The fire

A tear rolls down the infant's cheek, as everything around him crumbled and burned. The ceiling caved in and the walls turned to ashes. Never had there been such a vicious fire in their suburban town before. In that house, there dwelled a woman, a man, their infant, and a golden retriever, Marcus. The woman lit a candle, and unwillingly took a nap. Motherhood was taking a toll on her, and she fit sleep into her schedule at every opportunity. The flame of that candle licked at the curtains, and spread rapidly. Hilary awoke coughing and sputtering, and frantically dialed 911. Her husband John was at work, oblivious to the deterioration of life as he knew it. Hilary had no escape, no access to the baby in the nursery, and no way to extinguish the fire. She flew to the window, threw it open, and screamed for help. When the flames grew and the smoke rose until she could no longer bear it for coughing, she jumped from the second story window to the ground below. Her ankle shattered on impact, and she lay helpless, screaming for someone to rescue her baby trapped inside. By the time the fire department arrived, the first floor had collapsed, blocking all entrances to the house. The baby could be heard screaming a shrill and unforgettable cry. Hilary weeped from a stretcher, refusing to be taken for medical attention until every effort was made to save her son. The firemen tried to enter through broken windows, but the fire prevented any entry. Eventually the crying subsided to a low whimper, most likely due to smoke inhalation. Hilary screamed and thrashed, while the firemen tried their absolute hardest. The baby could be heard until the very moment when the roof collapsed in and the house fell down. Then there was silence, except for the sobbing and moaning of a woman lost.