He smelled something burning. The smoke was all around him, filling his nose. He could not see the flames, but he could hear the crackle of the great fire monster chewing its way through the walls of his house like a child gobbling up crispy cookies.

“Fire” he shouted. “Fire! Everybody get out.” He choked and coughed as the smoke assaulted his throat and lungs. He tried to run but could not find traction. The house has collapsed around me, he thought. I’m trapped.

“Fire!” he shouted again. The heat was overwhelming, like working in the foundry when he was a young man. His shirt clung to his body and sweat poured down his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut to ward off grit that filled the air. His hands moved furiously, trying to find something solid to grab, something he could shove aside to free himself. He could barely breathe.

“Out,” he croaked. “Everybody out.” His voice was a whisper.  With his last bit of strength, he rolled sideways and plunged into a deep hole. He landed hard, immobilized on the bedroom floor by the tangle of sheets and blankets, but wide awake.

© 2008 Cynthia Becker. Original for CCF (Becker grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).