Photo Credits: Roger Bultot
They’d lived in the white house only a few months before the fire. They’d gone to the movies, returning home, they saw the fire engines pumping water into their home. People stood around on the street as people do in the face of some exciting tragedy.
Mary held their tiny daughter in her arms as a tear rolled down her cheek thinking of their belongings gone up in smoke.
“I wonder what started the fire?” she said.
“Seems someone left the roast on the fire before going out forgot to turn it off!” said a neighbour.
Then she remembered!
© G.s.k. ‘15
This is a memoir of sorts … actually a couple of bits of my early memories .. in Mississippi as a child I did live in a white house, there was a fire which we came home to find (but I don’t remember much more than the fire) and my Mother left a roast cooking on the range one evening, my Father had come home and decided we should pass the weekend with my Grandparents … in the rush to dump some clothes in the car, she forgot the roast. Fortunately, outside of a lot of smoke in the kitchen upon our return everything went alright.
Written for Friday Fictioneers
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