Childhood Memory

A childhood memory put into better perspective.

It was a Monday morning.
A day that would change everything.
I was four years old at the time. 
Sitting, as usual, on the red couch in the living room.
Watching my favorite cartoon, Tome and Jerry.
Jerry had just escaped Tom's grasp like always.
My mother taking her morning shower.
My sister just off to school.
Clutching my stuffed horse, laughing at the show in front of me.
Innocence.
I had no idea what would go on in the next few minutes.

Chaos erupted when when smoke poured from my bedroom and in kitchen behind me.
I look up.
Curious.
No matter mama will fix it.
But I was wrong.
Smoke filled the air.
Choking, I hold my stuffed horse tighter.
My mother bursts from her bedroom calling my name.
I don't answer, as usual, I never did.
She rushes up to me minutes later.
I stare wondering why is her face tear stained?
"Mama" I choke out smoke filling my tiny body up.
Mother pics me up, stuffed horse still in my arms.
She runs through the house.
Reaching the door she kicks it open.
She calls gamie and papa.
Why?
She places my on the roof of the car.
I stare at the flames that had engulfed our use to be home.
My great grandmothers home.
My home.
My mother is crying harder now.
Even hours later when the big red trucks had showed up.
I just stare.
Sister is walking home from school.
She sees the mess and turns around crying running off.
I watch her bewildered at her sobs.
My soon to be pre-k teacher comes up to me and puts her hand on my shoulder.
"Morgan?" She says worriedly. 
I haven't said a word the entire time.
I turn and look at her confused at her tears.
"Morgan are you alright dear?" 
I nod my head yes, why wouldn't I be?
"You don't understand do you?" She says looking at me sadly.
I do, it's a fire.
why would I understand?
I nod my head yes.
"You do?"
Another nod of the head.
"Morgan aren't you upset?" 
This time I nod a no.
She looks at me confused.
Then she whispers as she walks away.
Something I'm not meant to hear.
"Dear little Morgan, what do you see that we don't?"
I look at my small hands, black from smoke.
Then I whisper.
When the fires gone, the only ones left is my still crying sister and my comforting mother.
"Mama. Why is sister crying?"
But it was to late by then.
Little did I know that day changed everything.

Author's Note

This is actually a true story for me.