A Personal Narrative on the Fire in Chicago

It was hot, too hot. My surroundings were slowly starting to melt: the trees, the houses, the sky and the pathway to my garage. It seemed that I was about to dissipate as well, becoming a puddle of glue-like substance left on the ground.

I was walking at crawling speed, everything was in slow motion. I was dying. I was heading towards my front door. I was just ten feet away but it felt like miles. I look up into the sky and it`s a fiery bright red; I didn`t have much more time. I get to the door and grab the handle. This excruciating pain ran all around my hand and up into my forearm. I jolt back and look at my hand, it was burnt so badly I could smell my skin and blood cooking. I pretend that it hadn`t happened, I knew I had to get inside as fast as I could. I pick up a rock and knock off the handle and push the door open. It was pitch black.