The Pyre

An incredible, eight-foot heap. It stood now tall, misshapen, and blinking stupidly, but it had started with just one mobile phone, cast down into the dirt like a firmly-planted flag. Word spread and more people came, and more devices were thrown down, and cheers were raised, for the people were taking back society.

Some tossed their devices onto the pile as if it was nothing. Others hesitated, half-moving in and then retreating to agonise some more over the sacrifice. Young couples, smiling, threw their phones together like coins into a fountain. Kids stood at a distance and competed to see who could hit the heap from the farthest away.

One man hurled his phone in, then was seized by frantic regret. He flew at the mound, clawing uselessly at it before falling to the ground amongst a skittering cascade of glass and plastic. Friendly folk picked him up and led him away, but his eyes were still fixed hungrily on that pile of missed connections and unread notices.

After they had made their contribution, people stood around and shared polite smiles and awkward laughter, and tried to remember what to do with their itching fingers. A cacophony of bleeps, buzzes, and rings drifted across the town, calling more people to add to the still-spreading mound.

It was nearly twelve feet tall by the time night fell, and just as wide around the base. Throughout, screens lighted and darkened, and notification lights flashed in blue and red, giving the heap the flickering intensity of a glittering bonfire, and the people gathered warmly around it.

‘You pitched in?’ shouted one above the noise.

‘Sure. Brought my daughters too.’

The two men stood with their hands in their pockets, looking at the shining heap picked out against the darkness. All around others stood too, bathed in the soft blue glow — men, women, couples, and families, all in quiet reflection amongst strangers.

‘It’s about time.’

‘Sure.’

‘It’ll do everyone some good to talk to each other again.’

The other man grunted. Then, after a moment, ‘We should get the fire started.’

‘Sure.’

The flames were twenty feet high that night, belching smoke amid bursts of flame. Some stood watching in awe, others sat on the ground and picked idly at the dead grass. The confusion of ringtones died out in fits and starts as the pile burned, finally leaving a smouldering silence in its wake. Gradually, people began to leave.

A few people stayed until the very end, when the flames had died out and the horizon had begun to wake with its own bright, orange glow. They walked home that morning through silent streets and went quietly to bed, satisfied in the feeling that they had been a part of something.

---

Written for the weekly short story competition on the 'Writer's Block' Discord server.