We sat around the campfire on a cool summer night. My friends and I had decided to go camping near a place that we had been looking for, the blue swimming hole. We didn't know if it was real or not but we had heard rumors about the swimming hole being somewhere in this area. My thoughts were interrupted by my closest friend, Gabe. He got up and walked off into the woods. When I caught up to him he said, " I know where it is, I didn't tell anyone because there are only a few people who know." He took me to the Blue hole. He was quiet until we retch our destination. Gabe and I started to climb up a large wall of rocks. " Don't worry once we get a little higher, it starts to flatten out, just watch your footing." We finally retch the blue hole and sitting there was a large rope hanging from a tree, off the side of the rock wall. He grabbed the rope and swung. When he came up out of the water he said, " The water is deep enough to do it and be safe." After a few swings, we started back for the camp. Drying ourselves on the way back he said, " Please don't tell anyone else about this." I promised that I wouldn't and we continued to walk. When we retch the camp we were completely dry, we sat down and started to roast marshmallows over a bright orange fire.
1
“You know, we had men and women of all fates and fortunes with only one thing linking us together, a love and respect for the all American treat, PEZ. PEZheads from all over the country come to this spot to talk, walk and live PEZ with us every year. It’s a good time, lots of love for that sweet treat and them little toys. Everyone has something different to bring, maybe a Super Bowl XII dispenser, a Santa Claus from 1987 or even some crazy Cambodian knockoff. This was heaven for us all us PEZheads. Our fun however, was brought to an end when some of Tin Cans as we call them, drive up and start setting up shop not 100 feet away. I can’t understand the appeal of those darn little mints, way too strong, the box is the only good thing! but I guess they never understood that. Joe Kansas and I put down our gear and made our way towards them. Their “Shrine” to that empire of dirt of theirs, was maybe 10 feet tall, with a giant hand painted can on a sign of a tin, and under it, the words that’ll burned into my mind: “Altoids, the BEST candy this side of the world!” I was seeing red, these good for nothing spineless nobodies are trying to tell me that their peppermint abomination is better than PEZ?!
To make a long, and very fun story short, That sign and those boys who put it up were quick work for old Joe and I, we put their mess to scrap.
In fact, hand me some more tinder, fire’s getting low”
Growing up in an affluent neighborhood surrounded by very wealthy neighbors, I was never exposed to the outside world, the other 99% of the population. I had never experienced what working to survive was or how significant it truly was to have a meal with my family twice a day. When I became old enough to work, it was rather easy to search for a job considering my father had allowed me to be the right hand man for his business in Manhattan. Being there for about a decade gave me to opportunity to completely take over his business as the next heir, automatically making me a billionaire. This was a high point in my life but as the next years went by, things got real stale and life as a boring billionaire was something I no longer wanted to experience. One day, I found an advertisement involving a night in the woods with complete strangers, the main event being a large campfire. It was like a blessing from God above. All this time, I longed for something new. I immediately took note of this and waited for the night to come. Fast forward to the night in the woods, I lay facing 8 people, each with their own unique quality. All my life I have been surrounded by people as wealthy as I am with the same boring lives, but now I am able to witness the beauty of other peoples' life - what they do, how their day goes, etc. It has been about half an hour so far and I feel this culture shock hit me. To think that there are many more people, each with their own distinct story...
Its been seven years since we all grouped up next to a campfire like this. We used to come here every weekend to get away from the troubles of our reality, and talk and laugh to our heart's content. However, this time it was different. This time we came to honor, Matt, a dear friend of ours. Matt loved the outdoors more than anything. While roasting marshmallows, we would listen to him tell one of his fascinating stories from his many adventures. His stories ranged from saving wildlife from certain danger to the close calls he had while climbing a mountain. When it was time to go back to our normal lives, Matt was always the last to leave. Back then I assumed it was because he loved the outdoors so much that he hated being away from it. But after seeing all of the gloomy faces that surrounded the campfire, I realized it was not the outdoors that he loved the most. It was the friends he shared the outdoors with. If I came to this realization sooner everything could have turned out different. I might have been able to save Matt.
