Most recent edit on 2005-09-17 21:55:49 by EschaTon

Additions:
I could see nothing as I crawled into the hot, smoke filled garage. My heart was running a mile a minute yet we’ve gone just three feet into the dark abyss. I clenched the fire hose with my gloved right hand. There is [was; there were a lot of tense related problems in this paper. Make sure to keep an eye on them when you are reading over your work] an over whelming sound of fire consuming something I can not yet see, but who’s heat has already made my shirt sticky with perspiration. My heart has now run two miles. I have only crawled four feet. . .
The spring break after my probationary year as a fireman had been a quiet one. Sure we had responded to a couple of automatic fire alarms and one small accident, but there had been no calls of importance. Saturday night was shaping up to be more or less the same. I was in the fire station’s T.V. lounge. Saturday Night Live was on. All evening, I had seen only one other firefighter at the station. Devon had just finished his probationary year a month or two after mine but he had five years experience as a volunteer fireman in New Jersey. I, on the other hand, had never been a fireman until I joined [before joining] the Alpha Fire Company∞, and I was still waiting for MY first fire.
I jumped into my fire pants and boots, a red suspender over each shoulder, then the ten pound coat and helmet. The clothes that will protect me are fastened as I run for the fire engine. In mere moments I had climbed aboard and was in the nozzle seat. This fire will be mine. Devon was next. He joined me on the rear facing jump seats. Lieutenant Chris Kline, ‘CK’, got in the front passenger seat. We call it the “Officer’s Seat.” [If you intended this paper to be in the past tense, this would be an okay usage of present tense] He’ll be the boss until a chief gets on scene. I didn’t even notice that driver/operator Lutz had gotten in the drivers seat, gotten the engine running, and was pulling out of the station.
Devon and I tighten the shoulder straps of our air packs [did you tighten them twice? watch out for detail related confusion] as Lutz swings the engine onto south Garner Street. In two blocks, we’ll be there. The chief orders over the radio, “Engine 510, take a 1 3/4 inch line in the front.” That is a fire hose that is one and three fourths inches in diameter. It can safely deliver up to 175 gallons of water a minute. “The fire hasn’t spread to the house yet.”
As I stroll out the garage door, a feeling of accomplishment and confidence comes over me. I drop my air pack at my feet as I sit on the front bumper of engine 510. To cool off, my coat is pulled halfway down my arms letting my body heat lifts off me like steam. The sweat in my cloths starts to freeze. My first fire fight was won.
[This is an excellent narrative (I esp. like the way you take the cliche "my <3 raced a mile a minute" and weave that imagery into the fabric of your narrative). BUT ...
1) You have a lot of tense issues
2) word choice is off in some cases as is some grammar]

Deletions:
I could see nothing as I crawled into the hot, smoke filled garage. My heart was running a mile a minute yet we’ve gone just three feet into the dark abyss. I clenched the fire hose with my gloved right hand. There is an over whelming sound of fire consuming something I can not yet see, but who’s heat has already made my shirt sticky with perspiration. My heart has now run two miles. I have only crawled four feet. . .
The spring break after my probationary year as a fireman had been a quiet one. Sure we had responded to a couple of automatic fire alarms and one small accident, but there had been no calls of importance. Saturday night was shaping up to be more or less the same. I was in the fire station’s T.V. lounge. Saturday Night Live was on. All evening, I had seen only one other firefighter at the station. Devon had just finished his probationary year a month or two after mine but he had five years experience as a volunteer fireman in New Jersey. I, on the other hand, had never been a fireman until I joined the Alpha Fire Company∞∞ and I was still waiting for MY first fire.
I jumped into my fire pants and boots, a red suspender over each shoulder, then the ten pound coat and helmet. The clothes that will protect me are fastened as I run for the fire engine. In mere moments I had climbed aboard and was in the nozzle seat. This fire will be mine. Devon was next. He joined me on the rear facing jump seats. Lieutenant Chris Kline, ‘CK’, got in the front passenger seat. We call it the “Officer’s Seat.” He’ll be the boss until a chief gets on scene. I didn’t even notice that driver/operator Lutz had gotten in the drivers seat, gotten the engine running, and was pulling out of the station.
Devon and I tighten the shoulder straps of our air packs as Lutz swings the engine onto south Garner Street. In two blocks, we’ll be there. The chief orders over the radio, “Engine 510, take a 1 3/4 inch line in the front.” That is a fire hose that is one and three fourths inches in diameter. It can safely deliver up to 175 gallons of water a minute. “The fire hasn’t spread to the house yet.”
As I stroll out the garage door, a feeling of accomplishment and confidence comes over me. I drop my air pack at my feet as I sit on the front bumper of engine 510. To cool off, my coat is pulled halfway down my arms letting my body heat lifts off me like steam. The sweat in my cloths starts to freeze. My first fire fight was won.

