This was when the world was burning.

This was when the red fire of the east coast danced a cross-continental Lambada with the yellowed smoke of the west.

This was when the screams of Boston sounded like the screams of Atlanta sounded like the screams of Texas sounded like the screams of Idaho and everyone burned the same.

This was when skin boiled, flaked, and flew into the skies to mix with the ash and sparse rain that never seemed to be enough.

This was when the Sun’s settings and risings were at their most vibrant, but no one had the time to stop and watch for fear of being gobbled up by its clumsy, earthly protégé.

This was when everyone’s lips cracked and when sleeping in a full bathtub seemed logical.

This was when everyone ran towards the middle of the country, clamoring over mountains and soon-to-be dry rivers.

This was when we saw an untouched field of wheat as a danger instead of a way to feed.

This was when the roads clogged with automobiles full of gasoline, dormant and laying like a wet wick across the world ready to be lit by the fires on either end.

This was when the explosions, like firecrackers, started in Santa Barbara and Miami and didn’t sleep until the last car had been kissed with flame in Topeka weeks later.

This is when we could’ve seen flaming highways from the heavens.

This was when we thought hiding out in the open fields was our best solution.

This was when we understood real fear and ran away together.

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