On the twelfth of July, I came home to a fire.
A big part of the place we live was cane. A feeble imitation of bamboo, it’s invasive and it swallowed most of our land up.
Onthe twelfth of July, three teenage boys wanted to take pictures of fire. They came with their lighter and their cameras, and they almost tore my world apart.
If the wind had been blowing in a different direction, my home could have burned down.
On the twelfth of July, my dad received a call from my mother. She was hysterical, and said the four words that made our worst fear a reality: “The cane’s on fire.”
When we got home, all of my senses were attacked. I saw flames, heard the cane exploding, and smelled the smoke.
I’ve never cried from fear before, but that day I just disintegrated.
I had no control over…
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