The Fire The wind was blowing steadily towards the Clark house . . . By Frank I. Sillay
I’ve lived here on the farm literally all my life. I was even born in this house. There was a time when it was bustling with people; Mum, Dad, and all the kids, but now there’s only me, and I’m an old woman now. I never married. I always did everything I had time to do, but what with helping with the younger kids, chores on the farm, and looking after Mum and Dad as they got older, there just never was room for romance, or a family of my own. I don’t know how my whole life just slipped away without my noticing. There are only two houses on this road, mine, and the one next door, where the Clarks used to live. Because we’re so far from the main power lines, with no other houses on the way, the cost of hooking up electricity was always prohibitive, so I’ve always operated with kerosene lamps. The Clark house is only about thirty yards away, and back when both houses were full of life, it had the feeling of a little village, but
