When I was six, I burned down our house.
Okay, that's a lie.
I burned down the living room.
Sarah is thirty-two and lives with her husband, Bernie (his real name is Steve) and her two children, Marley and Ellen. Since she isn't allowed to go anywhere near anything that burns, when a recent tragedy in their town threatens not only her family but the rest of her people, does Sarah listen to her boundaries or does she trust her instincts?
Will Sarah act out? Will she save her town, or


When I was six, I burned down our house.

Okay, that’s a lie.

I burned down the living room.

The latter, though I have spent many days since pretending it is, is not unfortunately untrue. From the day when my dad’s beloved bookcase was reduced to ashes and my mother’s collector’s editions of Elle were frazzled, my parents have confiscated all things flammable. I am not allowed candles and I am not allowed to smoke, just in case by some wildly imaginative warp of the worlds I drop a cigarette on the carpet and the entire street goes up in flames. I’m not even allowed to help light the wood-burner in winter.

All this would be understandable if it weren’t for the fact that I am now thirty-two and have been living a respectable five hours away from my parents ever since I was old enough to drink beer.

The End

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