A Flash of Mica

Heading back from the conservatory as twilight gathered, I remembered your wish for sparks. Real fire is perilous, but on the coffee table sat a coarse piece of decorative rough granite. I carefully selected a dry, jagged quartz pebble from the tray beside it. Pressing down with measured balance, I drew the sharp crystal edge firmly across the granite ridge. With a crisp click, a sudden tiny pinprick of white light flared and vanished in the dark, releasing a sharp, flinty scent into the quiet air.