Fire Feather

By Linnae Conkel

---

Five pairs of eyes gazed down with various emotions upon the feather on the elevator floor. It was a tiny thing, perhaps from one of the many birds that swarmed the streets in search of leftover burgers and fries. It lacked design, let alone color (it was gray), unless you counted the white stain near its bedraggled tip. The feather wasn't even perfectly straight—the base was bent and twisted at one spot, and the middle leaned out slightly to the left, lending even more of a sorry appearance to the dilapidated thing. In short, it was like any other feather in the city.

It was the fire that drew the interest.

"It's on fire," said a tall lady with cherry-red lips and unnaturally blonde hair.

"We can see that," a smartly-dressed fellow sporting a short beard and mahogany briefcase responded drily. He glanced at the feather, lips quirked downward in disinterest. "There’s a reason for this, I’m sure. A prank, perhaps, or something of the sort."

Another lady, this one dolled up in at least three layers of makeup and enough perms to best a poodle, grasped the railing on the far wall, striving to stay as far away as possible from the peculiar feather...which only amounted to about 3 feet, given that they were, after all, in an elevator. "Put it out! Put it out!" she screeched.

A man enveloped in a coat several sizes too large for him crouched down next to the flaming object. "Fascinating! It's not even burning!"

"Do you think it's a safety hazard?" the blonde with the cherry lips wondered.

"Of course it's a safety hazard! It’s on fire!" screamed the makeup-masked lady, pressing herself even tighter against the wall. "Somebody call someone!"

The man with the briefcase slipped out his cellphone then paused, fingers stroking his beard. "Like who?"

"The front desk! The police! My aunt! SOMEBODY!"

The unnatural blond frowned. "We don't even know your aunt."

"Do you think the feather was here when we entered the elevator?" the fellow with the over-sized coat inquired. He was still crouching next to the feather, a magnifying glass out now so that he could better inspect the flames. "Fascinating."

"How can you be amazed when we are obviously in eminent danger?!?" shrieked the makeup lady, her mass of curls bouncing in a frenzy as she shook her head in disbelief.

"Imminent," the man corrected, still studying the flames.

"What?"

He waved a hand in the air as though referring to some invisible thing. "You said eminent danger. You meant imminent."

"Who cares?!?" The panicking lady stabbed a French-tipped nail at the feather. "It's. On. FIRE!!!"

"Yes, we've established that already," said the man with the briefcase with a roll of his eyes.

"But we haven't yet established why it's on fire!" the crouching fellow exclaimed, holding his magnifying glass even closer to the fire feather.

The man with the briefcase frowned. "Wait—where did the magnifying glass come from? Where did the pipe come from?!?"

The crouching man was now placing an antique pipe between his lips. "Oh, these old things? I always carry them with me in case I should need them." He grinned, childish delight flashing in his eyes. “This is so cool. It’s like we’re in a story!”

"I think he's watched too many detective shows," the unnatural blonde mused. She cocked her head, eyes trained on the crouching man's activities. "Your coat’s going to burn."

Sure enough, the worn, brown coat's hem had crept into the tiny feather's blaze, unbeknownst to its entranced owner. The panicking woman let out another shriek and the man hurriedly scrambled back, ready to roll out the flames.

But there were none.

"Fascinating," the man breathed, staring down at his coat where it should have been burned.

"We need help," the woman on the wall whimpered, knuckles bleached white from gripping the railing so hard.

The man with the briefcase motioned at the numbers next to the doors. "Look—we're almost to our floor. I think we'll be fine for just a little—"

"No!" she interrupted, eyes like a deer caught in headlights...a deer caked in makeup and curls that is. "Someone put out the fire now!"

"I can help," a new voice offered.

The four adults whipped around in surprise to see a little girl with angel-gold hair and clear blue eyes standing quietly in the corner.

"It's a child," the unnatural blond said.

"No, really?" the man with the briefcase shot back.

"Are you asking? Because the answer is yes."

"I can help," the child spoke again.

The makeup-caked woman shot her an irritable look. "Help? And since when have you been helpful? You've done nothing but stand there in that corner this whole time. You weren't even mentioned in the beginning narration!"

"Beginning what-now?" the unnatural blonde repeated, confused.

"I don't think you can help, sweetie," the man with the over-sized coat said in reply to the little girl's offer. "This is quite an unusual phenomenon that even the adults are having trouble with."

Seeing the hurt look enter her eyes, the man smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Maybe we're wrong. What do you think we should do?"

"Touch the feather," the child replied simply.

"Touch it?!?" the panicking woman shrieked.

The little girl turned to nod at her. "Yes. To put the fire out. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"That's a good idea, sweetie," the man in the over-sized coat said. "But I don't think that'll work."

"The door is opening," the unnatural blond announced as a cheerful ding filled the small room.

"Oh Great Auntie Ruth, we're saved!" The panicked woman immediately scrambled out into the hallway.

The man with the briefcase sidestepped the blubbering woman and set off at a fast-clipped pace toward wherever his next business called him to be, a scowl hardening his face.

"Crap! I missed my floor!" the man in the over-sized coat realized. His gaze leaped over to the sign for the stairs and he immediately took off, coat flapping behind him.

The last adult, the blond with the cherry-red lips, took a second to smile sadly at the little girl. "I have work to get to as well. Go find your mommy, okay?"

The girl held the elevator door, staring out into the hallway as though waiting for one of the adults to come back. But they never did. With a sigh, the child gazed down at the fire feather, then picked it up and slowly walked away.