~Object 66~ A Firework

They sat around a table playing cards, and listening to fireworks go off in the distance.  She had always loved them, but hadn't gone to watch them for a few years.  There was always something better to do, or they were too far.

She had seen, and been a part of, a different kind of firework recently.

She bottles things up.  Like stuffing firecrackers with gunpowder, she stores worries, anxieties, frustrations and sadness away, shoving it all deeper and deeper, fitting more and more.

Something small usually lights the fuse.  Someone does something, "wrong," or says a small, biting word, and it isn't long until she blows.

For some reason, though, joy doesn't work that way at all.  She doesn't bottle that up; there is rarely a need to.  She shares her joys, her triumphs, her fun times with the world, and there is no explosion later on.

It's so strange that the physical firework and the emotional one are so very different.  How beautiful an explosion can be in the right place...and how ugly in the wrong.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S. Happy Independence Day, folks!  I hope you all had a lovely day celebrating the beautiful gift of freedom.  God bless you all!