Well, why not? Of course, I'm covered because I've never made any claims to writing anything of quality. Nor will I... haha, but it's rather nice if it accidentally happens anyway[!] Without further ado, here's a 35O-word story, written with [virtual] thanks to a random 1st line generator I found online... "DETONATED STAR" That summer seemed to last forever. But even apparent forevers, they end. Don't they? At the end of his overgrown garden, Sam placed the sheets of paper in the little metal bucket. Love detonated. Love burned. Love shone. Love smouldered. Love died. But did love really die? Sam frowned. Passion dies. Romance CAN die. Love does not die. That was true. Perhaps his feelings aught to be expressed better? Perhaps it was a simple matter of semantics? Sam thought of his surly gran. "Semantics? I've got another word for that... wank." A smile creeping across his face, Sam realised how much he missed gran, 1O years dead. A terrifying, salty-tongued old broad. With a big heart. Love does not die. Yes, completely true; Sam had lost a number of friends, family, and two former lovers... to cancer, old age, and three to car crashes. He still loved all of them. Always would, for as long as he lived and remembered them. He took out his cheap lighter purchased on their trip to Whitby. He wanted to cry, now. But he wouldn't. Not outdoors. Old Mrs Neighbour might be watching him. The summer, that long summer, had brought him passion with Eve... a gloriously lustrous supernova in the night sky. It ended. It had to end. He knew that. He couldn't argue with silence. Happily the light and heat of that loving experience were his, and his alone: a solo supernova that happened to be shared with a lady he considered a muse. A temporary muse -- but a muse nevertheless. He pulled the top page from the bucket. Worthless words on paper that needed burning. His lighter ignited the top page. Now it was alight. Sam dropped it into the bucket, to share its heat and flames with the rest of the pages. Destructive, but purifying. Sam's gran spoke again, from well beyond the grave: Life goes on -- so live it. There would be more summers. Goodbye, dear Eve. Taking a deep breath, Same turned back towards his cottage. Autumn was coming -- and it was time for coffee.