FIRE 

By Tessa Harvey

    It is early evening. Dad comes out of our back door. He stands there in his grey shirt and baggy trousers. Today he is wearing his old braces. He pulls at the left one, then the right and lets go. Both red plaids, braces twang back into position.
    "Ok, up there, Ellie," he yells in my direction.
    "All clear dad," I answer loudly, feeling proud, perched up in the hay loft. There is one grimy window.
    No fires have been reported near us, but it is harvest time and dad is worried. At eleven years old, I am entrusted to do the first watch. Dad goes inside.
    Pools of yellow from the window puddle the ground. Baby Joe is yelling for his supper.
    Stars are beginning to appear like silver sparkles glittering in the shiny sky. It is so peaceful. I lean forward on an old musty haybale and begin to dream. It is Eddy's birthday. We have been climbing and bouncing at a Sports Centre in town.

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