The Fire The flames shine rich golden and bright ruby colors, lighting up the kitchen

like a firework display in the night. I rush towards the sink, and the flames lick at my feet, threatening to burn my skin. I cough out smoke, gasp for air, and turn on the faucet. But the fire is already winning, taking over the living room, running like a stampede of horses, crushing everything and leaving nothing behind. The fire is burning like the sun glaring high.

Cooking and looking after my little sister Kaylee were the only things I was in charge of while my parents left to visit my grandmother for the weekend. I was just cooking fried rice when the fire started.

I was pouring rice into the frying pan, when I heard someone screaming. I ran to help, slamming the door closed as I ran onto the street. I looked around, and saw a little girl fallen off a bike, lying on the ground. Her knee was scraped up with small droplets of blood. I ran back inside, got her a bandaid, but when I came back outside, she was gone. I stayed outside for only a minute, waiting to see if she would return. Smoke swirled up the humid May air. My eyes widened, and heart pounding, I sprinted to the porch, swung open the door, and rushed into my house to see the entire kitchen covered in fire, flames dancing and climbing and spinning, racing silently like a ghost in the night. The food I was cooking was burning to ashes. The fire danced so amazing and alive. It was a storm of flames, so beautiful, yet deadly. I rush towards the sink and turn the faucet on. My eyes water from smoke, ashes fly around in the air like swarming flies, and I wait for the water to turn on. My forehead is sweaty from the boiling temperature, I feel like I’m trapped in an oven. Sparks fly into the air, floating up and down gradually and lighting up like fireflies. The fire burns my feet and I cry out and plead with the sink to turn on faster. It doesn’t turn on at all, and I am forced to run from the kitchen, away from the ever hungry flames.

I rush up the stairs, trying to stay low, away from the smoke. “Kaylee!” I scream, “Kaylee! Emergency! Come here now!”

I search each room for my younger sister. Finally I find her hiding in her closet, hiding from me and laughing.

“Kaylee! This isn’t funny!” I scream. Smoke spins higher and thicker and I cough louder and Kaylee laughs harder. She thinks this whole thing is a joke, I realize.

“Kaylee! Stop! Get out of there! I grab her arm and try to drag her out of the closet, but she won’t move.

“Kaylee! The house is on fire! You have to come!” Her eyes widen and I pull her again and she screams at me, “Stop! I can’t!”

“Why not? Come on, we have to go! Stop fooling around!” “I can’t!” She repeats, “I’m stuck.” I pull on her leg and try to get her out of the closet, but her leg is twisted

and jammed into the corner. She is crying now, tears streaming out of her eyes, hands shaking, face pale, screaming as I pull her leg.

I tug on it, begging it to be free. The more she screams the harder I pull. The flames are climbing up the other side of the house. I wrench her leg and finally it burst free, with a sickening snap and a burst of tears. She yells as her foot twists in an odd angle. I grab her hand and carry her down the stairs. I walk quickly, trying to keep smoke out of my burning eyes. The fire has doubled, tripled maybe, and it’s huge. The sweltering heat sizzles and pops wood as it engulfs the crumbling house, devouring the couches and slowly melting the

plastic. Sparks and smoke fly up into the air, twirling like dancers. The floor perishes under it’s heat, desks collapsing as the flames overwhelm and consume them.

Horrified yet almost fascinated, I observe the scene in front of me. I watch as the scorching hot flames set ablaze the lawn, crushing the wilting flowers to ashes, turning the green leaves brown, and slowly making its way to the shed. It is wild and uncontrollable, like an animal you can’t tame. I watch in horror as the fire crawls into the shed, setting it ablaze, and then curls and launches itself at the grill. Next to the grill is a barrel of gas.

The fire slithers like a snake, hissing, curving and rushing towards the gas. It is heading straight for it, making a direct path for more flames to follow. The predator, racing for it’s prey. I know what will happen when the flames and gas meet, so I grab Kaylee and run away, racing as far as I can from the house, sprinting as quickly as possible. Then the fire reaches the gas, and it explodes. Fiery smoke, sparks and dust fly everywhere, as fire shoots up into the air. I scream and watch as my house falls apart. I am devastated, with my forever flow of tears and sobs as I watch the house fall. The roof caves in and the flames crawl up onto it, triumphant. They had won.

I walk away, my feet scorched and bloody from the flames in the kitchen. My skin isn’t melted, but the pain is unbearable. It stings like crazy. Kaylee’s foot is worse, being dragged like a rag doll, limp and slack. My breathing is shaky, tears still streaming down my cheeks, hands trembling with fright. The world goes blurry with my tears, and I feel dizzy, like I can drop to the floor any second. I don’t know where I’m going, but I walk until my feet drag me to my neighbor’s house.

I slowly start to explain what happened, trying to calm my tears, steady my uneven breath. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I wipe away my tears and take a deep breath. Finally I can muster out one word. “Fire.”

The neighbors call the firemen and my family, and they rush to the scene. The firemen with their sirens and heavy hoses, splashing the house with water and drowning out the last flames. The house is a wreck, a huge mess, just small ruins of burnt wood and metal poles collapsed in a heap. My parents are crying, hugging Kaylee and I tightly and weeping their eyes out.

“I thought I lost you! I was so worried!” My mom moans, sniffling over her small sobs.

My dad wipes his tears away, “You could have died! When I got the call...I was so scared! I thought you were gone for sure! My hope was lost.”

I give them a small silence, until I can finally ask the question bubbling in my mind.

“Are you...mad?” I ask them, my voice shaky, waiting for them to scream at me.

But instead, I get two soft, gentle, sweet replies. “Are you kidding? Sweety, I’m just so relieved you are okay! I don’t have

enough room to be mad,” My mom answers. “No of course not. As long as you two are okay, I could never ever be

mad.” My dad adds in reply.

But I knew they didn’t mean that. I could see the disappointment in my mom’s eyes, the anger in my dad’s voice as he lied. They wanted to scream at me, lecture me about being more responsible. They would never trust me again. And I didn’t blame them.