Firebones || In Which I Share Some Flash Fiction

Three about this blog post:

1. I thought the name Firebones sounded like it needed a story.

2. So I wrote a story about a person named Firebones.

3. Here is that story.

I am Firebones.

Hero. Champion. Slave.

I scarcely recall my given name. Snatched from my childhood home and raised to be Firebones, my life was consumed by the fervor for victory and conquest. It was never my choice. It was my privilege, my duty. Trained since I was a youth to be the icon of the army. The inspiration and force that swept men to victory. My powers strong, my heart flaming high, I once gloried in the wars. I thought I had done my kingdom good. But the battles never stopped. The armies raged across the land. They never wore out like a storm at sea. They burned on. Like fire.

But when I saw the hollow, charred huts. The orphans with empty bellies, the fields salted and bare, the mothers who mourned their dead sons, the wives who would never see their husbands again, I knew there was no glory in war.

Now it is over. My life is burning out with my warrior's abilities.

I am Firebones.

Feeble. Spent. Broken.

My powers once made me the prize of the army. Now I am its shame. I am too weak to rally the men. My memory is too faulty to train another Firebones. I am too blind and crippled to find another Firebones.

I hear the army train, the generals command, the roar of the battle cry. But I know their hearts are absent. They await another Firebones. They will not find one. I am the last.

It is rare, the magic of a Firebones. And there is a secret that dies with every Firebones; war is a terrible scourge to bring to a land. After a time, there is no Firebones who does their work willingly. It is best that I should be the last.

I hold one more secret that will die with me. I was not born into the army, my blood did not thirst for war. I was not the son of a general, or the child of a king. I was nobody, plucked from a western village by the sea. There was fire in my heart and bones, but I was only the daughter of a weaver. I did not chose this life; I would have used my gifts differently.

I am Firebones.

Aged. Final. Legend.

Photo credit: Blacksmith: spiral on fire by Bernat Casero is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0


  1. Oooh, so intriguing! Now I want a whole story about this character. It's so fascinating! And the name Firebones just sounds like someone that needs their own story. Loved it!

    1. Thanks so much! :) I was actually thinking about writing a longer story for Firebones, and I guess I already have the outline here!


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