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What is the value of a story? How can you measure it’s worth? Maybe not it’s worth in money, but it’s worth measured by the impact it has on the reader.

I have realized that my stories don’t have much worth. They are shallow. I think the messages in my stories are almost unattainable. My stories are interesting for a younger audience who seek to find an adventure. I suppose they are worth something to younger people. People that haven’t quite matured and are fascinated by the adventures of a protagonist. Whether that be surviving battles, riding eagles, spying on orcs, or surviving harsh climates.
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Din is another story I wrote for my writing course from the Institute of Children’s Literature. I tried to weave an element of possible romance into this story with a battle against nature. I feel the story is rushed. One problem I had with the Institute is that they give you very short word counts. I had to fit stories under so many words, and some stories needed more words to really make it feel like a good story.

But the word count is made to help me learn to write what I want to write and get the story across in a short amount of time. It did help me. I think, though, that this story could use a lot more words to make it better. I liked the character development in this story though. I felt that I knew the characters and they seemed realistic.

I hope you enjoy the story. Please comment and let me know what you think.

Cheers,

Cuyler Callahan

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“Stop touching that!” Tina let out her breath, “You are so stupid.” Annoyed with her golden haired little brother, Din, Tina fluttered her translucent fairy wings in irritation and flew over to him, landing hard on her silk slippers, snatching the wooden music box from Din. “Why don’t you grow up?”

“I’m sorry.” Din looked down at the green leaf floor of their leaf-globe home.

“You always say that, but you don’t mean it.” Tina straitened her blue, silk tunic. “Mom and dad aren’t around to watch you any more, and I am tired of doing it. Why don’t you just run away.”

Big blue eyes looked up at her; tears slid down Din’s face. Tina looked up at the leafs overlapping, creating the ceiling of the protective globe from the elements; hating seeing her brother sad. Looking down showed Din had left, the small leaf door still flapping lightly.

“Fine, just leave. Better off without you anyways.”

Stamping out onto the branch leading to the house, Tina’s slippers left the ground, wings buzzing furiously. Golden hair floated in the wind straight over her back. Flying helped Tina to think. I wish I wasn’t so mean to Din. He is only a little boy, to young to even fly yet. Feeling terrible, Tina knew bullying Din more and more would not help him. I am to hard on him. Watching leaf globe homes go by, and other fairies at daily activities, helped calm her nerves.

“Every one to your homes! Battle comes again. To your homes!” A fairy guard in brown battle armor yelled, zooming around low to the tree bark below Tina. Deep warning horns sounded.

“Oh, not again. Can’t beetles make their homes in trees without current residence.” Tina sighed and turned sharply back, flying speedily home.

Tina expected Din had come home and cried himself to sleep as usual. Pushing through the leaf door however revealed no sign of Din.

Oh, Din…Where are you? Panic stricken and worried enough to lose her breakfast, Tina raced out of her home. She flew to her nearest neighbor, Granny Homeo. “Granny Homeo, Granny Homeo!” Tina pounded on her leaf door, resounding a barely audible tang.

A year passed- seemingly to Tina’s worried fairy brain- before the leaf door opened. “What is it dear?” the old lady fairy croaked out, tattered, brittle wings shaking.

“Din is missing, have you seen him?”

“I saw him run past, out the city.”

“Out the city! I have to find him.”

Leaving Granny Homeo at her door, Tina brought up speed she had never accessed in her life; powered by ten times the worry of just a missing brother. Out the city past guards yelling for her to stop she flew. Gravity’s free fall and her wing power sent Tina hurtling down the steep trunk of the fairy tree. She told him to grow up. She knew her brother more then anyone; fighting the beetles when he grew up he always said. Why did she have to encourage him? Ground looming before her, she stopped to survey the gruesome scene.

Fairy soldiers in brown, leather battle armor blocked giant green and black beetles from the fairy tree. Throwing spears into the tremendous beetle masses didn’t stop their insective instincts of marching to a new home.

Chaotic order ruled the battle. How will I find him in this? How would he even get down here? Self control shattered at fear for her brother’s safeties pounding. What if he fell off the tree? He can’t fly. He is down there somewhere, helpless.”

I must help him. No thought of self safety brought Tina hovering above the battle field. “Din, Din. Where are you?” The roar of battle, the squeaks of the beetles, the moan of the dieing, all over road her voice; no use.

Flying higher for a better view, Tina looked right as a large mass tumbled into her. A beetle in flight had a scruff of her green, silk leg stocking in its mandibles. It drug her through the air- her wings useless against its beastly momentum- to the fairy tree flinging her against its bark. She grasped the rough bark with nimble hands as she gained stability. The beetle ripped at the bark, digging its new home.

“Oh, no you don’t. Get him men.” Five soldiers flew overhead, landing on the beetle, stabbing it with spears. A screamed produced a fairy holding his handless arm. The beetle squeaked, falling dead into its own pit, dropping the hand from its mandibles.

“Get Janaa to a fairy healer,” the obvious commander ordered.

“Can you tell me where my little brother is?” Tina yelled over the bustle- overriding her horror at the poor soldiers fate.

