As the sun rose slowly above the tall majestic Rocky Mountains my mom woke me up with a voice soft as smooth pastel colors sliding down an artist’s canvas. But something was different, there was something wrong. She was in a panic but she masked it with a smile and a good morning. But I could see it in her eyes, the worry and desperation. I wanted to ask what was wrong but, every time I tried, my heart would beat sending an echo through my whole body that would stop in my head and keep throbbing. It felt like a bouncy ball was ricocheting off every centimeter of my head.

Aside from my dilated pupils and my escaping heart, I smelt a delightful aroma in the background. It smelt like French toast and warm maple syrup drizzled perfectly on the stack of bread. The smell hovered in the hall and with every inhale a little bit more of comfort and joy slipped in and immersed my room. I felt a certain kind of comfort; warmth. I crawled out of bed and slowly tip-toed towards the kitchen. When I arrived I felt emptiness hanging in the open room. There was a slightly warm stack of French toast left on the counter but there was no one in sight and all the pots and pans where left unclean in the sink.
I cautiously walked out into the living room, half expecting a big surprise party for a reason I had not yet discovered. With every step the television’s volume increased and became more ear splitting then the step before. This is where I found my whole family sitting a foot in front of the television, like little children watching their favorite cartoon. I sat on the couch and absorbed all the information. When it went to commercial break I was frozen, and with every blink and every ever-so-slight movement I felt my muscles contract and my tendons bending and stretching, like a machine at a factory working to make millions of things in unison. I was in shock. I found out in those five minuets that a huge wild fire was coming for our town and was not going to slow down anytime soon. At that point everything went gray and blurry.

The smell of French toast faded into heavy smoke that made each drawing breath harder and harder. I could taste the soft, warm and rich French toast turn slowly into hot burnt ash falling to the very ground I stood on. I looked around the house giving it a full evaluation. There where bins everywhere full of papers, pictures and lots of other things of value. Then I saw one of my backpacks and suitcases sitting by the ledge. It was for me to pack some of the things I wanted to keep. I rose up off the couch and slowly dragged my bags to my room. I stood in the middle of my room staring at everything; and with a deep breath I started packing all my memories into bags and boxes and rushing them out to the cars.

By the end of an hour all the cars where as full as the streets of New York City on Black Friday. Then we grabbed our pets, hoped in the car and headed to my grandparent’s house. I sat on the smooth, cold leather seat driving away from my house; I was covered in fear, from head to toe. The only thing that held me together was hope. I prayed that the firefighters would do everything in their power to protect our town from harm. Right then that was all I could do, all I could do was hope.