Mom shouts us awake. I slip out of bed, twisted and tangled, arms, legs, and sheets. Smoke. My sisters and I hold hands and run. Mom follows. Flames. Not at the house yet, but the whole sky is orange sunset bright. Jack pine cones crackle open and shoot like fireworks out through the trees. We stop and huddle near the lake, a mirror image of the lit up sky. “I wish Daddy was here,” I say, my voice a smoke-dried squeak. My oldest sister points and whispers, “Look!” A fish jumps, dives, leaves behind a ring on the calm surface.
Louella Lester is a writer/photographer in Winnipeg, Canada, author of Glass Bricks, contributing editor at NFFR, and is included in Best Microfiction 2024. louellalesterblog.wordpress.com Facebook: @louellalester Instagram: @louellalester