The sky lit up, and the flames rose above the elevator - the yellows turning deeper, darker, orange, gold, blending with the colors of the late summer sunset before cooling to blue and easy violet over the eastern horizon.
Smoke, you could smell it, Paul could, as he walked back into the fields, between the haystacks to their haystack, which overlooked the town and the whole valley. He sat, and he could see the fire engine and ambulance lights blinking around the elevator. He could see street lights, porch lights, and lights in living rooms and upstairs bedrooms dotting the town. He could see the high school - its parking lot lights brighter than anything except the fire. And farther away from town, he couldn’t see anything. The lights faded. Paul faded, laying back first on his elbows, then on his folded arms. Then it all went dark.
Night really is black on the plains.
Hours later, Paul awoke. He watched the smoke rise for a while, stood up, and brushed off his pants. He walked to the highway, and along it for miles, to a truck stop. His wallet was at home, but he had a few dollars in his back pocket, so he bought a diet 7-Up and a Bit-o-Honey. The driver behind him in line was chatting with the cashier and mentioned Labor Day - how he could make it to New York City and back by then.
Paul asked for a ride.
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