I wrote this for CreativeWriting, so just bear with it.

One would never appreciate the significance of a campfire if he was never a scout, or a girl guide. These campfire rings were traditions evolved over time; a chance for a quirky friendship dance, a circle of newfound friendship, a burning fire that spewed awe.

As a young girl, I looked forward to campfires to satisfy my obsession with dance and boys. Each and every single campfire was a frighteningly memorable experience, I bursting with desire to run wild yet terrified of being approached by a prepubescent scout. It was a kind of song that the exclusive appreciated, the ubiquitous waltz the heart dances with the knowing, the burst of fireworks that exploded when with raucous company. Every campfire always ended with a story of the scouts wooing the guides, the sheer childish hot flushes that ensue and all pleasure satiety.

In a unique display of astounding loyalty and unity, the alumni resolute to all come together for a last major project. Five generations, 20 working adults and tertiary students (the guides company was only 29 in strength) dreamt the same dream. That dream, in works for half a year, finally materialised in a gorgeous pompous display, themed "A Red Carpet Event." It was truly brilliant, marking a first, a campfire organised purely by the guides. (For every year, we were sidelined in the scouts' attempts, always thrown in the project as working hands, never thinking minds.)

The spirit of the company was always to be the best we could. And often, the best we could equates to the only best. As seniors, we set extremely high expectations, we eyed the glorious moon, never contented settling for the stars. All these virtues derived from our common mentor, a respected lady who claims Perfection her biggest obsession.

It is hence understandable, the swelling pride and bursting elation at the splendid finale that night. As I soaked in the vibrance of the youth, I nostalgically reminisce the times I squirmed when made to dance with the opposite party, a time not too long ago. The fire gyrated brightly, I no longer sat by the corners to remain fixated, instead feeding the flames, to ensure it never endlessly continued to fascinate the young ones. I no longer size the cute ones, that would have been paedophilic! In whirlwind reflections, I remembered the boys I met during these campfires, the childish shy guide with plaits I was, the long endearing memories that I grew up with.

The fiery splendor was marred by teary eyes; like a caged bird finally experiencing freedom. The refulgent a metaphor of our efforts, the presoaked firewood resulting in a extravagant parade, lastly quietly diminishing as the hours fade with the songs and dance. It was truly a red carpet event, the ending key in a beautifully composed manuscript.