Fire

I wish I could fly, fly away from here.

Flames are arousing violently,
licking the panels,
devouring our door,
red and menacing
as it pops and crackles
on the roof, threatening
to burst open the shingles.
I can practically see them flying
through the air, landing on the street,
where neighbors are gathered.
Fire trucks.
Water shooting through the air,
sputtering,
flying.
I wish I could fly,
fly away from here.
I close my eyes,
hoping to see
something other than this destruction.
Instead a replay flashes under my eyelids.
A crack of lightning,
a burst of flame; golden and metallic
against the black night,
a large oak crashing
down
down
down
onto
house
house
house. A
t
r
i
c
k
l
e
of fear sliding down my back.
Pang of devastation.
Mom screaming, ripping me out of bed,
down
down
down
the escape ladder,
scamper to the front yard,
neighbors gathering,
fire and destruction.
Sadness oozes from Mom
like heavy rain drops,
making puddles in the grass.