Jason L. Huskey writes poetry and fiction. His work has appeared in a few journals, including Keyhole Magazine, Thieves Jargon, Word Riot, and Zygote in My Coffee. Links to his work can be found at jasonlhuskey.wordpress.com. He lives in Virginia.
Into fire they walk—eyes wide in shallowed breath. A first-story
window bursts into a handful of shards as they begin the search.
Screams scatter along hisses. A baby wails from the stairway, as they
find her mama turned off like an old doll. First to the body, first
to exit hell. As though he’s saved mankind. She’s heavier than the
practice dummies—his frame crumpling slightly as he twists out of the
house. Men gather to gather her; hands busy to revive. And just
outside I watch the house crumble into a new kiln of hell. A wreck
some force themselves to climb—fingers out-dancing the flames—to dig
and dig until they discover hard breaths, or recover the still wind
off the fallen chests.