What comes out when I'm supposed to be doing history work but an idea won't go away.
|She stood outside, watching the fire burn every shred of her house. No, it was her home. She had lived out almost every single memory she has there. Now, not only was there a physical fire but a fire in her heart. All of her memories- of happiness, anger, shock, and sadness- are gone. Dead. The rubble will be the graveyard of her childhood. Of course, the memories are still there, but with one of the biggest pieces to remind her, are they really still existent?
But as she watches the house burn, in the dark, she hears the sirens of the police and firemen. Hope rises in her chest.
Be my savior, she thinks. Save my memories.
The trucks and vehicles come and they drench the house in water. The flames dismiss but it's no help. The house is ruined. Her home, her memories... gone. All it takes is a gust of midnight wind to hit the house and push it over. There is no thread of hope now. A pile of ash, dust, and blackened boards is all that remains. No home, no memories. Nothing.
She tries desperately to replay all she can in her mind before she won't be able to anymore. But it's too late. They're already fading. Before too long, she's just a pile on the ground; just like her home. With no memories.