Friday, January 22, 2010


Loss of Home
By Kira Fahrenheit

The only thing more horrible than watching your house burn down is knowing that somebody did it, that someone’s maliciousness cost you everything you once held dear. I remember the smell most of all, the charred flesh and boiling metal that stung my eyes, my nose. I remember father holding me back, rough hands tight on my arms as I struggled to get free, struggled to plunge myself into the smoke and fire to recover some semblance of something from the old life that was quickly turning to ashes right before my eyes. He had to hold me again when we found out who it was, when we found out who was responsible for the destruction, and I remember the tears in his eyes, the restraint. It took everything he had not to throw himself into revenge, to throw away what was left of his life in the pursuit of paying back that debt which was so painfully owed.

And yet, in the end, what goes around comes around. It hurt a lot to see our old lives go up in smoke, but the joy that came afterwords, the sense of being free was almost as satisfying as the sadistic glee I felt as the man and his pack of zealous thugs that had taken everything from us met their fitting end. I’ll never forget the look on that half-breed’s face as I twisted the knife in his chest and slapped his stunned and dying face with one leather-gloved hand. Nobody burns down my Home and gets away with it.

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Kira lives in the desert with her father and her brother. She loves fixing things, making things, and going for long walks with her cousin. She also loves airplanes, the bigger the better!


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