Gena Cohen

The Art of the Fire

Sometimes I questioned the way that mankind had set up the world. Why were there some people, unhappy people at that, with billions of dollars, while others, people with dreams and passions, worked to the bone only to scrape by? I sat on the curb numbly as I gazed up at the orange flames that licked at my home. Just like that, all that I owned was being devoured by a merciless fire. It was a freak accident the fireman said, something about old electric wiring.