Passion

Drive.

It’s something that we all have,

but some of us don’t know how

to use it.

Passion.

Also something we all have.

Both drive and passion go hand

in hand to make us who we are.

Some people express their passion

through food, or art work.

My passion is helping others.

Everyday I walk through the thick firey

flames.

I push through the

smoke,

which intoxicates me with every move

that I make.

I get buried in the unforgiving amounts of

soot.

I get back to the station, strip all my gear off.

It reeks of burning house and smoke. I look

down to see that my boots are covered in

mud because it was also raining.

My body is shaking, I’m soaking wet, and I

can no longer feel my hands because of the

vibrations of the hose.

I sit on the tailgate of engine 812 and remember

that I chose this. I chose to be the one.

I chose this.

This journey that I may never finish...

I may never come back to this station, or

my home,

or family,

ever again.

And I sit and tell myself that I chose this,

because my passion for helping others is

what I live for.

Because this kind of life means more to me

than any other kind of life.

Sitting there alone I remember

there are those who do the unthinkable,

and those who wait for your arrival.

I refuse to wait.

I bleed the blood of a brave soul.

I scream the words that you never hear.

I

am

silent.

You scream the words that I can’t ignore.

Help.

Save me.

My baby is still in there.

These are the words I crave.

I sit here on this dirty tailgate still

sweating. Breathing heavy. And

remembering your screams. Your cries.

I replay over and over the torturous memories

that you gave me because

I chose this.

My passion in life is to make your screams

as painless as possible.

I express my emotions in silence…

for you.