My only siter, Kellie, lives on the coast, I live a long way inland. But she knows I love the water, so she sends me pictures all the time.

She just sent me a picture of a storm rolling in over the ocean. I video called her straight away. “Hey sis, what’s up?” she answered, her bubbly face filling the screen.

“You have rain and the ocean! Look out my window, no ocean, no rain, no water! Move so I can see.”

“Do you want to watch the storm with me?”

“Of course!” My sister sat down on a bench and put her phone down beside her and together we talked while watching the storm roll in.

It didn’t take long until the storm was on top of us. I watched the trees sway, the water splash on the bench in front of her phone and the bright flashes of lightning fill the skyline. Compared to the inland desert the contrast was immense.

As the next crack of lightning flashed on my screen, the lights in my room flickered. Then it happened again, and this time my room shook. “Kellie, something wierd just happened.”

Kellie didn’t answer, in fact I hadn’t seen her since she put the phone down. The lightning flashed again, my lights flickered and for a second my video flashed too.

“Kellie, are you still there?” Then another flash of lightning flashed across my whole screen, my video too. And after flikering a few times my lights went out.

“Kellie, I’m going to hang up now. Bye.” I hung up, but my lights were still out and the room still echoed thunder. Then I felt a hand on my neck.

“Hey sis, what’s up?”

Fire in my head, fire on my bed.
Fire in my television, fire without reason.
Fire in my heart, fire on my cart.
Fire in my chair, fire on my hair.
Fire in my shoe, fire on my loo.
Fire in my kitchen, time to cook chicken!
Fire in my fridge, fire on my poridge.
Fire in my pool, now that isn’t cool.
Fire in my house, fire on my mouse.
Fire in my home care, fire everywhere.
I like fire, it lifts my spirit higher.

Our housemate Gary burst through the door shouting, “119! 119!” We stood motionless in the kitchen, shocked at the urgency of Gary, but not understanding the situation.

The street was filled with shouting, menacing people dressed in black charging towards us with sticks, rocks and knifes.

I woke from my inactivity and dialed 911.

I found Gary in the loungeroom as the Emergency Call Operator answered. “What’s your emergency?”

I handed the phone to Gary, “Police,” he said calmly, “16 Damino Avenue. Let’s read.” He put the phone on the coffee table and started reading aloud, “Joyful are people of integrity, who follow the instructions of the Lord…”

Throughout the week I notice things to write about, but often I forget by Tuesday.

Meaning that I generally have no idea where my idea will come from.

Does my help come from the mountains? Maybe it does, I might find a story about a guy who climbs a mountain, and when he reaches the top, the volcano explodes.

Can I watch over my idea? Maybe I can, I might write a story about a serial killer who always kills with a pocket watch. Passing time is the culprit.

Can someone avoid sleep? Yes and no. If only life were that simple. An afternoon nap would forever be a matter of death and life.

Question my technique again and I’ll question you!?.