After the fire
by JRC | Score: 4450
Looking around the room, she hardly knew where to begin. There were piles of garbage and bags of clothing everywhere, all covered in dust and ash. The green moulding in the kitchen was charred and hanging by a loose nail. The refrigerator door was hanging open, broken eggs spilling from the egg carton on the floor in front of the produce drawer.
She moved to the study, where her father's prized collection of art history books were remarkably unscathed by the fire, just coated with soot and ash.
"I really won the lottery this time," she said to herself. "What the fuck am I doing here, in this toxic mess?"
She flinched as the wind shifted and blew ash into her face from the open doorway. Setting down her box, she moved into the bedroom and examined the work in progress. The clean up crew sent by the insurance company were dragging out the charred, soggy mattress and box spring that were once her father's bed. Fortunately, he wasn't in it the night the fire swept through.
A wave of nausea rose up as she moved from the bedroom -- morning sickness seemed worse with all the odors of burned and destroyed -- well, everything. She rummaged in the pocket of her skiing jacket for some antacid tablets and went to the front door. The entire neighborhood went up in flames almost as quickly as people could get out of their houses -- she could see the neighbor across the street, a local judge, sifting through what used to be his garage.
Strolling over to talk to the judge, the mail carrier drove down the charred and ash covered street.