The Fire Took Everything

The fire took everything.  In hearing this, some would pat me on the shoulder, bend their head to the ground and say, “I’m so very sorry.  This is a terrible terrible thing.”  Yes, there would no doubt be many people to comfort me, wish me well, and have pity on me.  But I’m asking you now.  Please don’t be one of these people.  The fire took everything and it’s a very good thing.  You see, for years I poured over unfinished manuscripts, quick sketches on napkins, and countless notebooks with countless notes.  I kept them all is if they were some sort of gift from God, Himself, meant to someday fill the pages of a great book I would no doubt write.  With sad pleasure I took on the role of struggling artist.  I looked at my collection of thoughts as living proof that I was some sort of thinker, and that the day would come when people would finally come to understand what a great thinker I actually was, and I imagined them trying to decipher my notes and sketches as they would Da Vinci.  In addition to the hoarding of my thoughts (which actually weren’t my thoughts at all) I hoarded objects.  An empty aquarium my wife used to play with hours on end.  I never got pleasure out of maintaining an aquarium, but I kept it in my living room, as if someday my wife would come back and need to use it.  I kept toys that were my daughter’s when she was just a toddler, as if she had never grown up, and would someday come to my house and need a little something to pass the time.  No, the fire took everything, and it was a very good thing indeed, for now I have nothing.  So I can finally tell you my story.