The Fire
Grows 145 words
WILDFIRE!
Mom said take one thing, and we’ll drive to get Granny. One? I pick the
treasure box Gramps carved when he was sick. The trees are dry as cornhusks,
the smoke tastes like burnt beans, and the fire grows. Granny cries, leaving
her cabin and her garden. It’s hard to sleep at the shelter. Inside, people sob.
Outside, helicopters come and go, dropping water on the flames. I hold my treasure box all through the night.
News comes in the morning: our home is OK, but Granny’s cabin and garden are
gone. All that’s left is her old clawfoot bathtub. Granny comes to live with
us, and I tell Dad my idea. The truck rumbles down the hill, carrying Granny’s
tub. My treasure box holds seeds from her garden. We fill the tub with soil,
and start over. And now, the garden grows.
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