Goofy: A Narrative Fiction

The author of Brush Fire establishes a soothing and poetic tone. Thomas’s choice of words and the diction of the essay reveals this. Throughout Thomas’s essay, she views the wildfires in Santa Ana as “an amazing sight” and “gorgeously beautiful.” “On this evening, neighbors have arrived, too, their dogs and children in tow. Some have brought soft drinks. Most have cameras...” (Thomas). Thomas describes her neighbors admiring the wildfires to show how others also glamorize something destructive. On the other hand, The Santa Ana has more serious and dramatic tone. Instead of viewing the wildfires as beauty, Didion shares her experience as “uneasy” and “makes people unhappy.” In Didion’s essay, she mentions how the Santa Ana wildfires are destructive and creates a depressing atmosphere to the area. She also includes statistics of where and when the wildfires struck the southern parts of California. Both Didion and Thomas’s choices of words are used in order to demonstrate the tone they are attempting to convey, whether the Santa Ana winds were sinister or graceful

The memoir contains a number of other fires that claim houses, sheds, and injure other characters. Fire is said to represent a trend of chaos that is both natural and staged by man. The theme of fire relates closely to other themes concerning nature and pollution that

The flames, as though they were a kind of wildlife, crept as a jaguar creeps on its belly toward a line of birch-like saplings that fledged an outcrop of the pink rock. They flapped at the first of the trees, and the branches grew a brief foliage of fire. The heart of flame leapt nimbly across the gap between the trees and then went swinging and flaring along the whole row of them. Beneath the capering boys a quarter of a mile square of forest was savage with smoke and flame. The separate noises of the fire merged into a drum-roll that seemed to shake

Oh how the flames have changed. No longer did the flames signify destruction, eating away at the pages that had once shaped society as we know it. No longer did the flamethrower clenched in a fireman’s fist burn the ideals that make us people. No longer did they dash the hopes, the dreams, of man. Fire, which was one demolition and violence, is now hope.

The fire is nature’s way of returning the house to where it came from. Despite the house’s efforts to fight it without the help of man, time ends, and nature

“I couldn't joke about the person who'd saved me from facing absolute heartbreak at home, who fed my family boxes of sweets,who ran to me worried that I was hurt if I asked for him. A month ago, I had looked at the TV and seen a stiff, distant, boring person-someone I couldn't imagine anyone loving. While he wasn't anything close to the person I did love, he was worthy of having someone to love in his life.”

The smell of burning flesh is repugnant. It lingers on every street corner, on every piece of cloth, in every shallow breath. The sky is red. Glowing through black clouds that are heavy with the ashes of those who have stopped screaming. More than three thousand tonnes of high explosive bombs are dropped. Again. Again. Again. Just like dust caught in a sunbeam, the ash swirls a slow descent. The air pulls in. Pauses. Pressure building. The blood in your veins almost recoils, your brain bruised in your skull. A moment of vertigo. Then nothing but noise. Loud. Angry. Ringing. And pain, so much pain. Screams rise, the crescendo approaches. Hellfire rips through the buildings, the sky, the people, your heart. This city is a firestorm.

Smoke billowed into the air, shrouding everything in darkness. The village homes, once lively and full of love, now are demolished and engulfed in the flames of death. The dragon spewed bright orange inferno which devoured everything in its path. The beast, flying in and out of the blanket of darkness, displayed its wings that obscured the stars, which normally radiated incandescent light. Villagers could see that it would not stop until their whole world was reduced to ash. Light from the fire illuminated the creature’s hateful face; its scales shadowed with the color of ripe plums, glowed violet in its luminous destruction, eyes beaming a malevolent crimson, specks of gold in the iris flicked like the treasure it so viciously collected. Its scornful intentions could be seen in the reflection of the conflagration it had so wickedly constructed.

