How to Put Out a Fire

A short story by Rissa Bennett

“Now, the most important part of putting out a fire has to be the protective gear. We call this PPE. The firesuit is made of several layers- these layers are made from special fabrics to protect our bodies from the flames. Our thick boots, and heavy gloves are imperative for safety when dealing with a raging fire. Oh, and don’t forget your helmet, mask, and oxygen. If you don't have those you may as well be good as dead”. 

Tap, tap. Tap, tap. The clunking sound of  industrial boots fills the room, echoing off of the walls, achingly puncturing my eardrum. Intimidation encapsulates me in an anxious bubble, lacerating my skin, holding in my breath as he lectures me. In a vice around me is the helpless feeling that I will never be able to fight fires the way this faceless sound of a man has. The steady, metallic “tap, tap” filling the room floods my senses; it is all I can feel alongside crippling failure. 

“Now, assuming you haven't forgotten any of your protective gear, and supplies,” he chuckles, “you end up at the call site. A raging, intense, fire engulfing an innocent house. This is what you do”.

Tap, tap. Closer, closer.

“The first three things you do before entering the house go as follows: 1. check the temperature on the door -if you forget this, and it is too hot you're screwed already-” he chuckles, “2. check smoke movement, and, 3., the water spray test. To put out a fire we remove one of the three elements: heat, fuel, or oxygen. So, the most common way, as I’m sure it’s obvious, is to use water to put out said element. Simple. And then we  risk our lives, and go into the structure that is burning down”.

Tap, tap, tap. Closer, closer, closer. 

“Alright”, he commands, clapping his hands together, voice booming off of the walls, “what do we do when we find a person inside of the fire”.

“Hmm? Any guesses from the audience”, he sighs when answered by silence, “that’s too bad. We either, 1. Pick them up and take them to safety, or 2. They are already dead”. 

The smell of smoke fills my lungs.

“Met with charred skin, and sunken in eyes is not a pleasant way to go about your day, but it happens. When met with a poor corpse, frozen, or should I say burned,” he laughs, “in time, forever, really REALLY is a god, damn shame. Don’t you think so?” 

Silence answers once again. The pounding of my own heartbeat intensifies in my ears. I feel my fingers trying to grip below me. Why is it so hot? Opening my eyes I am met with stinging. Flooding tears surface and stream down my cheeks as I stare at the grayness of the matted carpet meeting me at eye level. I am pulling, pulling pieces of fibers from under me, just to have them burn, and crumple on the impact of my hand. Wrathful, familiar flames engulf around me, and my skin is scalding. I need to get away. 

He sighs, “such a boring, boring, audience. I don’t think it's a shame. I think it is part of life, and without me, the entire world would burn, just as you are, but I digress”.

I feel something pushing hard on the center of my back, crushing me as still I lay helplessly on the floor, trying to crawl away. My blistering skin intensifies, and I cry out. Sweat mixes with my tears as the weight becomes harder, stronger, on my back. 

A familiar chuckle, a familiar sound.

Tap, tap.

Using his boot he flips me over to reveal himself. All I see is the manilla of the firefighter suit backdropped with red.  The flames overrun my house, crawling up the sides of my wall, licking the ceiling, taunting my home, daring it to collapse. Scarlet flames grow more powerful with each weakening breath I take. Crackling, sputtering, and snapping, the structure of my house is slowly decaying, dying, concomitantly with my own. The fluorescent yellow stripes on his suit burn my eyes, causing the tears to stream further down. Looking around, the soot and ash on the floor is indented with the mark of a large boot’s footprint  trailing up to where I lay. The same print branding into my back.

The roaring of the fire, mixed with the roaring in my ears, is drowning out with the simple, mechanical breathing coming from behind the mask he is wearing. Slowly in and out, in and out he breathes in oxygen, as the oxygen is depleting within my lungs. He chuckles, deafening me further. He removes his mask, dropping an empty gasoline can with one final match, sending flames hurtling towards me. I gasp upon seeing his face.

Dad.