The commander turned around. “You should be up in the city.”

“I know. I think my brother is down here though.”

“All civilians have been evacuated to the tree top.”

“I know my brother is down here, now tell me if you have seen him,” Tina commanded, face red with frustration.

“I have miss, I seen a little tike with wing sprouts fall to the forest floor,” another soldier answered, near the fallen beetle. “ I saw him land on the pebble pile.” He pointed down with his bloodied spear. “It’s swarmed over with beetles, you’ll never make it alive.” The soldier took off his helmet. Brown hair glinted with the dim forest sunlight, lighting his handsome face. “If the commander permits, may I help the miss retrieve her brother?”

The commander nodded curtly.

Tina bubbled with excitement and dread. Would she find her brother alive or dead? She knew his location, but if he died could she fathom the idea of living with herself?

She jumped and gave the commander a hug, the soldier who volunteered his life to help: a kiss. “Thank you. Please let us go before it’s to late.”

The soldier saluted his commander, placed his helmet back on his head, then jetted down the tree with tremendous speed. They dived to the pebbles. Tina hovered softly, looking for her brother. She screamed to see a beetle walking over top of his motionless body.

Tina raced to his body and kicked the beetle in the face while landing it screeched and scurried away. Another came and snapped at her on its way past towards the tree. She trembled in fear at the beasts. A beetle took to the air a little distance off with a buzz. Tina climbed over another pebble and reached Din’s body lying face down between two pebbles. The soldier landed beside her, bloodied more then before. Two beetles lay dead near each other not far off.

“Can you lift him?” the soldier asked.

“I think so, at least to the tree.” Tina doubted she could carry her little brother any further.

“Do so, I’ll watch your back.” Giving a smile through his helmet, he raced off, jumping on the back of another rumbling beetle, driving a spear into its head.

Tina pulled her little brother into her arms and raised slowly into the air. She could already feel her wings straining for more power. Moving slowly over the battle towards the tree, her brother started slipping from her arms. Only a little farther.

“Faster, you need to go faster.” Tina heard the soldier call behind her. Blackish green masses of beetles flew past her, some brushing her. She heard a warning horn blow below her. Fairies popped into the air, fighting the air assault.

Tina struggled through the mess, holding onto her brother by his arm. Just as Din slipped from her grasp she used her knees and pushed him onto the bark of the fairy tree, grasping it with her hands. Using her body she pushed against Din’s to press him to the tree. Battle raged around her but she couldn’t do anything. The helpful soldier grabbed the bark beside her with gloved hands. “I’ll watch your back.” He pushed off into the fray around her.

Din woke up under Tina. He mumbled a whisper to Tina with half closed eyes, “Tina, have I grown up?”

“No, and I don’t want you too.” She smiled at him worriedly and brushed his hair with her fingers. “I am so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Yes,” Din said, passing into sleep again.

The soldier twirled his spear near her, fighting beetle after beetle. When it seemed the worst was over, no more came. Another horn sounded in the forest. A horn Tina knew since birth that said battle had ended. “I’ll grab some men to take your brother to the fairy healer,” the soldier said, hovering in the air beside Tina. He sped away up the fairy tree before Tina could say anything.

“What’s your name,” Tina whispered to herself, “I won’t forget you?”

Space Cows is a story I wrote a year or so ago for a writing course I was taking through the Institute of Children’s Literature. It was for the Beyond The Basics Course I took. The second course I took through the institute.

I went through the story and edited it again, and now I’m posting it here for your enjoyment.

I feel this story seems a bit rushed, like I rushed the story out the door to my instructor after procrastinating on writing it. The character Waret seems a bit forced to me. I should have added some character flaws. He seems almost to perfect, like the goody two shoes who every one loves. Always doing the right thing. He needs some flaws. I should have given him a bad temper or something. Or maybe made him so he didn’t get along with people that well or something.

Anyways, regardless, I hope you enjoy the story,

Cuyler Callahan

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Waret’s seventeen-year-old brown-haired head hit the kick guard railing as a pulsing, ear-cracking, buzz echoed through the milking parlor. “Ah, crap, they never said anything about a drill,” rubbing his aching skull, he exclaimed.

A stern voice crackled over the intercom, drowning out the panicked bellowing of nearly one hundred black and white Holsteins. “This is no drill. I repeat, this is no drill! Prepare for possible unit separation or space station destruction.”

“What the-” Waret wrapped his arms around the kick guard railing, holding himself, space station shaking, rumbling, moaning, and creaking. Cows stumbled, but held their balance. Tripping up three grated stairs out the milking pit to a steel sliding door gave him a good bruise on his leg. Entering his password on a rubber pad, while supporting his weight on one leg, and hissing through his teeth in pain, proved a great bother to Waret. Especially when his password didn’t work the first time. “Arrggg, I told those lazy techs to fix the bloody door.” Waret fell to the floor, the station on the rocks again. Reaching up, he typed his password again. Finally the door slid open with a loud hiss, and he crawled inside, then stood up.

