Summer Snow

You look outside. Ah, it's snowing! But look closer. Those are not snowflakes falling from the sky. What is it snowing at your house?

     I sigh dejectedly as I close the book I’ve just finished. I cannot tell if I am becoming more cynical or if the standards for modern fiction are simply not what they once were; regardless, I look out the window to see if I can glean any meaning from the outside world. It’s been hazy and overcast on and off for the past few days, so I’m not surprised to see relative gloom beyond the glass. At first glance, nothing is different, but after a moment it registers that the sky isn’t the natural blue or grey that it should be �" it’s a deep and searing shade of orange. Startled and confused, I stand up and move hastily to the window to investigate. To add to my shock, it seems to be snowing �" in the middle of July, no less. My brow wrinkles in confusion as I press one hand to the glass in front of me and attempt to look further up, though it’s an exercise of futility thanks to the eave of the roof.

     I don’t register the temperature of the glass until it hurts.

     I yank my hand back in confusion and pain, crying out in alarm. Even on the hottest of summer days, the windows have never burned me before. I cradle my hand to my chest as I ponder my next move. The obvious choice is not the most intelligent, but the smartest choice wouldn’t bring me any answers. And besides, no one knows me for my intelligence anyhow.

     I open the door and step outside.

     Immediately I’m greeted with a faceful of dry, scorching air. My eyes sting and water in reaction, and I choke on my first searing breath. I yank my shirt up over my nose, hoping for relief and instantly receiving disappointment. I swipe frantically at my eyes as I continue out onto the deck, holding my hand out to catch some of the “snow.” I should have known what it was from the beginning, the gray flakes that sting my eyes and throttle my airways. The inferno that rages and surrounds my house was invisible to me from the window, but it’s painfully obvious as soon as I’ve stepped outside. The RV park behind the house, all the neighbors, every piece of foliage that defined my home burns before my eyes. I should have known that it can’t snow in July, in the middle of wildfire season.

     The ashes of my home rain around me, and I can only watch helplessly as everything goes up in smoke.

Author's Note

I bought a book of writing prompts, so I decided to post what I write in response to some of them. These are meant to be written in one sitting and without much revision or editing. Prompt is in the description of the story.