It didn't occur to us

The task was simple. 1) Build a fire. 2) Collect our possessions around the fire, so that the fire might keep our possessions warm.

Our possessions were: 1) a small gold statue; 2) a package; 3) some matches; 4) a sneaker. There were some other things, but those first four were the really important possessions, which we had to keep warm. There was also an alarm clock and a tray table, but it was not necessary to keep these possessions warm.

Our room was very cold. The radiator had broken because I had thrown a brick at it. The brick was not counted among our possessions; I had pried it loose from the fireplace in the center of the room.

We found a place near the windows (but not right below the windows—this was important, to ensure the fire would not blow soot onto the glass or the walls) to start the fire. We gathered up whatever straw and dirt and twigs we could find on the floor and piled them up in the chosen spot, and then scattered our possessions around the fire, with the ones we needed to keep warm the most given the best spots right up front. We did not start the fire in the fireplace. A reason for this might have been that by starting the fire in the middle of the floor (not the middle of the room, but I just mean to say we started it on a spot on the floor that was not surrounded by any walls) is that the heat might be distributed in a full circle, so that more of our possessions would be warmed. But the truth was, starting the fire in the fireplace never occurred to us.

I had thrown the brick at the radiator because it had been making a clanking sound. CLANK CLANK CLANK, while I was trying to sleep. The brick made an even louder clanking sound when it hit the radiator, so I only did it the once.

We had some gasoline. A very little bit, since all we needed was a very little fire—you know those little plastic bubbles you get in bending machines with little rings or bouncy balls or whatever inside? It was one of those, filled with gasoline. N. tried to open it and the gasoline was spilled all over the sneaker. So we decided to put the sneaker into the center of the circle with the rest of the fire stuff.

The matches—I pulled one out and N. put the rest of them into the center of the circle with the rest of the fire stuff.

I lit the match by scraping it against a brick I had pried loose from the fireplace (not the same brick I threw at the radiator; I had flushed that one down the garbage disposal). It took a few tries. I snapped it in half and had to work with half a match.

When the match was lit, I threw it on the fire pile, which now contained: 1) the sneaker; 2) the gasoline; 3) the matches; 4) the flammable detritus we had found on the floor. Something (most likely the gasoline), was more flammable than we had counted on. There was an explosion with no sound. There was a large dent in the digital alarm clock, which I had foolishly left close to the fire, even though it did not need to be warmed. I pulled it away and threw it across the room.

The flames were tall and thin and polite. They jumped from the circle to the tray table (which also did not need to be warmed, but which I also foolishly left close to the fire) and then stayed basically constant, without growing or shrinking, about 18” tall, quiet, skinny as pencils. The color was a light, dull orange, almost yellow, as if a normal fire had been pulled up and stretched.

Our landlord, who lived on the floor below us, began beating on his ceiling/our floor with a broom. I felt the small gold statue, and it was still mostly cold.

There was a knock at the door, and T. answered it. It was a fireman holding a fire extinguisher, but he was also holding a clipboard and wearing a sash that said "CENSUS BUREAU." The lights of his fire truck fell across the floor, filtered through the sooty windows.

“I am a lonely government census taker. How many people live here?”

“Four,” N. estimated (she was close, if not right on the money).

“How many fires live here?”

“None.”

The fireman frowned, then hit N. across the bridge of the nose with his fire extinguisher. I tackled him and wrapped him up in the comforter. He squirmed, and then I punched him and punched him until he stopped squirming, and then I looked inside the blanket and found a little yellow fire, which I carefully picked up and placed in a little pot of soil on the windowsill, and you have to water it every day, even if you get home from work and you’re tired and you just want to enjoy your nice warm possessions.