Inside lights blinked, a wall alarm light went round and round, flashing red off the metallic walls of the control room. Waret smashed his fist down on a big red button, only used in emergencies. The milking line doors opened and the cows, in fright, quickly exited, dropping their milking claws, some getting smashed, hoses ripped off, and the pulsators began making weird rhythm after the space station took another hit, sending Waret staggering forward to hold his balance against a breaker box.

Waret had to get the animals into their stalls. The barn techs installed a food line right through the middle, between stalls facing each other. Waret guided the food bag from the control room with a joystick. “There we go.” Waret shook a little, nervous, hoping he would finish in time. He wouldn’t abandon the cows to die helplessly. The food bag lined up nicely with the extra food alley. He had never used this one before. He opened the bag with a black button, and moist silage began pouring rapidly out the bottom of the bag. The bag slowly moved down the barn to the back, filling the food alley full. The cows, so nervous however, didn’t notice.

Waret ran out of the control room, through the milking pit, to the back of the barn, “Come on you beef bags, eat the food unless you want to die.” He began guiding a cow towards her stall. The animal saw her food and went the rest of the way. He did the same with others. They began seeing the food as well. The station shook more violently then ever, sending animals flying, falling. Waret felt his feet lift off the ground and he flew upwards to his left towards the head gate system and the regular route of the food line. He thought he would hit it, but he continued flying upwards. Seeing the cows flying as well, “Ah, not this!” he exclaimed disgustedly. Referring to there being no gravity.

I could use this to my advantage, Waret thought. He bumped into the ceiling and quickly padded his way with his hands, pulling himself towards the wall. He then padded with his hands down the wall, head down, his feet floating behind him. He continued by grabbing onto things, and pulling his way to the front of the barn. He went through a door to the right of the control room and found a white suite with jet propulsion. He wrestled into it while floating in zero gravity. “Okay, lets see how well this thing works.”

Waret used the joystick control sticking out past him on his right, connecting with the jet pack. Pushing forward on it, he moved forward. He controlled himself past the milking equipment to the back of the barn, and found a cow. Zero gravity means they way nothing, so he grabbed the animals and pulled them, or pushed them. He continued grabbing animals and putting them in their stalls. Some floated out, and Waret put them back in. Most stayed in however.

“In you go girls, come on, hurry up, he slapped one last cow on the rump,” laughing a little, knowing they could not go any faster then he pushed them. Once they all floated nervously in their stalls, he zoomed to the wall, leaving a little trail of smoke behind the blue jet fire, and broke some glass, then pressing another red button- this one never used in the drills. Large metal plates pushed down by hydraulic rams slid from the sealing of the barn.

Waret saw the space station rumble again, though he never felt it, suspended in the air. All the plates connected with latches in the cows stalls, creating large boxes around the animals. Then more plates lowered perpendicular to the floor from the ceiling, the tops of the plates held large oxygen tanks and heating systems. These created the tops of the box. The bottoms would come out of the stall floor. “Good, all locked and ready.”

Waret jetted to the front of the barn, and exited the barn via another sliding door, entering a hallway full of floating people, padding along the walls, or a few in jet suits, some black meaning they held the position of guard.

Waret wiped some crap onto his suit legs and opened a small cubby with a computer inside.

“Activate automatic unit separation,” he said nervously, “ that’s what I do next.” Waret breathed heavily, his mind flew at one twenty, his fingers moving faster over the keyboard. Nervous eyes scanned the computer monitor as a loading bar steadily moved across it. “Yes, all good. All good.”

The loading bar reached the edge of the screen. “Activation successful,” a computer toned voice said.

Waret shut the cubby and jetted down the flashing red hallway, passing the people padding along the wall to the pod garage. Waret entered the large space station garage bay. His pod lay near the end, yet how could he find it now? The pods floated in the air and his could be anywhere.

Waret slowly floated through the mess, dodging pods, left and right, and other people, looking for their pods. His old junker of a machine couldn’t have floated to far away, he hoped. He reached his registered parking space, to find his machine not there, of course. He looked around, and saw his machine floating near the ceiling, bumping the top every
once in a while. Waret jetted to the top, and grabbed the blue, rusted pod by the door, and dragged it to the ground.

“Now I need to get out of this suite.” Waret unzipped the suite and struggled out. He forgot to switch it off, just as he had a leg out, the jet activated, sending him flying across the garage. Freeing his leg up, he looked ahead, and saw a beam getting closer. Waret smacked into it with his abdomen. He felt the air knock out of him. He breathed hard, finally getting in air. He had to get across the garage somehow now, without the suit. He pushed against the beam, and started floating across the garage again. He pushed off another pod, sending it crashing into another. “Dang, hope whoever owns that doesn’t get mad.” After pod jumping, he reached his pod place again, and realized his pod had floated to the ceiling again, bumping against a support beam.

The ship had stopped rumbling a while back, now that he began thinking about it. Thinking about it, it had not taken a large rattling hit in a long time… “Ah crap.” Waret realized what this could mean from his courses in ship fighting tactics during high school. His adrenaline started pumping.

