The sound hovers around then rips through my window.Cool breezes ride the noise into the room.Long machinal groans.

Slow, crisp, no room for bullshit or compassion.
“Get out of the house. Get out of the house.â€?
More voices.Warm, soft voices.Raspy, out of tune voices. Nasally, exuberant voices.

“Line up. Get in line.â€?Burnt toast voice.A voice that’s seen too many fires to give a second thought.
I know what’s happening now.The hoses are gorging with kerosene to vomit on the house.Kerosene is not a structure friendly liquid.

“Light it.â€? Monotonous eradication.At least have some emotion to what your doing.

My room has an orange tint as if I had just finished painting and was feeling autumnish when I had been at Sherman Williams.The colors lap against each other, soft waves mixing.There’s reds, yellows, pinks, and relloinks.This last color is beautiful.It’s what you would use to describe the destruction of hopes, dreams, possessions, ideals, and a way of life to someone who only sees color.