The fire and the jumping doll.

It was early morning Friday, when fire sirens assaulted my smooth running pace. A fire down Hope Street was bursting savagely and even from a few hundred meters I could see the flames flare up like a ferocious volcano at the break of dawn.

 

I ran faster to have a closer look: a fence of tightly aligned policemen was surrounding firm, confident fire fighters who were trying to convince a teenage girl to jump. “She lives on the ground floor, but she had to run up 9 stories to be able to escape the climbing fire”. I heard someone say.

I could feel her tension and her vertigo. I too, would be bloody afraid. I closed my eyes and prayed incessantly until I heard the crowd awe and clap. I caught a glimpse of the girl just before she touched the safety trampoline: she looked like a human-sized porcelain doll landing blissfully on a cloud of human compassion.