Waret pushed up and floated to his pod. He opened the door, and slid in. He fastened his seat belt and ignited the pod. He took control of the machine and guided it through the mess to the pod launch tubes. He landed it in the launch tube and slammed, once again, another red button. The pod lurched forward as thrusters ignited, then jolted forward again at tremendous speed, sending Waret’s head smashing against his headrest.

The pod fired towards the space station’s dock on the moon. Waret watched through his side cameras, other pods heading to the same place. His rear view camera showed the space station, and hundreds of little ships zooming around it. Small rockets launched from some of them, at the space station, or at each other. Rockets launched from the space station, destroying some of the little ships.

A large ship sat outside the space station. The ship that had delivered the more powerful blows Waret had felt inside the space station. I sure hope those cows’ll be fine. They weren’t his, but sometimes he felt like they were. He had been working in that barn for five years now since he was twelve. He knew how everything worked, how every cow behaved.

His pod had autopilot on, so Waret continued to watch the space station. The large ship began rattling. Waret’s worst assumption had been correct. Only one thing could be happening- the ship was building it’s fire power. A powerful enough shot to take out the space station in one hit. The space bandits had really upgraded their weaponry. With every loss to the bandits, they became stronger. Suddenly hundreds of more ships poured out of the space station. They began fleeing towards the moon as well.

Waret nervously watched the space station separate into individual units. The large separate unit’s thrusters ignited, throwing them towards the moons space dock. I sure hope my barn makes it. One unit took a hit, breaking into separate pieces, sending a field of barley floating in pieces through space. Small bandit gathering ships gathered the barley, taking it back to the big ship.

“Requesting docking permission,” the pods computer announced. A brief moment later: “Docking accepted, prepare to land.”

Autopilot was shut off, and Waret took control. He found his registered space and landed the ship in the moons docking bay. He could feel the gravity boosters pulling on him. The pod opened up and Waret climbed out. He ran to the public viewing monitor and watched the chaos in space. The separate units floated helplessly in space as bandits began gathering them up, bringing the units back to their own ship. He ran out off the docking station and into the streets of New Beginnings- earths first off-planet city.

He ran past the cars and trucks, past the tall skyscrapers, and found a smaller building tucked into a small community, across from a coffee shop. The other farm technicians were there too. Waret’s boss- Fail Intak- stood on the front steps of his office building.

“ I know the space station has separated. You will all be given jobs on other agricultural stations until we rebuild this one.”

“What about the animals?” Waret spoke up, “ We can’t just leave them. We all know those space pirates don’t have the facilities to take care of the animals properly.”

“I know, it’s hard, but they have them. Our own guards couldn’t fight them off. The space bandits have grown to strong.”

Waret couldn’t take this. “If we continue to let them beat us, they will just get stronger and stronger, we have to fight back.”

Fail looked at Waret and frowned. Though Waret could tell it wasn’t an angry frown. More of a self determined do-what-you-gotta- type of frown. “Your right Waret. Who here is sick of these space bandits?”

All the farm technicians raised their hands. “Then lets take these bandits out and get our animals back, and save what crops we can. I’ll see if the army will help. I know they are few and usually don’t leave the moons perimeters, but maybe you guys going will inspire them to do their jobs the way we- the tax payers- want them to. Take the cargo ships and gather up the animals at least. I’ll tell the guards to give you backup until we have the animals to safety.

Waret and the others ran back to the space dock. Waret saw the guards all sitting around talking about their fighting when they entered the space dock. The farm boys ran over to the guards. “Why aren’t you guys getting ready?” Waret asked.

“You boys’ll be shot dead before you even reach a stalk of wheat.” A big burly guard spit on the floor.

“Well it’s more then your doing. Thats our life up there, and we aren’t letting the bandits take it. Come with us, or you can stay here you chicken livers,” Waret said furiously. He and the other farm techs walked past the guards towards cargo ships, massive things beside the large, but comparably smaller fighter ships.

Just as Waret took a step onto the first step of the ladder to the cargo ships cockpit, one of the guards pulled him off by the scruff of his shirt. “Hey kid, we are no sissy chickens. We’ll fight your fight.”

“It’s not just my fight.”

The guard thought for a sec. Then he nodded his head. “We’ll cover you farm boys. No bandit in a tin can is going to stop us.”

“Great!” Waret exclaimed.

The guard nodded then headed to a ship. Waret scrambled up the ladder, the other farmers behind him. Once at the top he asked. “So who’s driving the thing?” All the farmers looked at each other.

“This aint no tractor,” a red-haired youth said.

“ I can drive it,” a man built like an oak, and a gruff voice, said.

“Good, all the rest, lets get in the cargo bay and suit up.”

Waret lead the other farmers into the cargo bay. A large metal storage compartment. “Empty at the moment,” Waret said, “it’ll be a barn soon. Put these suites on. We need a man to operate the crane.”

“I’ll do it,” the red haired youth said.

“Okay, everyone has their jobs then. The rest off us will hook the cables to the crates.” Everyone gripped onto something as the cargo ship roughly took off out of the space dock.

Waret grabbed a white suite and slipped into it. The others did the same.

Moments later, “Okay boys, we’re entering the danger zone. I’ll pull up along the crates that the guards free up, and you guys can pull them in,” the pilot buzzed over the intercom.

