The Fire, is a short story which I write several years ago and was done for a creative writing essay. The teacher started us of with a theme and the start of the sentence. He then gave us a topic to cover in five paragraphs, 1. Beginning 2. The fire men 3. The owners 4. Climax 5. After marth....
The fire began to consume the building, it was all my fault. I shouldn't have been messing around with the matches. Then i realised i was still standing in front of the house, with the matches in my hand. I looked very guilty. What if someone saw me and reported me to the fire men, when they came or even worse, the police! So i ran and hid in between the trees, watching as the flames grew higher and the house was being demolished.
Someone must have seen and phoned the fire men, because big red fire engines, yes more than one!, there were two! Came thundering down the road, making that really annoying wailing sound. They screeched to a halt outside the house and jumped out, getting the water hoses out and pointing them towards the house.
Anne was the girl who lived in the house. She was vile, horrid person, who stole my bestfriend and every one else i cared about. I had became unpopular, invisible and no one ever looked twice at me. I was jealous, had all ways been jealous and jealousy was the thing that made me set fire to her house.
What was left of the house, was the black, burnt structure. It smelt damp from the fire men having put it out. It also smelt of burnt wood and big thick, foggy clouds of ash and steam which hung over it. Well, what was left of it.
It was dark and no one was around. I came out of my hiding place in the trees. Slowly i walked to the remains of the house. I started to cry. I knew i was jealous of her, but why did i have to set fire to her house? I never wanted to go that far. I didn't mean to, but it was too late, i had already done it. But why was i crying? It was what i wanted! Wasn't it?