July 8, 2017
Well, this is embarrassing. The house blew up. Well, it caught on fire. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong and it was just an accident. But maybe it was something I did. It was just supposed to be the normal setting the fuse and watching the fireworks. But the house caught on fire.
I watched through the telescope as we all do when setting the fireworks. As soon as I saw the flames, I rushed to the house and put them out with the hose. It went out quickly, but still some damage. I have to show up and tell everyone the house is ruined. How embarrassing. I go over it again and again in my mind. And tell the story again and again. The insurance people will want to hear it of course.
As usual, I went to the front of the house to set the fuse. I yanked the cord over the garage door to set it. This time, maybe I pulled the cord too hard? Maybe it was too long because I pulled it too hard? Was it in the wrong spot? Was it lying across the garage door because it was too long? Was that what I did wrong? I am embarrassed. I don’t want it to be my fault. Then I went back to the telescope to watch. But the flames started in the back of the house, not the front. They lapped around the cast iron stove.
Everyone is whispering. The worst part is my car. They warn me of the damage. From the back it looks okay, but as I walk to the front I see it. The hood is ruined; you can see the layer below the recall-fix. The insides are seeping out. The engine is peeping out. My stomach hurts seeing the injured car and I cry. The worst part – is it all my fault?
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