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'THE DAY MY HOUSE CAUGHT FIRE'

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Violet Apted

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I could not breathe! The fumes and smoke from the burning polystyrene ceiling
tiles were choking me. Droplets fell all around me like raindrops. I managed
to struggle through the dense smoke, but could not see a thing. Laying flat
on my stomach I slid along the floor, and rolled myself down the stairs.
Getting below the smoke I was able to gasp some air into my lungs, as my
daughter helped me out of the house. It was a living nightmare-Something you
never think will happen to you. My house was on fire. The day had started
like any other day. I had left for work that morning, waving goodbye to my
daughter Maureen. Giving my ten-month-old granddaughter a hug and kiss, as I
usually did.

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Like any other Wednesday, I had been very busy preparing the staff wage
sheets for Thursday payday. By the time I closed the books for that week I
was ready for the lunch I knew Maureen would have waiting for me, and I went
home. When I arrived Maureen told me about her busy morning, cleaning the
bedrooms, and changing the bed linen. It had been cold so she had lit the oil
heater we kept on the landing, to keep her warm. By the time she had finished,
Samantha had fallen asleep in her cot. She had only awoken just before I had
arrived home.

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We drank our tea, unaware of the fire taking hold above our heads. I opened
the door to go to the upstairs toilet, and smoke billowed out, quickly
filling the kitchen. Shouting to my daughter to ring the fire brigade-though
she needed no telling, as she was already dialling the number. I raced up the
stairs to see if there was anything I could do.

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To this day I do not know how I crossed the burning landing, and closed the
bedroom doors, or why!. I then ran back down the stairs to get a bowl to fill
with water, and try to douse the flames- stopping only to ring my boss to
tell him I could not get back to work that afternoon, because my house was on
fire.

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I can still remember how shocked he sounded, when he said,

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" My God girl, get the hell out of there," and put the phone down.

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Running back to the fire, I turned on both of the bath taps and filled the
bowl with water, throwing it over the -by now raging fire. It was then I
realised I could not breathe, and managed to get down the stairs. The firemen
had to use breathing apparatus, because the fumes from the polystyrene tiles
were very toxic. They worked really hard, and managed to save my home for me,
but there was an awful lot of damage, and mess.

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I know I was very foolish to have gone back upstairs, by trying to fight the
fire I could have been trapped , and never lived to tell this tale. Even more
horrifying to think about_ is that had my granddaughter not woken from her
nap when she did, she would never have survived those toxic fumes, or the
smoke.

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Much later that day, they told us the fire had been caused by the, (almost
new ) heater flaring. The flames reaching a dressing gown hanging on the door
had spread rapidly. My action in closing the bedroom doors had held the fire
back long enough for the fire brigade to reach us in time to save the rest of
the house.

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My boss arrived seconds after the fire engine and we stood together watching
the flames burning through the roof. He put his arm around me to comfort me-
it was only then that the tears fell.?  When I returned to my work sometime
later, he said, " I always knew you were conscientious , but ringing me from
inside your burning house to say you could not come back to work that
afternoon, because you house was on fire beats &anything I have ever heard
before, or maybe ever will again."

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I never did live that one down.

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?© Copyright Violet Apted

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Violet Apted
violet77 @optusnet.com.au

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Work: Freelance writer and Tutor U3A
Creative writing

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I am Originally from Sussex and Kent UK. Emigrated to Australia 27yrs ago and
now live in Queensland .

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I can write in any genre and have many stories and poems published in
Magazines. I self published a book of my own poetry book, Titled `A POSY OF
VIOLETS and a book of poetry for my pupils.

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I have completed my first novel a Murder abduction story and now writing my
second. I think my favourite writing would have to be children's stories.
(Pen name Violet Apted) http://www.powerup.com.au/~strummer/violet /Htmls/
MainFrame1.htm

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"Blood Brothers"
by Bob Shaw

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Growing up on a farm was an interesting way to grow up, and being an only child offered many opportunities; some good, some bad. My best friend lived just down the road, and had an older brother. Only problem was, he was almost sixteen years older. So, for all intents and purposes, he was an only child too.

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We finally found a solution to our problem. We watched a movie where one of
our favorite heroes became blood brothers with his Indian friend. As we watched, we learned just what to do. My friend pulled out his scout knife and held it out to me. Bravely, I said, "You first." The next thing I knew, he was bleeding. I thought we should have our own knives, just like in the movie, so I went to the kitchen drawer and got one of Dad's knives out.

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Dad was a meat cutter, and didn't know the meaning of a dull knife. I was an idiot, and didn't know the meaning of a sharp one. Well, to sum it all up, it's almost fifty years later, and I still have the scar from it. We never did tell our folks the truth. I said I'd reached into the sink and got cut. Better to let them have a guilty conscience than take what I knew was coming.

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All in all, it was worth it. I had something I'd always wanted. I had a brother. As the years passed, we grew up, went to school, and stayed close. After school, we decided to look into the Military. Three of us took the entrance exam. As it turned out, we both passed, but he changed his mind to enlist. Our third friend was more or less informed that the Navy was looking for someone to use for an Anchor. I guess it was one way of telling him he didn't pass.

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Going into the Military seemed to put a little distance between us. We were still good friends, but the world was just a little bigger between us now. Coming home on leave, we pretty well picked up where we left off, but there seemed to be something on his mind. When I pressed him on it, he told me tha the was being drafted. He'd been wishing we'd gone in together, but things would work out.

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After a couple weeks at home, I was getting ready to go back. He saw me to the bus station, and reached into his pocket and handed me a Five Dollar bill. I tried pushing it back, but he explained that he just wanted me to hang on to it for him. That way, if he ever needed it, I could give it back, and he'd never be broke. Well, it sounded good, so I put it in a hidden pocket in my wallet for safe keeping.

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We both ended up going to Nam, and both made it home safe. We talked about it
some, trying to make some sense of it. Finally, I think we just decided to live with it, and move on.

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Several years passed, and we got in touch less and less. The job situation finally forced me and the family to move to Texas. Money was being made there, but not much anywhere else it seemed.

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He never did ask for that five dollars. And many times, it came in handy. I'd
borrow it from time to time, and always put it back. I'd always write his name on it, just to remember. One time I remember very well, was being broke, and needing to buy a gallon of milk from the store. I told my wife that I'd borrow a "five" and put it back on payday. She knew where the loan was comingfrom, and just smiled.

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It was just a month or so later that we got the news. My Brother had been killed in a car wreck. If it had been a head on collision, a blown tire, or something of that nature, I think I could have handled it better. But, he simply went to sleep at the wheel, and hit a tree. I was mad at him for such a long time. I thought, such a dumb way to die.

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I was out doing some yard work on a hot Texas Summer day. The 7-11 was just
around the corner, so I walked to it and got a big ice-filled drink. Standing in line to pay for it, I realized I hadn't brought any money with me. Reaching for my wallet, I brought out the five. I smiled and paid for the drink, thinking to myself that he was still there, pulling me out of another
jam.

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The way everything worked out might not be the way he pictured it, but over the years, that simple act of friendship and compassion left me with a sense of independence and pride, of being more than the World could throw at me.?  Because I had someone that thought I was special.

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There's still a five dollar bill tucked away in my wallet, and a name written across one corner. It's my way of saying my friend was special too.

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Bob Shaw
Caperabbit?  @ SEMO .net

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Bob and Ronni live in the Cape Girardeau, Missouri area. Bob is a Route Sales
Driver for the Lewis Baking Company, Bunny Bread (CapeRabbit). Every once in
a while, someone will find him pulled off on the side of the road making notes. "Gotta get 'em down before they go away".

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