For this piece, I had 15 minutes to write something including the five words firefighter, station, fuss, dictate, and think (which were selected by a Random Word Generator I found).
Firefighter Max was not having a good day.
First off, there was a fire. Yes, yes, yes, it was his literal job to fight fires, but usually he just got to hang around the station with his firefighter pals. They'd workout, joke, talk about weird things they'd found in wreckage, and even take turns cooking.
His job was usually no fuss--even though he was a first responder.
But today was not a usual day.
The alarm had rung at exactly 3:33am, which Max knew because he had jolted awake and immediately checked his watch.
Trouble always comes in threes, Mike said to himself. That's what his mother used to think anyways. Not that Max let his mother dictate his thoughts. Well, not anymore.
Back to the fire.
It was a roaring blaze, completely engulfing what used to be a quaint green house. It wasn't too big, but it was impressively old and somehow had managed to stay maintained all of these decades. The grass was even cut to the length the block had determined to be the best looking.
Max knew all of this because he recognized that house.
It's once lovely white trim was quickly turning to embers and ash, cascading down as the trim shocked and tumbled to the ground.
Max took a pause.
It was his mother's house.
It had been his house once. But that was a while ago.
The other firefighters rushed in and tried to quell the inferno, but it would be too late.
It had to be too late.
Max finished his momentary pause and then joined in the fray. He dutifully helped position the firehose and helped keep it in check as his team worked together to stop the flames.
In the end, Ahmad--one of Max's good firefighter friends--carried a limp body from the house. It was hard to tell what she had been wearing, she was so covered in soot. But it could have been a nightgown--or it could have been a dress that she'd wear to dinner.
Max stood stoic. That was his mother. She was no more.
One of the other firefighters--Delia, Max thought her name was--she was new to the station--saw that Max had frozen and asked him what was wrong.
Max's boss, Sharon, yanked Delia away and began to speak to her in a harsh tone that was above a whisper, but still hard to hear. Soon though, it became clear that everyone had learned whose house this was and whom Ahmad had retrieved.
Sharon made some calls, while Ahmad tried to comfort him. "I saw she had a fireplace--that was probably what got it started," Ahmad said matter-of-factly, which was how Ahmad usually operated.
Max nodded. "She never was good about smothering that fire before she fell asleep," Max lied.
He was initially confident that everything had gone just right. But, unfortunately, Max's boss was both hyper detail oriented and didn't like Max for some reason. Max could never figure out what her problem was. Maybe she reminded him too much of his mother--that was probably it--miserable hags the both of them. Out to ruin his life.
Anyways, his bloodhound of a boss did ultimately find the kerosene Max had stashed in his buddy Ahmad's locker. Max had forgotten that the receipt had stuck to the bottom of the cannister before he did that. He should've known things were going too well.
So now, Max was getting led away from the still smoldering house--that by all rights was his now--by police officers he had once thought of as friends. Hopefully, this wouldn't be enough to hold him. They hadn't found his mother's new will. At least, not yet. But Max wasn't too hopeful at that moment.
Like I said, Max was not having a good day.
(Prompt partially by me and partially by a Random Word Generator I found)
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