He came home at 1:30 a.m. He’d done a 4 to midnight tour.
Sandy, always, waited up for him. She could never sleep when he was at work.
Baking and ironing kept her occupied until she heard the key in the door.
His enormously firm hug let her know it had been a tough night.
She could smell smoke in his hair.
He rambled on about the fire and casualties.
Six children, he repeated several times.
Tears fell down his face.
We could hear them screaming.
The flames were everywhere.
We just couldn’t get them out.
Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge
***** Edited story from 2015 that didn’t receive much recognition the first time.