A pair of small glasses sat upon a woman’s nose.  Her tired old eyes stared passively into the fire.  Her hair was in disarray with bobby pins holding only the smallest amount of it back.  Her hands lay folded on her lap.  A wedding ring enclosed her finger, a memory of what she once had.  She rocked herself slowly in the rocking chair watching the flames dance across the floor.  The floorboards began to char, and the living room filled with smoke.  A small round table stood in the corner.  Pictures of bygone days and a thick layer of dust lay atop the old grandfather clock.  The crocheted throw blanket with many colors on the overstuffed couch began to smoke.  She continued to rock with a small smile on her face.  The porch glowed as the flames flickered in the window.  The air was tainted with a faint smell resembling that of a barbecue.  The dark clouds continued to close in, and the rain began to fall.  It hit upon the roof of the house, but its’ cleansing properties were no match for the raging fire within.

-Gabrielle Cataldi (2018)