From her balcony, she watches and listens to the revels.
A boom like a cannon, then white shoots across the sky.
Doves, she thinks. They look like doves.
She remembers the dream of freedom. Broken chains and shattered collars. It drove her once, possessed her, made her inspire others. They became strong, filled with flame.
Fire in a forest cannot be controlled, cannot be restrained. It burns all it can see.
She learned this when the corpses filled the streets, when blood turned the rivers red.
Again she looks at the sky.
There are no more doves.
Just white fire.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Vitaya Sundaram for proving the prompt photo!