He stood on that hill, alone.
Alone.
A word that had never before been in his dictionary, never before had existed to him. But now it was all he knew.
His wife, his children, his house, his dog, his little pond in the backyard with two fish named Fish 1 and Fish 2, his birdhouses, his old college sofa, his toolbox, his framed picture of Mom and Dad, his reason for being- gone.
So he stood, alone.
The fire that had claim his life, well, not HIS life physically, but his life in every other way, was now extinguished, though the damage it had done was long from gone. It still persisted to envelop his mind, ensnare his thoughts, and made them think of all he had lost.
Why had he been at work that day? Why had he not been there when some careless stranger flicked some cigerette out the window, and when it rolled onto some dry, brown leaf that had caught fire and led to everything being destroyed? Why had he not been there? Why couldn’t he have died too?
And still he stood, alone. Teetering percariously on