Night had finally fallen, and the broiling summer air was reduced to cool steam rising off the water and into the sky where it wouldn't make anyone feel an urge to unzip their skin. It was now safe for the group to rest in the wavering grass, pitch their shabby tents, and start the fire they all had been craving the smell and the comforting sight of since they'd taken flight that morning. The work of the day was done, and though camping out was a method of keeping the coven hidden, it served doubly as a moment's peace. After a few fumbled matches, the flames climbed into the darkened aether. The witches, clad in their disguises of the day, all took their seats around it in relief. One of them spoke up.
"Who has the 'marshmallows'?" it said, licking its split lips. The small delight they got out of their stash of human fat dusted in powdered sugar was enough to sustain the constant hustling from hiding place to hiding place. It was the one treat they allowed themselves to take from their work; the only one. A sack was opened, and many hands reached into it to snatch up handfuls of them - sticky, and sickening to smell. No sooner had they hoisted them over the fire, a branch broke a few yards away. Heads turned. A voice boomed through the bushes.
"Are you going to share any of those with me?"
Night had finally fallen, and the soupy, broiling summer air was reduced to cool steam rising off of the water and into the sky where it wouldn't make anyone feel an urge to unzip their skin. It was now safe for the group to rest in the wavering grass and pitch their shabby tents and start the fire they all had been craving the smell and the comforting sight of since they'd taken flight that morning. The work of the day was done, and though camping out was a method of keeping the coven hidden, it served doubly as a moment's peace. After a few fumbled matches, the flames climbed into the darkened aether. All of the witches, clad in their disguises of the day, sat around it in relief. One of them spoke up.
"Who has the 'marshmallows'?" it said, licking its split lips. The small delight they got out of their stash of molded human fat dusted in powdered sugar was enough to sustain the constant hustling from hiding place to hiding place. It was a treat from their work they allowed themselves; the only one. A sack was opened, and many hands reached into it to snatch up handfuls of them - white, and sticky, and sickening to smell. No sooner had they hoisted them over the fire, a branch broke a few yards away. Heads turned. And a voice boomed through the bushes.
"Are you going to share any of those with me?"
"Come on!"
I grin widely and pick up the pace to get to the top of the mountain. The night was coming soon, the strangers around me making it seem like there was a treasure at the top. My feet take my closer to my destination, one step at a time, till the target is two feet away.
We all slouch down to the ground and I hear the awe filled murmurs of those around me.
My fingers slip through my thick hair, my brown eyes making sense of the scene before me. I lean my head farther back and look up at the infinitely expanding universe.
"Woah," I whisper out as the stars twinkle, the milky purple colors combining with the deep midnight sky.
The girl with the tattoos passes around the bag of marshmallows and we start the campfire.
Right there, laid out open to the world so much greater than us, everything was beautifully still. The galaxies staring down at us in content as we ourselves fell into a sort of tranquil spell.
After we eat our s'mores we each lie down toes touching and point out the different constellations. "There's the Big Dipper!" "Isn't that Andromeda?" I smile and point out the shooting star to my left.
"Make a wish!"
I close my eyes but soon realize there was nothing I would want more than for this moment to last forever.
My gaze wanders straight up and my finger sticks up to point at a specific dot.
"Jupiter."
As I approach the thick woods of the forest I adjust my purple star-speckled robe thinking of the first time I made my journey to the center of the lush greenery.
It was many years ago we were all upset teens who've barely known anything other than their own worlds. At the time we thought we knew everything until, we met each other.
As I began to walk through the forest I closed my eyes letting my spell guide me to center as there was no other way to reach it.
The first time we found the center was by complete chance. None of us could handle what was happening in our lives back then so all nine of us found escape in the oppressive yet peaceful forest.
Back then getting to the center was a difficult task but, after learning some new spells I was able to cloak the center and cast a homing spell on everyone so only we could reach it. It may sound selfish to have done so but, the center was our personal safe haven and no one was going to ruin it.
Pressure, shame, fear, the list goes on. Each one drove us until we all collided in the center. We were bratty, pushy, and stubborn but, we were also lonely. It took most of the night but we eventually opened up to one another. It wasn't always pleasant as some yelled at one another but by the end we were all enjoying a cathartic silence.
