A Burning House

You stare in disbelief at what is going on in your street tonight. Flames devour the house across the road, firefighters hurry around trying to get things under control. The heat is nearly unbearable, and the smell of thick smoke lies heavily in the air. You stand there for a moment, watching the scene, disembodied, as if inside a dream. A young firefighter, Sam, you know him from sight, asks you to stay back. For safety, you can’t go into your own house right now. Oh, and you’re tired from work. A young woman stands some distance away, staring at the fire like you. Covered with a hooded cloak, she stands still. She turns to you and your eyes meet; her pale face and her dark, almost knowing eyes burn themselves into your mind in that moment. There is fear, exhaustion, but also something else in her expression. Like a spark, full of energy. Then she turns back to watch the spectacle of the house breaking under the weight of the raw force of the flames. You get some tea from a helper. An older woman from the neighborhood, and you nod gratefully. “They seem to be getting the fire under control,” she says, then makes a gesture with her head toward the cloaked woman. “Poor thing. I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose your home like that.” You keep quiet and look back to the woman. It was her house. You have to admit, you didn’t even know who lived there before. You work a lot, and she kept to herself. You get up and decide to walk over to her.