Wildfire

I wrote this when I was really young

This is the first drought in ninety nine years. The ground is slowly blowing away in clouds of dust. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky, much less a drop of rain. I’m walking to the stables to feed my pony, sending sand flying with every step. When I get there, my pony, Weed, seems frightened. He rolls his eyes wildly and occasionally stomps or whinnies. I can’t see why, so I ignore it and continue scooping oats into his trough. As I’m walking back I stop to gaze at the forest of thin trees two miles away.
“Those trees look like french fries,” I say to myself. Then I see a flicker of red light. “Is that ketchup to go with my french fries?”
I laugh nervously. The light is bigger now, and orange, as well as red. Then I realize: it’s a wildfire!
Now colorful flames are leaping up at the forest trees like hungry lions after prey. They flicker and snarl, eagerly climbing towards the sky. The angry flames suddenly change direction and rush at me, ferocious as a dragon. A tumbleweed sweeps toward town, fire dancing around it. The sky is orange and taunting. The fire is tearing past me, to the town, and soon the little village is engulfed in flames.
“No!” the word screams in my head, but I ignore it and keep running. I’m a good mile from my house when I get an idea. I turn and I’m in the stables in seconds. I grab Weed, not even thinking to get ready.
I’m riding bareback, but I don’t care how dangerous it is. It’s not half as dangerous as the fire. Weed knows just what to do, and he does it even though he’s scared.
“The town!” I shout. “Come on, Weed.” I urge him on. Now that we’re in the town, I realize how dangerous this situation really is. I don’t think it could ever be worse. Flames lick at Weed’s hooves; people are screaming and running. Weed is big for a pony, huge in fact. He can carry two people at once! My brother runs past.
“Wait!” I yell at him. He pauses and looks at me. “Take Weed and save all the people you can. I’ll get the other horses,” But by the time I get to the stables, all the horses are gone. Their things too. O hope the people saved this stuff and didn’t steal it.
“Then I’ll take groups of people out of this mess instead,” I say to myself. I sprint outside. “COME ON, LET”S GET OUT OF HERE!!!”
Many people hear me and follow my lead out of town. Soon nearly everyone is a mile from town. Weed and the other horses, too, but some, including Weed, are burnt. Weed’s burnt badly. Very badly. I fish in my pocket for my cell phone. When I find it I call 911. They’re here almost immediately.

Now it’s finally over. Only a few people died and no horses. Except Weed. But Weed died saving people. He was a noble horse.
Anyway, now that the drought’s over we have rain. Sweet, fresh, rain. We received a donation of $10,500 that we plan to use to rebuild our town. Now it’s over. And I don’t have to worry.