Prompt: What you would run out of the house with if your house caught on fire? (from “642 Things to Write About“, by the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto)

It was 3:17 am when I woke up suddenly out of a deep sleep. Again. This was the third night in a row this had happened and I figured that my brain was just registering someone next door coming home from a late work shift. Annoyed, I flipped onto my stomach to get comfortable, but then I realized tonight felt different. There was a charge in the air that hadn’t been there the past two nights. And something smelled funny. An electrical or ozone smell – like when lightening strikes close. At 3:19 am I heard a crack and a loud explosion of wood. I looked outside the bedroom window and saw the enormous 100 year old oak tree that covered as much of my house as the yard next door in which it lived, burst into flame.

I didn’t know how long I had to get to safety before the limbs weakened and fell on the roof, so I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall – hoping the cat would follow me.

I’ve always been pretty good in the dark, even though my night vision sucks. Intuitively I knew where each doorway began and ended, the number of steps to the kitchen. I reached my desk where I kept my cell phone and dialed 911. I explained that my house was about to catch on fire, hurriedly gave the operator the address, and hung up. I had nothing to do but gather what few items I could and race out the front door, hoping the fire department could save my home from total destruction.

Looking around my neatly organized space in a panic I tried to decide what to save first. The cat and rabbit, of course, needed to be escorted to safety, but after that, my mind was a total blank. Suddenly, a dead calm came over me and I realized that I had very little control over what I could rescue. If I had time to prepare – like when they issue a weather or wildfire warning – I could carefully curate the items that would fit into my old Subaru Outback. Things like handmade quilts stitched together by my deceased grandma. The recipe cards written by my other two deceased grandmas. My cookbooks – which had taken over 40 years to collect. Photos. Journals. Heirlooms. Irreplaceable items. Clothing. Toiletries. Prescriptions. Practical items.

But the flames were here now and I could smell smoke. I guessed that sparks had reached the roof and my home was beginning to smolder, possibly only seconds away from bursting into flame. I alternately cursed and grieved the neighbors tree that now threatened my home.

I slipped on a pair of old flip flops, picked up the rabbit in his cage and ran to the end of the driveway, placing him out of harms way. Quickly, I ran back inside and grabbed a  messenger bag. The smoke was thicker now, causing my eyes to water. I unhooked the external hard drive connected to my desktop computer and shoved it inside the bag with my laptop and cell phone. I scooped up the cat and raced out the front door just before I heard a large limb of the oak tree collapse on my bedroom.

My house was on fire and I heard sirens in the distance, my ability to control the situation going up in flames.