Wind rushes past to feed the fire, and you smell the black smoke of burning upholstery and bubbling plastic. Through the melted remnants of the front window, you see a grandfather clock, its once polished hardwood blackened, its ornate face twisted from the heat. Across the room from the destroyed clock is a bassinet, and for the briefest of moments you think you hear the soft cry of a baby amid the banshee scream of the fire. Then it's gone, and only the crisp anguish of loss remains. Adrenaline makes your heart pound in your chest.
Firefighters rush to pump water over the blaze, but it is a futile gesture.
The great roar of the fire seems to laugh at them as the water spray sizzles and vaporizes. Sadness wells inside you, bringing you close to tears. The house is too far gone to be saved. Too far gone. Such a waste.