As I finally make it to the center I open my eyes and the first thing I see is the other eight smiling near a fire roasting marshmallows and without a sound I joined them.
The intense heat blazed from the fire. Each piece of wood became engulfed by a small but different flame that came together to make one powerful blaze. As each one of the nine strangers gathered around the fire pit they each basked in the ombionse of the great light the fire was giving off as it lay sprawled out in front of them. As they watched these fire closely you could see how each spot of wood that was surrounded by fire was different but as a whole they were similar. It was kind of like that between the people themselves. They all came from different backgrounds and were make up of both different and similar identities. But together they make up one community with uniqueness within its people. It was surprising how they could all get along as one unit sitting silently in front of a fire doing something as simple as roasting marshmallows on sticks. The fire uncovered the sense of a intentional community that can still function with groups of people who experience life in different ways but can still swirl together to create something even greater and beneficial for everyone.
The faces around the campfire were nameless and obscure. The eyelids sunken into tired shadows, the weary furrows etched into the brow, the listless hearts twisted and worn, were unknown and invisible in the dark glow of the fire. There was no love, no sorrow, no success, no failure, no history and no names to the faces. Each one had reason to be there, all equally compelling, yet equally and completely mysterious to the rest of the faces by the fire. Some may have come to find adventure or danger or to prove themselves somehow to another nameless face, beyond the consideration of the strangers yet all too familiar to the one. But all of them were there, in some way or another, to escape. To escape responsibility, to escape the morning crawl, to escape age, to escape youth, to escape the names and desires of those they knew and assume the ranks of nameless faces by the fire, where they too were without identity and without history, without past sins and virtues, where they were just a face and nothing else. All of these faces were placed around the fire, in that specific niche in time, deliberately. They had all at some point decided to take leave, call in sick, to quit or to pack up and head out. They had all been travelling to the site simultaneously, and would end up in the company of those specific nameless faces on that specific day, whether or not they knew it when they locked the door, turned the key in the ignition.
The art of life.
What is the art of life?
It is us.
We exist purely to exist.
We exist despite all of our flaws, and all of our hardships
We sit together, and we smile
We exist together.
Jimmy's arm collection was only growing. It had started innocently enough. He would steal his sister's Barbie dolls from her drawers and return them minus the limbs. He kept the arms inside a sock, tucked underneath his bed. Jimmy never quite knew why he did this, but the need kept coming to him. And, unfortunately, as the boy grew so did his desire for appendages. Real arms were of course too big to keep underneath the bed anymore, so he started to keep them outside in the woods near his house. Jimmy sat there now, brooding. He had eight arms, more than he ever could have hoped for. But behind those arms he knew were eight lives. It weighed heavily upon his conscious. When had his hobby begun to control him? The fire crackled in front of him. It was time to end his sins, his murderous passion. Jimmy dipped sticks he had found on his walk into the gasoline and placed them inside the cold palms. Jimmy arranged each so that they formed a circle around the fire. If anyone found out they would just assume it had been a friendly, diverse cookout among friends. Little would they know him. Little would they know the monster behind the murders. Purposefully and clearly Jimmy dipped the ninth stick in the can and lay down next to his victims. Both his and their nightmares were over.
I was often told that I would face death in the eye multiple times if I joined the army. At the time, I didn't really care. I just wanted to make a difference in my country by offering my help and working to the best of my abilities. I had been deployed to many third world countries where I was forced to face reality. Not only was I going to have to fight against death in this foreign territory, but I was going to have to watch my fellow mates tango with their inevitable demises as well as the innocent bystanders of the gruesome battle. I suddenly felt like I was invading a world that didn't need to suffer from this war. When I was told to stand down, I took the opportunity to explore the horizons of which I had never seen before. That's how I ended up here, sitting by a campfire with people from all over the continent, sharing stories of love, grief, and whatever else just so happened to pop up in our minds. I wasn't seen as a soldier, but rather a piece to a larger puzzle; and right now that puzzle consists of creating smores and making memories with my new friends.
