Did that fireman know what he was talking about? He was so very young.
He says there’s a fire in a flat three floors below but I have to stay here. Not leave. Isn’t it common sense to go? …..
What’s going on. Can I smell smoke? No, it must be my imagination. Stay calm, the fireman said it would be alright.
Should I close the window? I can’t remember what you’re supposed to do: should you open them in a fire or close them? I wish my husband was here …
I’m going to pack a bag just in case. Just my Bible. Crucifix. Money. Passport. Papers. I don’t want to be without them. They’ll throw me out the country without them. They want any excuse.
What else? The picture of Precious? From the wedding. The jewellery my mother left me?
Clothes? Should I pack clothes? What should I put in? Where am I going to go? How long will I be away?
No! Stop this! Why am I behaving like this? It’ll be fine. The fireman said so. Sit down. Stay calm. Everything’s going to be alright.
It’s no good, I can’t rest. Turn on the television … What’s this? Sky News. HOLY SMOKE! Look at that block of flats. It’s on fire. The flames are everywhere.
Oh no! I CAN smell smoke. It’s thick, so very thick. It’s coming under the door.
It’s getting hot. Too hot. The lights have gone out. It’s dark, very, very dark.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 