Love for arsonists?
Have you ever felt dirty for loving someone?
300+. That’s the new estimated death toll from the black Saturday bushfires in victoria. That’s 300 fathers, mothers, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters burnt to death as they tried to flee the advance march of hell. On top of this there are thousands and thousands of newly homeless families who have lost everything they own.
It makes me feel sick. I can’t stop seeing the pictures of roads filled with burnt out cars that couldn’t out run the fire. I imagine being one of the families who were never told it was coming. One moment I’m playing in the park with my fictional kids. Next minute, there’s smoke on the horizon. This doesn’t phase me until moments later flames appear… and grow, really fast. I grab the kids and head for the house, thinking I should check the news to find out what is happening. But I’m too slow. By the time I get home the street is filled with ambers. Houses are on fire. The smoke makes it impossible to breath. I grab my fictional wife and we get in my fictional 4WD. I strap my youngest kid into the child seat in the back. I drive, as fast as I can – but I can’t see, the windshield is full of ash. I open the window to stick my head out and smoke rushes into the car. The heat is unbearable.
I dodge flaming burning trees and debris from exploded houses. I make it onto a main road through the bush. I look backwards, and I see behind me the approaching wall of flame. I put my foot down, but it still gets closer. Drops of melted rubber begin to fly off my tires. My children are screaming. The fire gets closer. Damn, its fast. I look back to the road. I can’t see even a metre in front of me but still I speed. Suddenly, a log appears. I swerve. I hit a tree. The airbags go off. We’re trapped. The fire is so close….
