the end of home

I was in the two family homes of my childhood, somehow both at the same time. I threw several pairs of black stockings into the corners of a few rooms and each pair burst into flames. The homes were on fire. Furious orange tongues licked the walls, fire raging through the houses. I searched the rooms, trying to find something precious to take with me. I asked myself what I treasured most and I decided upon only one thing: family. I found my phone, my connection to the ones I love, and texted my brother. A terrible storm hit the houses and rain sheeted down into the rooms, now open to the sky, quenching the flames. The houses flooded. High, powerful waters washed away all that had been. Memories, possessions, walls and all traces of our lives in the two homes were gone.