where there is smoke.

There were fires in the neighborhood. Big billowing flames making kindling of 

Dilapidated houses and drinking in the dry undergrowth. We gathered the children into

The highest rooms, pressing wet cloths against the cracks so that the smoke

Wouldn’t get inside. 

We called the fire department on the only working phone on the street. No one answered. We called again and finally the voice on the line suggested we put out the fire ourselves. Perhaps

We had started the fire ourselves, the voice suggested.

It was only fitting that we put it out. We had the same water that would be at the station.

We marched the endless miles separating us from the fire station. We hid the children from the fire, distracted them with soft and pretty things while we left the fire fighting for the adults.

We could see in our periphery the fire dimming and growing large again, being stoked by shadows passing through.

We made it to the fire department and demanded entry.

It isn’t a real fire, the fire chief insisted. We will only go out for real fires. 

There were ashes on our clothes and soot in our hair, the scent of smoke clinging to us like the children we hid.

Our numbers grew. We filled the station and the streets and the square. Put out the fire was our first demand.

The first of us was burned before we could think to jump back. A casualty, the fire chief stated. We had somehow brought the fire with us, he accused.

This would be the moment that we would let the city burn and rebuild our neighborhood from ashes.

Except the chief’s wife pulled me aside. There’s space for you and your young ones right next door.

You’ll never have to worry about the fire again.

I stepped back, promising to only leave for a moment. I needed to regroup. 

I snuck back into the neighborhood, gathering my children and stealing them away through the brief lull in the flames. I closed the window behind me and told my children to close their eyes. Before leaving I cover my tracks.

I work for the fire department. I will never be chief. 

My children can see the smoke, but they have never seen fire and I tell them of its mild heat. A mere inconvenience, not at all life threatening.  It is what the people who live in the neighborhood want, I tell them, and if they don’t want the fire they should stop starting it or else put it out themselves.