It was another beautiful Sunday, dry, this young man just got out of church, and he got a page that there has been a fire. Leaving immediately he would never have prepared himself for the long night ahead of him. Arrived at the station and opened the doors this young man texted his mother telling her he was headed to a fire, things were going by so quickly. As the time progressed, all he could do is make sure the flames didn’t continue to spread, with nothing but boots, and a backpack sprayer full of water to put out the flames that were stretching for as far as the eye could see, not but knee high yet the effect it had mentally was petrifying. Through the trees and debris he could see flames as high as the trees, except there were no trees, what once was close to two hundred acres of trees has now been turned to ash by an extremely dangerous force. After all the men had left at about four in the morning, trying to sleep was impossible, he was worn, tired, couldn’t breathe because of smoke inhalation, and the images of the destruction caused by a single flame were haunting him. Silently he realized the true dangers of flames. He

Deep down, I knew that pain was obviously inevitable from the start. Even though it’s been years, and even if I forget her face one day, . . . I hope that she finds the happiness that she’s given me. Even through times that I’ve been alone, it feels as if she’s still here with me along with the soft rumbling of the train station. Even if I can’t see her, at least I know she’s been happy with me. I want to dream of her once again, but she’ll never know. After all, she’ll only ever see me as a simply ordinary . . . wooden

“I was in a fire. I remember the crackling sound it made when as it heated up the wooden walls and ceiling. It was intense, the heat; the size

The colors are astonishing. No longer does green dwell the trees. It seems the entire world is on fire. The bright yellow has mingled with the orange to create small flames, flickering from the branches of trees. They fall to the ground and ignite the earth. It has been said before that fire is pure and cleans everything it touches. It takes something broken and dead and gives it one last spurt of beauty. One last goodbye before it leaves forever. The bed of the fire is a deep blue, so searing it burns any who come near. The heat makes my eyes water and stings my uncovered face. I want to get as close as possible. To see the embers be swept with the glorious reds and royal blues. The heat is

Looking back, I’ve only been able to hiccup sad moments. Out of of nowhere the loss of what little good I had was destroyed. Its taken years of life’s cocktail to understand how much I play in everything. Half of what I do, half of what I say, half of who I am, mixed with a person’s half, with a person’s heart, with a person’s soul and together we mix, or don’t mix. We experience each other, like facets mirroring back. In retrospect of this, I’ve arrived and been okay. I have arrived and been disappointed. I have arrived and realized all too soon. I have arrived and not realized soon enough. None of these scenes are as predictable as they sound, all of which come about in the nuances of time spent together. Sometimes,

The sun is beaming down on I and coppers face as we take our daily walk, on the ocean shore in Florida. The sun is a bright yellow surrounded with a blue sky, filled with clouds. The sand is stretched alongside I and cooper; white and clear. Only my foot prints and coopers paw prints left behind. The sand is very soft. My feet and coopers paws sink into it with every step. The salty ocean air burns our noses. The waves sparkle and glitter from the sun beaming down on it. The ocean is a dark blue color with white caps as far as we can see. The waves our small. “Go get it Copper!” I yell throwing the stick into the the ocean. Cooper is a Labrador,he's been part of the family for 7 years now. Cooper catches my eyes , he's holding something that is shiny. I can't tell what it is with the sun in my eyes. It's most likely a can he's been bringing them back to shore lately. “Come on boy!” I yell out to him, trying to encourage him to swim faster. I can now see what Cooper is holding , I was right it's a can. For some reason I’m curious to find out whats in the can. As he's a few feet away from shore, I run to the edge of the water, the wind is blowing water across my ankles. “Which you got Cooper?” I ask him as he looses grip of the can, letting it fall on the sand. Coopers barking as I pick up the can. The cans label reads “ Del Monte Whole Kernel Corn”. I straggle to open the can led “It's sealed shut Cooper we have to wait until we get home to open it.” Water is dripping of

The glow from the fire shapes around his face, enhancing his beauty, the fire dances in his alluring eyes where I become lost.