I called my parents to tell them.
Today, I saw a fire.
Mommy - today, I watched a house glow with heat.
Daddy - today, I was scared.
Today, I drove past a fiery furnace and felt the heat on the other side of the car.
I wish no child had to come home to tell their parents this. But today, someone did.
When I got there, the fire was contained by the last supports of the house. It looked like a box of flames, like some magic trick. I saw a lake of fire poured into a square house and devour it whole. The fire spouted black smoke when the water fought it. It was malice, it was hate, it was terror. The cows in the neighboring lot continued to chew, if only moving to escape the doubled heat of summer and flames. I drove on, watching in the mirror the black flames join the heavy clouds. It would rain today.
When I got home, the air smelled like smoke.