Waret watched the battle outside through a viewing monitor on the upper deck. The guards were barely holding in. Most had close calls every couple seconds, barely scraping out of them, or taking minor hits, but they freed up a crate.

“A crates free,” the intercom crackled, bring her in boys.

Waret raced down the steps onto the cargo bay floor. The wall to his left slowly slid open, big enough to let six fighters fly through in loose formation. He grabbed a cable, previously laid out, and so did the other farmers. They pulled it to the edge of the ship, and looked out into open space. He took a big breath of the air inside his oxygen mask, then jumped into space towards the crate. A bandit ship flew overhead, a guard right behind it, firing wildly.

Waret attached the cables to the hooks on the crates corners, and jumped back to the cargo bay floor. The virtual gravity slowly pulled him to the floor. The other farmers did the same. The crane slowly pulled the crate in, and landed it on the floor.

“ One down, ninety six to go.”

Waret counted down every cow they brought. He could see the other cargo ships gathering animals, horses, beef cows, chickens. They left the wheat to float around. It wasn’t as important as the animals.

“Last cow,” Waret said, staring at the last crate. He jumped into space with his cable. As he was connecting the cable, a round of bullets flew at the container, bouncing off, but hitting some of the farmers. Blood floated past Waret. He noticed some of it coming from his leg. Pain shot through him. Some of the other farmers were wounded worse. Waret fought the pain and grabbed a man with a chest wound.

He pointed him to the cargo bay and pushed him. The man floated towards it. He found a man with a shoulder shot, and did the same thing. He hooked the last cables of the men he pushed, and pushed off the crate with his good leg towards the cargo bay. Some of the other farmers with similar wounds as Waret were doing the same. He landed on his legs in the cargo bay, and he yelled in pain. Some men dragged him to the side as the crate floated in. The cargo bay door shut just as a hail of bullets bounced off the outside.

“We all ready to go, cause I sure am?” the pilot asked nervously.

“Yes, get us out of here, we have badly wounded men,” an old farmer said.

The cargo ship hurried to the moon’s dock. Waret drank some pain killer and felt the paint subside drastically with the modern medicine. A cloth was wrapped around him, and Waret was able to sit on the stairs.

The cargo ship came to a rough stop in the dock, sending men falling and grappling for something to hold onto. Medics rushed into the ship and grabbed Waret and the other wounded men.

Later, Waret left the hospital, gladly, and went to the storage barn to find the cows all safe, and chewing cud- if a bit nervously.

“Good job Waret,” Fail said behind him.

“Thanks. I’m just glad to get the animals to safety.”

“Well, that type of dedication earned you and all the other farmers a raise to sixty electrocoins an hour.”

“Thanks.” Waret shook Fails hand then turned and rested against the fence, staring at the cows, and tenderly rubbed the bandage on his leg.

The Prairie Fire is a story I wrote and submitted to a few magazines a couple years ago. However, they did not accept my story. I think the style isn’t what they were looking for. Needless to say, it is one of my favorite stories I have written so far.

I hope you enjoy it,

Cuyler Callahan

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Anon, Anon…Wake up. Wake up Anon…WAKE UP!

Anon shot straight up in bed like a jackrabbit realizing the coyote was about to take a bite out of its back. Somebody had been calling him; there was no one in the orange room though. Who called me?

Running his bony fingers through his short, brown hair, he was about to fall back onto his straw stuffed pillow when he heard a crackling roar outside his window. Anon smelled ash in the air, tasted it on his tongue, and abruptly realized it was harder to breath then usual. The air was hot. Dry.

Orange room? He lived in a log cabin, miles and miles away from anyplace he could possibly buy the
way-to-expensive orange paint. Anon watched the orange room dance. Dance? A room can’t dance. Noticing, now- after sleep slowly slid from his eyes- the color as a dancing, orange glow, floating through his window onto the logs creating his homely abode, and not an orange paint, Anon Cursed his luck- realizing the glow had a high chance of being a prairie man’s worst nightmare.

Tossing the buffalo skin blankets off himself, he ran to the window, placing his hands on the smooth glass he had brought from his parent’s home in Ontario, to his farm, here in central Saskatchewan. His pale, white face danced with the flickering orange lights.

Not noticing his hands, sizzling, on the window, he watched- heart ripping at his ribs- in wretched horror, at the devilish fire engulfing his cabin. Anon jerked his hands away from the window and held his smoking palms against his small clothes shirt. Smoke and the steamy smell of seared flesh, brought Anon to his senses, just to have them knocked away as a fiery arm punched through his window, sending him crashing into his bed on the opposite side of the room.

Moaning, Anon sat up against his bed, swatting his smoldering three day facial hairs. Did that fire just punch through the window? Impossible, it must be… no, it didn’t matter. He had to get out of the cabin. He must warn his wife and get the baby out. She had always thought beds to soft and probably lie asleep with the baby boy on the kitchen floor.

Anon’s bare feet pounded the fresh wood floor he had just lied down, days before, as he entered the kitchen. In pure agony, Anon sank to his knees and yelled at the flame engulfed roof. “No, not this. Anything but this. Noooooooo!”

