Smoke

It was just a normal day.

We did our classwork. We ate our lunches. We talked during recess. I remember feeling like the luckiest student in school when the teacher forgot to ask for my assignment I didn’t do and when I came across a 100 peso bill on the dirty restroom floor. Mayhaps it was because of those two lucky encounters that the forces that be decided that this annoying little child had enough on her plate already.

A column of thick black smoke occupied the sky that afternoon. The blare of a dozen sirens was heard from the distance. My classmates and I just watched, thinking of the poor unknowns who have to deal with what looked like a massive fire. We even joked about it like the heartless children we were. It was all good sadistic fun until I was called into the principal’s office for a phone call.

It was my mother. She was crying. Our house was burning.