Four Alarm Fire

Many walk past the painting of the burning building each day. Each would stop, ponder on its meaning, maybe apply it to their own lives, and them would move on to the next painting. Although each passer-by would have their own interpretations of the story behind the fire, each could not deny the reality of the painting. The colors blazed off the canvas, the flames come to life and the fear spoke volumes. No words could describe it.

His heart was broken that day, the man who painted this. He was not a fire fighter. He was an ordinary man with an ordinary life. He was happily married to a beautiful girl. They had just moved in to the tall, red brick building on 73rd street a month before the accident. No one saw the dreams and lives of many to be taken coming. The flames moved quickly to the 7th level. He was working late that night. He was 2 blocks away from his home when the sirens began to scream. His heart began to race when he realized the red fire truck was headed in the same direction as his wife. He can't go in and she's not out. All he could do was watch. The fire blazed with rich colors and fear penetrated him like a thousand bullets.

He didn't know he was a painter until he painted out of anger and sorrow. He wanted everyone who would see the painting, to be engulfed and taken to that awful day. The man in the painting is not actually there but, an illusion of you or me watching the fire come to life off the canvas.

This is Me...

Hello, my name is Jane. Jane Austen. I live in Yorkshire, England. I'm 18 years old and live on my own. I feel I have grown so much from being on my own. I've learned a lot about my self and things I am capable of. See, I love to write. Writing is my passion. So much inspiration has come to me from the experiences I have shared with myself. My writing has never been better. I have been able to reach way down into my soul and really get to know my inner self.

With the distractions of my younger siblings at home, I was unable to focus and the only things that had shown through my writing was frustration and chaos. I didn't like that side of myself, so I had to get away for a bit. Don't get me wrong, I love my family but it was time to find myself.

Love hasn't quite yet found me but through my writing I find love. I find passion and I express it through my words. Words that I can't say out loud, I find easier to say in the words on the paper. I love telling my story and the stories of my imagination.