A Spark by Sarah Nutbrown

It started with a spark. A solitary spark that was spat out, tumbling over the grate and landing on the carpet. A carpet that had been there for 30 years. Feet had trampled it, the sun had faded it but it had prevailed, a reminder of bygone days. The spark had no respect for the slow destruction accepted with the passage of time. It was impatient. It fed on the worn threads, its greed feeding its strength and its strength feeding its greed. It licked and danced and devoured, unleashing a roaring beast with an insatiable hunger. The house shivered. It creaked and groaned and crumbled. It started with a spark.

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