Fred has lit the bonfire. But fire is danger! Fire can kill! I don’t want that sparkler, it’s burny! I’m so scared, I want to run away. Fred is laughing: it’s OK as long as you’re careful. A soldier has to deal with worse than this, be brave. This fire is much bigger than me. I don’t like it one bit. Fred’s giving me a marshmallow on a stick, he says if I hold it over the fire it’ll become a smore. The fire is looking at me with mischief. I’m still scared, but I need to know what a smore is! So here goes, bit by bit, the stick’s going into the fire. I hope I don’t die! The mallow’s toasting in the flames, melting a little bit. I take it out, and it’s burnt-looking. Ouch! It’s a bit too hot on my teeth at first but Fred smiles: keep going. The crispy burnt shell of the mallow snaps as I bite into it. And then it goes all soft and melty and yummy and moreish. Now I know why it’s called a smore! Fire isn’t so bad after all. I just need to be careful, like Fred. The fire’s smiling at me. I smile back. My big brother laughs warmly and puts his arm round me. I do so love it when he comes home.
(c) Prose: Jen Hughes
(c) Image: Sophie McNicol