My house was burning down and I ran through the halls bellowing as loud as I could, banging on doors to make sure that everyone was out. My mother, my older brother, my sister and a friend were all I found, were all that was home. But as soon as I had brought them out, my family would charge back in, after some item of note, some linens or jewelry, baseball cards or clothes. And each time they did I pulled them back out. I screamed and I threatened that if they went in again I’d leave them there. “Black smoke!” I cried, “there’s black smoke in there!” The kind that kills with just one breath. But in they went, and I too, after some grumbling and panic I entered my burning house. Soon I found my brother, sprawled out on the floor, passed out, I prayed he wasn’t dead I broke through the basement door, dragged him out, careful not to bang his head, and as soon as I had revived him, in again he went. And strangers started passing by inquiring about the wreckage while I pulled out my family and their belongings so they would not need to go in themselves, choking all the while on the smoke that from the fire that was taking my house, I don’t recall anything more, I must have passed out, grabbing some knickknack, some precious valuable, I’m laying there still, burning away, and no one is dragging me out.
18,000lbs of CO2