July 1st was her birthday. She had vivid memories of her mother holding her and pointing to the sky as it exploded into a myriad of colour.
"Happy birthday, Baby," her mother whispered against her cheek as her strong arms held her high so that she could see better.
It was magical until she finally realized that the fireworks weren't actually for her but for the country's birthday. She was probably around six when she came to this realization and it was a little like discovering that there was no Santa Claus. She was crushed but it did explain why no one else had fireworks on their birthdays. She had always wondered about that.
Now twenty years later, she watched the dancing lights as they squealed and popped across the sky and there were strong arms around her once again. Not her mother's arms but her husband's.
His face was close to hers as he whispered in her ear, "Happy birthday Baby."
The memory came back to her in a rush of feelings, feelings of being special, unique and loved. He did that to her. She knew that if he could have lit up the sky for her, he would have.
Shivers ran up her spine and just for a moment, she believed in the possibility of magic, once again.
"This week's prompt is all about fireworks. You can take that in a very literal direction, or you can include figurative "fireworks." Feel free to turn this prompt into fiction, non-fiction, or poetry, just be sure to include fireworks of some kind."