The Fireman
Morning glory blues flutter open. Ten minutes before the alarm like always. He laid there waiting never the less. At the first shrill ring of the digital clock, he flung his arm to out to switch off the irritating electronic melody. Bathing and dressing was a quick task before scarfing down some eggs as breakfast, before he made his way to the station.
The door creaked loudly in the empty hall announcing his arrival to the ancient building. The architecture was trembling and the interiors were worn out. There wasn't much to look at besides the great big sign that read the city fire fighters in the centre. The sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere didn't need more than a one man army to fight fires that broke out on the eve of almost never. With a deep breath, he dropped his bag on the waiting chair and rolled up his sleeves to begin his day.
Most of the day went by in tidying up the storage and checking whether the supplies were in order and in usable condition. Few locals dropped by for their usual round of chit chat. The chair squeaked under his weight as he settled down in the evening. Chin resting on his fist, his eyes darted back and forth between the phone at his desk and the wall clock in the corner. He bit back a rueful smile as the ringing started the minute the clock hit the usual number. Grabbing his coat he was off.
The fire was marvellous against the night sky; bright and warm and destructive. In some morbid universe, it painted a uniquely mesmerising picture. Without wasting time, he hopped out of his truck- the siren blaring in the background and headed for the back. It was procedural; he'd pull the hose out, unwrap the length, and turn on the water to the side where the ire was worse. A small crowd- the regulars had gathered around. Some with concerned pinched faces, others with bored expressions. But the worst were the few with the pitying looks. He hated those. Ignoring his audience, he placed the hose on a makeshift holder, and pulled his helmet on. One deep breath and a quick pep talk later, he was off.
He shouldered his way through the front door. The walls were licked with fire. The building wasn't all that old, in fact it had a rusty charm to it. The ceiling was black and soot hung heavy in the air. Covering his head, he ran further ahead. The wood flooring creaked dangerously under his boots, and the beams looked like they would give up soon. Up the stairs and into the room he ran. The room was dark, the fire had yet to engulf it. He waded in breathing heavily, searching. Squinting his eyes, he ran his hands over the surfaces of the shelves. There it was, shy and unassuming in a corner- almost forgotten. He scooped up the snow globe in his gloved hand and tucked it into his pocket and dashed right out. Once out he sneaked a peek at the glass sphere and smiled to himself. He could see little dots of glitter that were meant to be stars- and the little base of green which formed the grass. With one last proud look, he tossed it back into his pocket. The water hose had controlled the flames. He lifted it and slowly, doused the fire in it's entirety. The building stood tall and proud. At least for another night. He sent another look in the rear view mirror as he drove back to the station.
Shoulders hurting, and his limbs aching, he took off his coat and hat. His face had smudges and his eyes were watery from the ash. None of that reflected in his smile as he gently took out the snow globe, polished the surface and placed it on the desk containing other such tit bits—all from the same building. They were precious to him. No matter what everyone else said, they meant the world to him- just like the house they had come from. He would go to bed, tired and exhausted to the bone, yet he'd have a smile playing on his mouth because he had saved something.
Each evening, the same phone would ring at the same time telling him about the same fire that had broken out at the same place. Each evening he'd go, risk everything, douse the fire and return with something of value. He wasn't immune to the reaction of the townspeople, but none mattered enough to him. The early autumn breeze kindled the flames as he stood in front of the building. An uphill battle awaited him. There was something different that night. He didn't know what; he couldn't pin point it. The tiny hair on the back of his neck rose, as he took a step in the direction of the burning building. The fire was greater that night- it raged and roared like never before. He felt it's anger in the heat. Sweat trickled over his brow, drenching his eyes and burring his vision. The interior walls were charred; the furniture turned to ash. A loud creak gave way to an overhead beam. Dodging at the last minute, he sidestepped the wooden log as it crashed to the floor. The building was falling apart. It was breaking from the inside. Shaking that thought out, he ran up the steps. His step faltered as the floorboard gave way. His foot went through and his ankle twisted. Muffling a groan, he straighten, lifted his leg away and limped up the rest of the way.
His sacred room was nothing as he had last seen it. Flames engulfed it. He stood there frozen for a moment, when glass shards from a window in the corner came flying. The glass had given away under the extreme temperature and shattered. He felt the blood trickle down the side of his face before he felt the burn. Pressing a gloved hand to the side of his jaw, he frantically made his way further into the house—searching. Disoriented and desperate, he searched the rooms for something—anything. Another beam from the ceiling collapsed this time he couldn't move fast enough so the wood scraped his arm on it's way down. A small cry escaped his lips as he sunk to his knees clutching his injured arm. Time seemed to slow with each ash laden breath he took; his throat getting clogged. A single tear slid down his clammy cheek. He looked around again desperately. This was it, he knew it. He couldn't save the building. Standing on shaky legs, a small sob was wretched out of his mouth at the thought that struck him... There was nothing left to save. He had combed the place through and through and he had found nothing.
There was something invisible holding him rooted to the spot. Another window shattered in the distance snapping him out. This was it. If he didn't get out now, he'd burn down with the building. There was a sad acceptance in the thought. This was it. He had to get out before this building destroyed him. Slow steps brought him down and then out. He didn't look up as he walked to where his truck was. Still clutching his arm, he turned in time to see the flames completely immerse the structure. Within moments it started to collapse. The floors came down with a rumble until it was just a pile of wood burning against the night sky. A deep breath later, he turned, painfully climbed into his truck and drove away without a glance.