After a long day of working, I decided to call up my friends from college and see if they were up to do something this weekend. fortunately, they were. we decided to go to the park and have a small campfire and spend the day there. once we were there I began to notice how different we were but yet were so much alike. our lives took different turns but we were still very united. we can come together and unit no matter our differences and how we look.
My phone flashed signaling to me that I had received a message. It came to me as a slight surprise as it is rather late and despite the workload I had left to finish, I reached over and gave into my curiosity. The message was anonymous, signed at the end with only an address. “You have been invited to the campfire.”
It had been about 15 years since any one of us has seen each other. We all went through middle school together and graduated high school together. After that, life took over. It was almost like we became the ghosts of each other's past. We didn't all. Didn't text. Nothing. What happened? Sarah got married right after graduation and had a baby. Jesse went to the military. And me? I focused on my art career. I was at the mall when I saw Jesse. He hasn't changed a bit since high school. Still sweet, goofy and handsome. Seeing him brought back memories of the good old days. I walked up and said "Hey" and was surprised when he turned around with the biggest smile on his face and hugged me. We got to talking about everything. He told me that he saw Sarah at the post office and got her number. I gave him mine and he made a group chat so we could catch up. About two weeks after my encounter with Jesse, we all planned a trip to the old campsite we used to go to while in high school. Upon reaching the campsite, I saw Sarah. Her long, brunette hair was up in a ponytail. Her bright smile welcomed me, just as it did every day in homeroom back in high school. Jesse pulled up shortly after I did. We set up our belongings and began to reminisce. We talked about everything from marriage to TV shows to our careers. We stayed up all night and left the following morning. After once again going our separate ways, we all promised to keep in contact. We talk to each other every day.
After a horrible day at work, I decided to invite my friends over for a nice campfire in the backyard for some relaxation. As all of my friends arrived. I learned something new. All of my friends are unique in their own right. My friends are diverse, and I love that about them. We all respect each other's lives and personal interests, and it's amazing.
No matter what we always come together no matter how seperate or diferent we are from each other we will always come together. As one, one unit, one group, one kind. we are al different in many ways but at the end of the day we put our differences aside and come together as one. We do this every month its kind've like our ritual our thing. We come together as the group we will always be. The campfire will always be our area of being, where we talk, laugh and bring our problems and talk about them as the group and the one unit we will always be. Roasting marshmallows by the campfire is what we do and we will always do this even if we start to seperate and draw apart we will always come back. Los Intocables although we all come from different backgrounds and have different socioeconmic backgrounds we always come together just to forget everything weve been through to get to where we are now but this is our spot our place our campfire and our marshmallows.
As soon as the sun started to set over the tinted pink and orange horizon, I laid the twigs and sticks around the pit, where I then began to light the fire. Nearby, I had a bag of soft, fluffy marshmallows sitting on top of one of the logs, ready to be put to good use. Then, I heard the sound of a roaring engine coming up from the dirt road. A big, yellow school bus stopped in front of me and unhinged its doors. Getting out of the bus was a whole lot of people with so many different outfits I couldn't keep track. One of the people, a tall man with a business suit, walked towards me. My initial thought was if he was going to do something that I wouldn't like, but by the warm-hearted demeanor on his face, I could tell he wanted to be polite. He asked me if he and his friends could join me in the campfire and, without hesitation, invited them with open arms. Soon afterward, we sat around the campfire, roasting marshmallows and telling each other stories. Each person that I saw around the campfire had their own story, their own way of life, along with me. That night changed my whole perspective of the different people I see in my daily life: even though we were different, we were different together; we were special in our own ways.
It's an exciting time of the year for us. In just twenty-four hours, we would be free to do whatever we wanted. Society would begin to start taking us seriously as adults, not as silly and reckless teenagers. We would be able to pursue whatever we wanted, whether that was a master's degree or a family. Now that we are officially graduating high school tomorrow, we feel that for the very first time in our lives, that we have a true chance at happiness.
Despite this, it is still nerve-wracking for us. Now, we have to be responsible for ourselves, we have to not take things lightly anymore. For us, a group of students who don't know a thing about what it's like to live in this huge, mysterious world, it's a daunting thought.
