Fire

I am a fire.

I don't really remember how I came,

I just remember the first thing I caught was red, then brown.

I was placed on paper which I went on easily, then splinters of wood.

I was in a metal box, its door left open, a trail of bits of wood leading,

to the living room.

I caught easily in there,

then the humans screamed.

I travelled to the wall, then broke out.

Outside was dry, dry and dry,

it was perfect for me.

I grew bigger and bigger.

I loved it.

I soon became a bushfire.

People in red sprayed me, but I didn't go out,

I was called the Black Summer.

Trees are still dead four years later because of me,

people died because of me.

I know my parents are proud and so am I.