burialrabbits

It's difficult to stand there in a room full of flames and not think that somewhere up near the ceiling, lost in the billowing clouds of black smoke and fluttering ashes, lies Heaven. You can listen to the world around you crackle and pop, watch bursts of flames tear down a wall. You watch two girls running across the room, frightened, screaming their poor little charred lungs out, bent down and shaking their fallen father. The man is not moving, but from where I am standing, by the door, I can't tell if he's breathing or not.

The two girls are shaking him, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy! Wake up!" Their little voices are shrill and full of terror. The flames are closing in on them. Sooner or later they'll have to leave him there and fend for themselves, and let the poor guy burn, whether he's already dead or not.

It's times like this that I have no clue why I became a firefighter. Not a clue.

Guess I better duck out of here before those two little girls spot me, because I'm still trying to find Heaven. I know it's here somewhere, and I've got to find it. There's no time to be a hero and save people, because Heaven is here somewhere. I just know it.