Firedancer

[phinnia]

daily15 word #105: is starlight.

He hadn't seen her since high school, even though their parents were friends; she'd picked up after graduation with her father's credit card and a bag full of clothing and her endless collection of hair clips and disappeared into the mystery lands of Eurasia - Greece, China, India, Australia, Spain, Germany, England. He remembered feeling - still felt, hell - a certain amount of resentment over that, because his father was all about Responsibility and Working for a Living and had gotten him a job in the family business whether he liked it or not, while Falda just disappeared into the wind, calling back from strange country codes drunk on exotic liquor and the faraway echoes of sex.
The first time he saw her after that trip was at the fourth of July picnic. She didn't want to be there, and that was abundantly clear - he'd tried to talk to her all day and got small pointless words tossed back at him for his trouble. And he thought that perhaps he ought to give up on this foolish quest, especially since he didn't entirely know why he'd embarked on it in the first place.
Dusk was falling; the fireflies were coming up over the wet, green lawn, the smell of charcoal was thick and someone - uncle Fabe? - was tossing around the notion of s'mores, when she appeared from the house clad in leather and wet blonde hair tied back, and she carried stars with her, white-violet balls of flame.
Then she began to dance, mysteriously spinning them in graceful arcs, the afterglow burning into his eyes; small comets orbiting the beautiful singularity of her, swirling and patterning pathways to their faraway cousins above.
And he thought maybe, just maybe, he should try talking to her just once more.