag the barrel around front, tipping it on its bottom rim and rolling it along the uneven pavement until she got it onto the cobbles a safe distance from the front of the shop.
It didn?t take long for the wood to catch, once it was broken down. She lit three matches, dropping them in onto the tinder one at a time with a murmur of a wish to stars that were or were not really stars (she didn?t have a chart, and couldn?t read one if she did). It didn?t matter. They were stars to her eyes. The flames licked high reaching for them, so they believed, too.
The scent of wood smoke wrapped an arm around her, the crackling flames whispering reassurance. She crouched, hands on her knees against the front of the building, and watched it burn and listened to its secrets until there was nothing left but the occasional silent spark swirled up by a plucking breeze.
Then she rose and went inside to find her bed.