No one knows how the fire started. Maybe an errant campfire gone mad. Maybe a kitchen fire grown beyond its kitchen confines.
No matter how it started, no matter where its source, the fire remained the same – deeply, savagely hungry. Trees didn’t satisfy it. Houses and barns didn’t either. So, it ran through districts, hungry and mad, searching for more and more to eat.
People, so small compared to the fire’s massive hunger, fled on foot and in cars and on bikes. They fled with packages and with loved ones and with small mementos that they couldn’t bear to lose.
The fire turned towards them. Maybe that’s what it needed. Maybe humans could fill the ever empty spot in its ever growing gut. It grabbed up one and two of them, but remained unsatisfied. Maybe it needed to consume more and more humans. They were very small creatures, after all. One or two would never be enough.
And so it grabbed more and more.
Until a strange bird flew above the fire’s black and red raging head. The fire regarded it with hunger-fed curiosity. Was this new creature something more to eat? Would it taste good? Would it be satisfying?
Water poured out from the bird.
The fire ducked down and roared in pain, but the strange bird didn’t care. More and more water fell. Thirsty, quenching, quelling water.
The fire begged for mercy. It received none.
It tried to leap up and grab the bird out of the sky, but the water pushed it down to the earth. All of the fire’s girth and glory was pushed down to the earth.
The fire was still hungry, so bitterly, angrily hungry, but the water stopped its mouth. The water made the fire tired.
The fire couldn’t reach, couldn’t grab, couldn’t eat. Couldn’t grow. It grew sleepy and small.
More strange birds came with their endless supplies of water.
The fire ceased to be.