The gloom of the town was barely overcome by the squealing sound of an accordion player on the corner of Brook Street. Sagging houses and beaten shops resented the sad attempt of making light. Gray people with tired, worn faces walked slowly down the cracked sidewalk holding their ripping briefcases. Ignoring the instrument's wailing tune.

The trees that lined the walk provided no shade with their leafless charred branches. Ebony looked up at them imagining gruesome skeleton hands reaching from their graves. dry flesh peeling from their bones. Grasping for one last taste of life.

Looking onward, Ebony Hope reminded herself of what she was doing. She needed to face the thing she had been avoiding ever since the fire. She needed to go back to Hope Park and relive the horrifying scene and find closure.

The closer to the park she got, the more the road blackened and the more devastating, imploded homes she saw. Their frames seared by the sharp flames forcing them to lose their strength and collapse inward on their occupants.

Ebony almost hit the breaks when the dented iron sign came into view. The words "Hope Park" were barely visible in the fading black paint.

Throwing her bike down on the muddy, crisped grass Ebony skidded to a stop and ran for the sign. And now, Ebony looked over the vast field of burned playground equipment. Crackling stumps with nothing left to give.

Ebony looked out at her father's park and began to remember the fire.