Yet we decide to do the thing we used to do as kids whenever one of us were frightened. We all wait in our homes until the sun begins to set. Then we head out to the park, to the farthest corner where the ocean is just in sight and its salty scent is detected. We all bring one stick, a few marshmallows, and some drink, and sit by the ancient campsite, just talking about things we did in the past, like running away to Maine and egging the state house on Halloween. After a while, we all attach a marshmallow to our sticks, and hold it to the fire at the same time, making our silent pact that no matter what, everything is going to be alright because we had each other. It is us against the world, and we are ready for whatever challenges it has in store.
I'd always thought I was the only one, always thought I was strange and wrong. I would look into the mirror and tell myself I was broken, echoing the words of people I'd thought had loved me. But as I looked around the circle of people, and they looked back with flickering warmth reflected in their eyes, I realized anyone could be like me. There was a young woman in army fatigues, a lean man in a rumpled tracksuit, people wearing jewelry, watches, one teenager with a bandage around his hand. A buff, tattooed woman rubbed shoulders with an elegantly dressed lady. We were of different races, classes, from different corners of a vast world. But as we laughed, joked, hurried to put out flaming marshmallows and burned our tongues on perfect ones, I found my place with them. I knew that, just like me, they'd all experienced the hardship of being addicted to casual tennis.
The tattoos on my body tell the story of who I am. Each time the needle hits my skin a new piece of art is created. Whether it's an inside joke between my friends or the dates of my past relatives, the tattoos on my skin tell the story of who I am until the day I die. Just like everyone else, I have a story to tell. Today we are roasting some marshmallows but with a deeper meaning. We stand here each one today with different color skins, backgrounds, ethnicities and lifestyles to celebrate what we call life. We join each other as a sign of solidarity to others because to us, we are all the same no matter what the world thinks.
After a long day of protesting, a good handful of us decided to have a treat. We're sitting around a campfire with an overflowing bag of snacks. I look around and realize that we are all different but unique in our own way, even a simple girl like me. A soldier with a story to share, an athlete, an artist with their life written all over their body, and even an injured worker. From the bag, we pulled out a sack of marshmallows. The same thought ran through everyone's mind as if we were all connected. I began to think maybe we weren't that different as we roasted our marshmallows preparing some smores.
We were all different. We each had our own background and stories. One thing raced through my mind as I sat there among the others. Would I fit in? The gentleman sitting across from me starts telling us his story about serving his time in the military. He cracked occasional jokes here and there which made all of us laugh. We ended up going in a circle and telling a story about our lives. I didn't think I was that interesting enough. All of a sudden I feel my arm being raised. The woman sitting next to me was staring at my tattoos that laced around my arm. I could see the light of the campfire glistening in her eyes as she asked me "What does this one mean?" I decided to explain each story of the art that lays on my body. I felt, safe. Even though we were all different, we still bonded and shared what we believed, cherished, and dreamed of. There were no distractions, I listened to what everyone had to say and each story was life changing. There was no social media to distract us from the beauty of nature and those around us. For once I could see the real smiles and genuine laughter of each person. I could even feel myself smiling and laughing until I turn red. We talked for who knows how long, making dumb jokes that seemed hilarious at the moment. This moment is one that I would never forget.
The sun is setting and a breeze flows through the September night. A group of wanderers from all walks of life have found each other in a remote California forest. Some have no money, others are hiking and have gotten lost. None of these people seem to be similar to one another. But all of them feel alone. Alex, a heavily tattooed man, was camping with his daughter. In the morning, she had disappeared. After days of searching, he had found a group of various loners and lost souls. It was the first time since he had lost his daughter that he found any glimmer of hope. Still, his child's face reflected in the fire's flicker. He was haunted and couldn't get out of his head.
What sticks out most about this image is how much just the depicting the arms can say about the identities of each person there. Some have scaring and disabilities, another person seems relatively more wealthy based on their attire, one of the attendees is even wearing an army uniform. The important message here is that no matter who you are or where you come from, we all have the capability of living in unity. We can all enjoy some marshmallows over a campfire together without judging each other despite your background, appearance, identity, or beliefs.