English Essay

the fire alarms blared out a high pitched squeal. george lept from the seat of the computer, and dashed downstairs. it had seemed that it had been only a few moments that george had put in the chicken noodle soup into the pot, but obviously, he had misjudged. he had just gotten home from school. slamming the door, he dashed towards the innards of the house, and rushed up the stairs. he fell nearly all the way up, yelped in pain, and struggled to make it the rest of the distance. he could faintly hear his mom calling up to him that ¨he should have something to eat before it got too late.¨ george thought that it was a pain to cook something to eat when it was a few hours away from dinner, but none the less, he took the stairs downward 2 at a time, and pushed the doors out of the way to get to the kitchen. he decided on a ¨cambells chicken noodle soup," and started boiling the water on the electric stove. george flicked on the tv, feeling the rubber keys of the black remote as the screen shot into life. he was scanning through the channels, and decided that the water was at its boiling limit, and dumped in the can of soup. judging by the time it took to cook, he still had a good 4 minutes or so until the soup was done. perfect. he raced up the stairs again, this time not tripping at all, and started up the computer. as soon as it booted up, he was hooked. george was leisurely scanning through the website, his pupils constantly adjusting to the new pages that were opening up, his face pale from the glow of the computer monitor. he was entranced by it. completely entranced, and all thoughts cleared his mind as he hurriedly checked his email, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered that something was on the stove. george emailed back his friend, and navigated to a technology website, checking to see any new news that he had missed the day before. as he scanned the page of cnet.com, there was a faint aroma in the air. he couldn't quite place his finger on what it was, but whatever it was, there was something fishy to it. he pondered the thought a while longer, trying to recall where he had smelled it before, and judged that it was nothing. he pushed the chair towards the computer again, scanning through an article on the latest mp3 players. the fire alarms blasted out into a high pitched squeel. george lept up from his seat, frantically hopping down the stairs, trying to get to the entrance of the house. as he reached the kitchen, the only thing stopping him from getting out of the house safely and dialing 9-11 was the pot. he suddenly recalled that there was something that was cooking on the stove. his soup! and it was on fire. the entire pots insides appeared to be aflame, and george tried to remember what to do when a pot was burning. smother the flames. he grabbed the closest cleaning rag, and he tried to place it over the fire, when it too had caught. how dumb was he, forgetting to even wet the cloth. he hurriedly lurched for another cloth, soaking it into the sinks tap water, and flung it over the pot. the flame went down just enough to place the pot into the sink, and george slunked down beside the kitchen island, exhausted. but the fire didn't stop. he had forgotten about the cleaning rag. the rag that was also on fire. and it was already catching the wood of the cutting table. george grabbed the pot, now full of water, and threw it upon the cutting table. the fire went out. finally. now, george was left with a mess. the entire kitchen, and living room, was filled with thick black smoke. the fire alarms had still been going off the entire time, and he needed to get the flames out of the house in order to get them to stop. the water was dripping slowly off the kitchen counter, and it started to get soaked up by the rug. not good. he started with opening the windows and the front door. the smoke cleared a bit. next, to pass the time for waiting for the flame to go out, george started collecting paper towels to wipe up the water that had spilled everywhere. how was he going to explain what had happened to his parents when they got home_ george started again on the wiping down of the burn marks along the pot. this wasn't

going to be easy, he thought. the smell of the smoke still filled the air. the acidic, excrutiating smell of the black smoke, mixed in with the fire and the sopping wet rug was a tough enough task for him. it was time to get started.