Free Entry 1, Week 9

As the fire-trucks' blackened frames sludged past my abode, I could smell the green ashes emerging from the smoke stack of the rowboat sailing the roaded-rails of the riverbanks. At that moment, my husband came home, kissing my cheek sweetly-I'll have a black eye for weeks. His lips smiled, of oranges and castor-oil. He smelled of burnt popcorn and strawberries. Chest melting, I watched the children paddidng across the cotton shore on their paws, their parents stretching out to them from the ground up. Then the daily teenagers initiated their prayer-by, leaving no survivors in their wake. Everyone lay soaked in their own tribulations, while my wounded head bled the pages of His word freely. Who will wake first? I Don’t Know...but he’ll awaken third. I’ll be last, if I choose to wake at all.