2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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. 

They died.

2020©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo Prompt©RogerBultot

 

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***** Edited story from 2015 that didn’t receive much recognition the first time.