Everything Survived the Fire
We gazed upon the utter lack of devastation
This, two years ago via a conversation with Fred. The story is mostly his. The words are mine.
Everything survived the fire. In truth the flames were never visibly confirmed; fire was proclaimed rampant and we, in our newly wakened state, scrambled outside to flee the flames that we imagined would consume our souls at any moment. Only, like a child awaiting a punishment that never materializes, we stood outside, in our boxers and haphazard, mismatched shoes, and gazed upon the utter lack of devastation. There wasn't even smoke. Or any inkling of the shades one expects of fire.
The air did well to rouse our rational tendencies, and encouraged as we were by a total absence of any reinforcement of apocalyptic claims, we made bold forays back into our ground-floor apartment to rescue vast collections of LP's, hand-written stories, and bits of favored literature. Each trip inside involved a valiant leap over the porch gate and was followed by a hasty retreat from a fire that continued to reveal no outward signs of being.
Later we discovered that the opposite side of the building truly was aflame, and that a baby, heroically lowered by rope and basket, was spared the heat and flame.