The rags had been soaked and stuffed, he just needed to drag the tiny stick across the sand and glass, causing an instant reaction, toss it in, turn and get out of there. This he did. He breathed in the short pause before the noise and heat erupted in front of him. He span around and ran.
The flames rose and flickered, strong, agile, fearsome. They took hold and grew, both in size and resilience. Yet still the building resisted. The façade was gone, but like the very kebabs it once served, the central structure remained intact as the outer layers were untidily eaten away.
Amid the black smoke the heat was white. The creak of the hot metal as it groaned and twisted reflected the owner, far away and unaware, restlessly fighting for death in the hospice, his distressed family all around. Many hours later they left the scene of one destructive tragedy, only to arrive at another.
Today I wrote between 22:15 and 22:25. I was prompted by an idea here.
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