Writers Write added a new photo to the album: Writing Prompts.
9 hrs ·
Daily Writing Prompt
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Fire...
“The phone is ringing…” I shouted as I came in the front door.
“Hello!” Mom answered. The silence was deafening.
“Who is it, mom?” I called. I heard no answer.
“Okay, where’s your mom?” my mom asked. “I’ll find her…” and she hung up. “Come on we have to go, now!” Mom screamed at me. We were back in the car before I could breathe.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t sound good,” she mumbled. I sat quiet, my mind whirling.
We pulled up to the curb in front of mom’s best friend’s house, she jumped out of the car without turning it off and charged through the grass. “Wait here!” she scolded.
I couldn’t imagine what the emergency was, but I turned off the car, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and climbed out of the driver’s side door. I slammed it shut and took in a big hot summer breath. I willed my feet to step one in front of the other, until I reached the steps leading up to the front door. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity searching for the courage to step up. I knew deep in my heart there was nothing good, standing on the other side of the door. Just then I heard sirens screeching up the street. They stopped in front of the house, two men with a bed on wheels raced up the walkway.
“Out of the way little girl,” I heard someone shout. I stepped to the side. My breathing was short and labored, my feet felt heavy, and my mind was blank. I inched my way up the steps and stood outside the door. My olfactory senses couldn’t recognized the odor or maybe I didn’t want to know.
The door flew open, my eyes widen in horror. I stared at the young boy being, carefully loaded onto the gurney. His clothes were singed and hanging in tatters, his skin was bright red and charred in places. I remember thinking, he is so frightened he isn’t even crying. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as they loaded him into the ambulance.
They were gone, lights and sirens blaring in the aftermath. I walked into the house and saw spent matches around the room, pieces of burnt clothes smoldered on the floor. Mom had the little boys older sister wrapped in her arms and was consoling her the best she knew how. I heard her crying, “He was playing with matches and I didn’t think to check on him. It’s all my fault!”
“Hello!” Mom answered. The silence was deafening.
“Who is it, mom?” I called. I heard no answer.
“Okay, where’s your mom?” my mom asked. “I’ll find her…” and she hung up. “Come on we have to go, now!” Mom screamed at me. We were back in the car before I could breathe.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t sound good,” she mumbled. I sat quiet, my mind whirling.
We pulled up to the curb in front of mom’s best friend’s house, she jumped out of the car without turning it off and charged through the grass. “Wait here!” she scolded.
I couldn’t imagine what the emergency was, but I turned off the car, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and climbed out of the driver’s side door. I slammed it shut and took in a big hot summer breath. I willed my feet to step one in front of the other, until I reached the steps leading up to the front door. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity searching for the courage to step up. I knew deep in my heart there was nothing good, standing on the other side of the door. Just then I heard sirens screeching up the street. They stopped in front of the house, two men with a bed on wheels raced up the walkway.
“Out of the way little girl,” I heard someone shout. I stepped to the side. My breathing was short and labored, my feet felt heavy, and my mind was blank. I inched my way up the steps and stood outside the door. My olfactory senses couldn’t recognized the odor or maybe I didn’t want to know.
The door flew open, my eyes widen in horror. I stared at the young boy being, carefully loaded onto the gurney. His clothes were singed and hanging in tatters, his skin was bright red and charred in places. I remember thinking, he is so frightened he isn’t even crying. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as they loaded him into the ambulance.
They were gone, lights and sirens blaring in the aftermath. I walked into the house and saw spent matches around the room, pieces of burnt clothes smoldered on the floor. Mom had the little boys older sister wrapped in her arms and was consoling her the best she knew how. I heard her crying, “He was playing with matches and I didn’t think to check on him. It’s all my fault!”
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