He wept and rocked on his knee’s. His native wife, with night black hair, smooth brown skin, smoked in a mottled heap in the middle of the raging furnace that was once a homely kitchen he had watched her raise their son- tucked under his mothers unrecognizable arms- and make their favorite meals.

Anon, back on his feet, watched his dead family, not aware of the hell around him. Luckily, they had passed out, in their sleep, before any flame touched them, he assumed, but the thought only lingered a second as he took a step towards them.

Now ,now, you don’t die yet, that is my choice, a crazed chuckle filled Anon’s head. You will fulfill your duty. Run out of the cabin you fool!

“Who are you?” Anon screamed at the voice in his head. “Leave me be to die as I wish!”

Get out of the cabinnnnnnn! As loud as the fire and in audios replica, the voice howled at Anon in his head, rattling his brain, he thought, through his ears.

Anon jumped to listen- especially now that the small clothes covering his bottom became alight. Swatting his arse out with scorched hands, his bedroom roaring behind him, and skin glistening with reflecting orange sweat, Anon looked for a way out.

He had no time to be surprised when he saw a path through the pond of fire his kitchen had become, as straight as an arrow, towards the door of his cabin; roof support logs began falling.

Racing flames closed in behind him like the Red Sea behind Moses’ Israelites, a story he heard once. Running, he burst out of the frying pan and into the fire, literally. This time around, however, the fire seemed a better place, at least right then.

A roughly laid, wide spread path- fire for guiding walls- led ahead of him into an circular arena of flame. Anon didn’t give a rat’s leg why the crashing loud flames burned the way they did. He didn’t care about anything except to get to the ring of fire where he suspected the heat would be the least. Reaching the ring of fire at a dead stop, he turned around and looked at the destruction of his farm.

It burned, plain and simple. The barn he built last summer now collapsed with a sickening creak and rumble. Animals screamed in all directions, breaking out of their quarters in sheer fright of dieing. Through all the screaming, Anon smelt burning flesh, like branding season, though hundreds of times worse. The farm he built within three years was going to ash. His hard work, his family, his crops, his animals, taken from him overnight.

Realizing this through his shock, Anon fell to his bare knees, threw back his head, and thrust out his muscular chest, renting his shirt in proper agony. He cried at the stars, shining through the burning, orange glow of fire and hell his heavenly farm had become, daring the God he never prayed to, to take his life. “Kill me now,” he sobbed; his body shook, his eyes red, “let my pain end.”

Exhausting his breath Anon brought his head down and his hands to the ground. Looking at the frightening wall of flames, figures of fire danced with it, giving it a dizzying ethereal feel- he was sure he saw fiery spirits.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he screamed; tears flew like rivers down his face, eroding the ash like soft mud. Through the blur of his tears, Anon thought he saw the figures stop dancing in response. Then, throwing back their heads to laugh, they started dancing even more feverishly now, laughing more crazily as they went. Anon through his hands over his head and buried it between his knees. His hurting head was a jumble of sounds: Roaring fires, laughing fires, his beating heart, and now, on a instant sudden, a rush of something terrifying. Looking up from his weeping, and seeing the ring of flame had broken towards him, Anon jumped up suddenly and prepared to die. Happily.

A black canvas coach formed, moving at a tremendous, rumbling speed, beating the flames to Anon.

His eyes opened up in horror to see the horse drawing the coach had a mane, tale, and eyes of fire. It snorted fire from it’s nose. The driver sitting on the coach box wore a black top hat on his shiny, sleek, black hair. A long tailed suite formed the man’s small body. Mustache and teeth, made of fire, echoed the pits of fire the man had for eyes. In flames though the coach was, it did not burn.

“Hop aboard unless you wish to die,” the man said.

It was, but flames licked his scorched rump, changing his decision. Jumping aboard, into the cab, Anon watched consciously, the flames burning endlessly on the coach. Out of the quickly diminishing ring of fire, the coach flew, traveling, now, through the sea of fire stretching farther then Anon could see. His little spot of safety- now disappearing under a storm of flame- was one dot of heaven in hell.

Flames covering the coach, driver, and horse, all diminished as abruptly as the coach flying through the wall of flame onto the dry prairie grass; grass untouched by fire for only a little while longer.

Stopping the coach, the driver turned around on the coach box, looked at Anon and said, “Come up and sit with me Anon.” How did the man know his name? Was he even a man? Touching the coach door briefly, to make sure it would not burn him, Anon opened it slowly; warily.

Standing on the prairie ground, bare toes gripping the black soil, dry grass rippling under his rough hands, ready to burn, he looked back towards the soft orange glow of his farm. Surely the prairie fire must be past his farm, letting his work, family, and animals fuel it’s own.

“Anon, come sit with me. We need to keep going before the fire reaches us.” The man’s voice was soft and friendly, though how far could he trust the man. Anon’s imagination, thrown in with massive flames, must have created the fiery image of the man and horse- that was what he thought.

