All fires begin with a spark.
All sparks begin with friction, two pieces of something hard and unmoving that don’t fit together, but strain to, yearn to wear themselves down. They push and push, struggle, catch. And then a click, a thin scrap of light.
Everything begins with a spark.
(They were too different to ever work, all scars and jagged edges, hurt and broken and repaired so many times they were full of pit-marks and potholes. Both too stubborn, their friends said, shaking their heads. Hard. Principled. Unyielding. They shouted and fought, orbited around each other with gleaming eyes like animals in heat.)