Rule of Thirds
an excerpt

The first picture is not a picture at all, but a dark grey square. It could have meant to have been of anything. It's the sort of picture doesn't get deleted, taken by mistake, and then left by mistake - and weeks or months later you find it again, and wonder what was on the world side of the lens...

The fireworks began at seven thirty. The bonfire was going to be lit at six, but Susie had never been eager to arrive that early. Lighting the bonfire didn't have that much of an appeal – it was only once the fire had taken, once the flickering crackle of the flames had escalated to a roar and the embers were glowing underneath like a molten core that the fire had any interest to her. It was the fireworks she loved. She had always loved them f since her father had brought a box of Standard fireworks home one Bonfire Night when she was young – the extravagantly named 'Roman Fountain' and 'Chrysanthemum Shower' and 'Mount Vesuvius'. They made a bonfire out of bits of old wood that had been lying round in the garage, and her mother had made soup. She remembered standing outside the back door, on the cusp between the warm light of the kitchen which smelt of simmering stock, and the smoked cold air of the dark garden. Her mother had brought the soup out in mugs, and then Susie had wrapped the potatoes in baking foil, pinching the corners tightly around them. Her mother had taken them, cold and hard, and pushed them carefully into the embers of the fire.

Later in the evening, once the last firework had been lit, they pulled them, the foil blackened and smoking, out of the still glowing ash. She opened hers gingerly, savouring the hot smell of charcoal and soft white potato, as the steam escaped.