He climbed aboard shotgun of the coach box. Asking how Anon was doing got the driver no response. Anon sat with his face buried in his hands, rocking back and forth in his silent mourning. Getting the coach moving again, though this time slower, the driver began to speak.

“I lost my family in a prairie fire. My wife, my children, my dog, my animals. I had my own place, though I owned a ranch and a good five hundred head of cattle at that. I lost it all, every bit. You should be happy to be lucky to have extended family left. From what I know of your wife, you a have a whole Blackfoot tribe as in-laws.” The driver paused and looked at Anon with a menacing grin.

“As I denied my duty, each member of my extended family started to die in prairie fires. The longer I held off, the more died. It is a sad prospect, but it is destiny.”

Anon’s voice, exasperated and tired, croaked out, “How do you know everything about me, about my family? What are you talking about- duty?” He desired to know about weird happenings. By all accounts, he should be dead, dead as his family, though the fire held at bay for him. It did, he was sure of it.

“I know all about you. I have watched you since I have started contemplating who I should choose.”

“Choose for what?” Anon suddenly sprung nervousness- though he had been nervous all night- recognizing the man’s voice. The voice in his head; the voice warning him to get out of the cabin.

“Choose you as the next Prairie Fire of course.” The man could have been talking about the weather, or saying a rock was hard.

“The what? What do you mean the next prairie fire- do I look like a fire? Why would you choose me as the Prairie Fire, or whatever it is?”

“You look the part, you were just unlucky I chose you,” He started to laugh maniacally. “You know, I died in a prairie fire. I refused my destiny even after everyone I ever loved died. Eventually the Prairie Fire just took me. Are you going to refuse. As I recall, a Blackfoot camp lies just a little ways from here. Your wife’s family I think.” Laughing harder, the driver sped the coach up, the horse at a slow trot.

“What? No, you can’t kill a whole camp,” Anon held onto the sides of the coach box as the coach jerked. “Are you mad? What are you talking about? I can’t become a fire. How can I? I am a person. I fire is just a fire.”

“Do I look like just a fire you insolent fool?” the driver screamed at him, leaning close enough to Anon to almost come off his seat, close enough for Anon to see fire in his eyes. “You will be the next Prairie Fire. You refuse and the camp goes up in flames.”

Anon couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh; a sad laugh, a desperate laugh, a nervous laugh. He was scared; sitting by a madman, he was in trouble, but did not believe a word the man said. Shakily he said, “Prove it then. Become a prairie fire.”

“You despicable lout. Fine, watch and learn my powers.” He snapped the reins hard, the coach surged to rumbling speed and burst into flames, except for where Anon sat; who was holding on more tightly to the coach box. His rump, despite being burnt, pressed hard to the coach box board, sending searing pain through his body.

The horse sprouted flames, jetted fire from it large muzzle. Beside him, Anon saw the driver take on his fiery smile. His hair lit afire beneath the top hat, while slowly, the long tailed suite burst into flames.

Jumping off the coach into the long, dry, prairie grass he erupted into a mass of fire. Anon looked at a human shaped, flickering, flame running beside the coach, reminding him of the fiery figures he saw while weeping.

Long prairie grass exploded into a rampart of flame behind the man, flame higher then the coach, the coach a source of it’s own horrific kilometer long line of fire.Traveling opposite the normal direction, a strong northeast wind began blowing the busy fire towards the Blackfoot camp.

“Nooo! I believe you. Stop! Don’t let the fire towards them.” Almost jumping out of the flaming coach himself to stop the fire, Anon held back. He couldn’t stop a fire this size by himself, let alone in his small clothes, with no tools, or protection. The fire would burn him up, or would it… seeming to avoid him before? Maybe he could stop it.

Heedless of the coach’s swelling speed, he jumped out of the coach and tumbled onto his stomach. Ignoring the bruising pain, he jumped to his feet and ran towards the humongous wall of fire. The fire parted for him, not touching him. Anon tried to get closer, but every time, the fire would surge away.

Managing to get close, sometimes, he had to pull back, for the heat was to strong. Besides, there was no way he could stop a kilometer- and a half now- long line of burning, raging fire.

Falling to his knees, Anon began to weep again. It was shameful; him a grown man. He began to pray. Of course nothing happened; he had never been a religious man.

“Are you ready to become the Prairie Fire?” Anon looked behind him at the driver who stood naked as the day he was born. Laughing, the man said, “I lose my clothes every time I take the form of fire- those were my extras I burnt.”

Anon didn’t care. He had to find a way to stop the fire. “ If I become The Prairie Fire will I be able to meet my family again someday?

“After you fulfill you duty.” Nodding his head seriously made the naked man look comical; though Anon had no time for laughing.

“I will become the Prairie Fire then, but you have to stop this fire first.”

“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. You become the Prairie Fire now, and take care of it yourself.” The driver spoke as if a cow couldn’t push him over, his decision was final.

“I don’t know how to control fire!”

“You can’t control my fire, but you can make your own. You’ll have to save the camp yourself. You will have a better chance saving the camp as a Prairie Fire.”

