7 a.m. by Tiff Stewart

7 a.m., January 1st, 2016.
Calm: “Are the neighbours still on holiday?”
Sleepy: “Ugh… what time is it… ugh. Yup, yup they are. Why?”
Calm: “I think their house is on fire. I’m heading over.” (Door slamming, footsteps thudding).
Sleepy-no-longer: “Uh. What? On fire fire? Uh… I’ll call, I’ll call…”
(Shoes, jersey, where the fuck’s the phone. Bugger that’s the 4 year old awake. Oh and now the baby. Quickly, shake awake the 10 year old…)
Wide-awake-now-panicking: “The neighbour’s house is on fire. Stay here. Look after the little kids. But it’s fine, don’t worry. Don’t panic”.
(Run down front steps, panicking. Smoke drifting across the sleepy valley. Dialling, running, panicking.)

 

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