Caroline Amen

Mrs. Stephan

Period 4

22 February 2019

A House on Fire

In one haunting night, my childhood home was stripped from me. The house where I took

my first steps. The house where I lost my first tooth. The house where I had my seventh birthday.

The house I thought I would leave someday. The house I loved, gone in an instant. It’s funny, I

still hold onto these memories but it still feels as if they left me, along with my home. The

memories scattering like ashes in the wind, becoming far and distant to me. I was only ten then.

Never had I appreciated what I had in that moment, until that one night took it from me.

A single cold December night in 2010, was when my childhood home vanquished, only

to expose the ground beneath it. That night was just like every other night of my life. I did my

nightly routine of brushing my teeth and going to bed early. The terror was yet to unfold,

however, there was this pit in my stomach. It was almost if my uncertainty was foreshadowing

what was yet to come. As if warning me that I should be prepared. It was early in the morning,

when I awoke to my father screaming my name. Never had I heard such terror in his voice. His

voice echoed through my skin, bouncing like soundwaves in my head. It was then that I

witnessed the most horrific sight, my ten year old eyes had ever beheld. Instinctively, I gathered

most of my belongings. Being only ten, such belongings only included my prepaid phone and

IPod. Surprisingly enough, my terrified dog was the first one in the car. My mother had driven

me to a neighbors, almost to shield me from the treacherous and bruising sight that stood before
us. As I peered through the window the sight looked as if it was out of a movie. The roof and

windows were on fire, which seeped through every little opening it could find. The flames

burned deep red and amber, licking up in the air with the wind. The cold, dark, ominous sky,

stood in great contrast to the maddened fire reaching for it. In that moment, I could only help but

think about the house I would lose. The house with all my clothes and personal belongings in it.

The house I called my childhood. The house I called my home.

For weeks, I could only help but mourn over what I had lost. There was this newfound

emptiness that had awoken within me. It was only the little things, like waking up in a different

house and putting on someone else clothes, that made me feel out of place. I was and still am,

entirely grateful for everyone in the community who reached out to me and my family during

that hard time. Although, this was the most challenging obstacle I had encountered in my life, it

taught me the most. It taught me the real value of things. That items don't define who you are and

it is the often the intangible items that complete us. Ultimately, I realized how grateful I am that

my whole family made it out safely. To think, if I had lost one of the people I loved that night,

instead of my house, I would truly feel empty. Now as I reflect on those years, I know that those

memories did not leave with my house, for they truly lie engraved onto my heart forever. Yes,

my family and I had lost a lot that day, but I didn’t lose them. Surely, that is what will forever

help me to understand the truly valuable things in life.