Anon did not have time for arguing. “Make me the Prairie Fire. I will take care of it.” Taking on a determination that would make senile bear move out of his way, Anon vowed he would not let what happened to his wife and baby happen to her kin and the baby’s cousins, aunts, uncles.

The driver rubbed his hands together excitedly.“OK! Now we’re in business,” he laughed crazily.

Flashing into fire, he danced around Anon, grinning so wide all the while, his face look split in two. Slowly, then faster and faster and faster. More flaming figures appeared around him. All dancing around him in a circle. The display reminded Anon of a dance performed by the Blackfoot on his wedding day. More and more figures of flame appeared until a solid rhythmic wall of flame surrounded him, then it closed in, slower and slower, but ever getting closer.

The heat effected his eyesight; blurred his vision. Nose shriveling in response to his own melting skin, Anon cried in pain, tears evaporating on his burning red cheeks. His whole body burned. His hair caught fire. Fiery hands reached for him, covering his mouth, his face. They grabbed his arms, his legs. Some hugged him. A moment more and they leaped onto him like wolfs on a horse, like a coyote on a mouse.

He screamed, moaned, yelled in pain. Finally, he collapsed in a heap on the charred prairie, whilst more and more fiery spirits attacked….

Anon woke. He felt no pain. He stared into the charred remains of the prairie. He looked up into the Sky. The sun was just shining, barely, on the horizon.

Anon couldn’t see his body. Fire had taken it’s place; he looked like the driver. He wanted his body back; the driver had a body. How did he get it? Anon fixed a picture of himself in his head, what he remembered himself looking like in the mirror. Looking down, he had a body, but it didn’t feel real; it felt fake. Hardly noticing, Anon’s gaze fell upon a hill of ash on the burnt, black prairie. Remembering himself burning, he knew the ash as his body, but the thought raced out of his head; a more important one barged it’s way in. Morning. It can’t be. I must reach the camp. So concerned was he, he didn’t notice his nakedness- his clothes burned off like the driver’s.

Maybe, just maybe, he could reach the camp before the fire did. The coach stood motionless in the distance. The race was on. Sprinting for it, not taking notice to his bare feet, Anon jumped into the driver’s seat. Snapping the reins, he turned the rig towards the camp, setting the horse at a dead run.

It ran hard, moving faster then he could remember. I am the Prairie Fire. I must fix this mess. Smoke billowed up, a gray line on the distant horizon, stretching for kilometers, father then Anon could see. Fire sprayed from the horse’s fist sized nostrils, smoke streamed of it’s back towards Anon. It picked up speed- if that was possible- at the sight of fire, flickering in the distance- it’s kin. They caught up quickly.

The coach smashed through the wall of flame only a quarter kilometer, and closing, from the camp. The bouncing coach, Anon standing on the coach box- terrified as a gopher with no hole to run to and a hawk in the air- rattled, while he barely steered it around tepees through the camp.

He hollered and shouted as loud as he could. “Fire coming. Wake up! Fire coming. Fire is here to save you.” He laughed out loud.

A new instinct kicked in; Anon sprouted flames. I’ll burn it all down. He about jumped off the coach onto a tepee, wanting fiery destruction wrought, but he fought himself. I must hold on. Save the camp first. He suppressed his mad desire to cause destruction, but allowed the flames to appear in full force. Oh, how his soul cried to release the fiery demon inside him. He had to hold on, wait until he was far from his relatives.

Reaching the other side of the camp, he jumped off the coach, rolling to his feet as a fiery, human spirit. He looked into the camp and saw Natives stirring, rudely awakened, from their sleep, appearing from their tepees, looking towards the fire. Running, they yelled, hooped and hollered. Anon understood only some of the words, but he knew they warned about the fire, telling others to wake up and run. Worried cries echoed from the women, herding their children ahead of them.

Hundreds of people ran towards Anon’s position, away from the fire, but without help, they would not survive the hell approaching them. Anon took no notice of the people stopping, realizing they would not outrun the fire, and pointing at him. Whispering.

Wasting no time, Anon ran in a straight line before the camp. A wall of fire sprang up and raced the same way as the wind blew, northeast. The Natives caught on quickly, running towards the already burnt prairie grass. Fight fire with fire, he thought. Anon spanned the width of the camp, his Blackfoot relatives an awed audience.

Finishing up the fiery deed, he regretfully dissipated into his false body and walked towards his family. Oblivious of the stares he received, Anon walked up to his father in law. “You will be safe now.” The man stared at him with shocked brown eyes.

What is wrong with him? Then it struck Anon. “Oh. Umm… I umm….” All the Natives watching him intently now had effect. They didn’t even seem to take notice the fire sweeping through their camp, destroying everything; their tepees, their belongings.

Anon’s instincts tried to break through his mental suppression. He had to go or something bad would happen. “I am the Prairie Fire now. Your daughter and I will watch you from the heavens.” With that, exploding into fire, he ran to the coach, sitting in the charred remains of the camp.

The instincts of fire smacked through his mental block, his human soul unconscious under the door. Anon hooped, hollered, screamed, yelled, laughed insanely, and rumbled away on the wretched coach to wreak fiery havoc on the prairies.