Heroes

The fire blew the windows into the street, and pedestrians ran from the area. I entered the house with my fellow firefighters, and the intense heat hit me like a weight. In the distance I could hear someone yelling for help.

“You check downstairs, I’m going upstairs, I hear someone.”

I followed the screams to the bedroom and kicked the door in. Smoke filled the room, but I could see the woman struggling for air. I lifted the tiny woman and took her down the stairs outside to the waiting EMTs.

I went back inside, and we extinguished the fire.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Grass Stains

The neighborhood still smoldered as much as the house's charred remains. Hushed faces stared out from lawns, secretly cathartic. Firemen, and one woman, huddled in clusters, their whispers lingering like the smoke. Beside the black husk that used to be 4522 Westhaven Drive, memories were piled up like litter, tossed aside to make way for fire hoses.

Rebecca sat against the oak tree, numbed. The fire was probably her fault. Her mother had always warned her about those candles. But as she huddled against the dawn chill, all she could think about were the grass stains on her floral pajamas.