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Edited on 2005-09-12 00:11:34 by Squad514

Additions:
The fallowing is my Re-Mix of other’s narratives. I actually drew from four separate narratives to re-mix this little ditty. Sorry to those easily offended . . .
So there I was running down the streets of State College, yelling YATZEE. Hoping the Chinese food I have in my hand wont end up on the bank of the gutter, leaving me without that meal forever. Shale I look back and see how I find my hungry self. I decided to get Chinese takeout shortly after leaving English 15 that Friday morning. So I went to Uncle Chen’s. I loved it the last time I ate there.
I began my long march of hunger up Beaver Avenue to the fire house. I could hear the loud roar of the crowded cars screaming by at more then the posted 25 mile an hour speed limit. As I stepped out into Atherton Street, I could feel my bellies hunger pain beginning to rise. The uneasy feeling in my stomach began to grow. Will I need to warm up my food before I drop it into my palate. I lined up at the corner to do the normal red light street crossing drill. I took a look around to find the biggest traffic jam I had ever played chicken with. I felt the butterflies growing more intense as the dump truck tracked me down for the start of the game.
Dawn was approaching as I slammed into the door of my fire hall. Feverishly trying to activate the lock. Safely inside, I realize how out of breath my injured lungs made me. I am in my comfortable bed as I slowly drift off to my coma like sleep. I wonder if I will have such terrible pain every night, like the pains I have just incurred. No, General Toe’s isn’t that good. Even from Uncle Chen’s Chinese takeout. I’ll never do this again!

Deletions:
The fallowing is my Re-Mix of other’s narrative. I actually drew from four separate narratives to re-mix this little ditty. Sorry to those easily offended . . .
SO there I was running down the streets of State College, yelling YATZE. Hoping the Chinese food I have in my hand wont end up on the bank of the gutter, leaving me without that meal forever. Shale I look back and see how I find my hungry self. I decided to get Chinese takeout shortly after leaving English 15 that Friday morning. So I went to Uncle Chen’s. I loved it the last time I ate there.
I began my long march of hunger up Beaver Avenue to the fire house. I could hear the loud roar of the crowded cars screaming by at more then the posted 25 miles an hour speed limit. As I stepped out into Atherton Street, I could feel my bellies hunger pain beginning to rise. The uneasy feeling in my stomach began to grow. Will I need to warm up my food before I drop it into my palate. I lined up at the corner to do the normal red light street crossing drill. I took a look around to find the biggest traffic jam I had ever played chicken with. I felt the butterflies growing more intense as the dump truck tracked me down for the start of the game.
Dawn was approaching as I slammed into the door of my fire hall. Feverishly trying to activate the lock. Safely inside, I realize how out of breath my injured lungs made me. I am in my comfortable bed as I slowly drift off to my coma like sleep. I wonder if I will have such terrible pain every night from my injuries like the pains I have just incurred. No, General Toe’s isn’t that good. Even from Uncle Chen’s Chinese takeout. I’ll never do this again!

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Edited on 2005-09-12 00:01:13 by Squad514

Additions:

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9/10-11
Re-re-Mix
The fallowing is my Re-Mix of other’s narrative. I actually drew from four separate narratives to re-mix this little ditty. Sorry to those easily offended . . .
{SheElff, pgh 1∞}
SO there I was running down the streets of State College, yelling YATZE. Hoping the Chinese food I have in my hand wont end up on the bank of the gutter, leaving me without that meal forever. Shale I look back and see how I find my hungry self. I decided to get Chinese takeout shortly after leaving English 15 that Friday morning. So I went to Uncle Chen’s. I loved it the last time I ate there.
{Sprint5P, pgh 2∞}
I began my long march of hunger up Beaver Avenue to the fire house. I could hear the loud roar of the crowded cars screaming by at more then the posted 25 miles an hour speed limit. As I stepped out into Atherton Street, I could feel my bellies hunger pain beginning to rise. The uneasy feeling in my stomach began to grow. Will I need to warm up my food before I drop it into my palate. I lined up at the corner to do the normal red light street crossing drill. I took a look around to find the biggest traffic jam I had ever played chicken with. I felt the butterflies growing more intense as the dump truck tracked me down for the start of the game.
{Squad514, pgh1, yes me!!}
I could see nothing as I crawled to the hot concrete curb. Auto exhaust smoke filled my lungs. My heart may have been running a mile a minute but that truck must have been doing 50. I clenched my bag of Chinese takeout with my bloody right hand. There is an over whelming sound of confusion, but I could not see through my black and blue eyes. Thankfully my heart is still running, but I have only crawled four feet . . . Is that another truck coming?!
{Squad514, pgh3, If you can't poke fun at yourself, you shouldn't poke fun at others!}
I was drifting in and out of a light coma while sitting in the ER waiting room. BEEP, BEEP . . . BEEP, BEEP . . . BEEP, BEEP. The heart monitor kept guard. The loud staccato clicks of a nurse’s stiletto heals startled me. The nurse’s voice made me come to life, “Mr., Mr. Ambulance 5 reported to bring you to this structure.” Barely out of my medical slumber, I go running for the door to get out for my fear of the transvestite nurse. The nurse in drag repeated her call. It wasn’t my call!!
{Himeros, pgh 10-11∞Himeros, pgh 10-11}
Dawn was approaching as I slammed into the door of my fire hall. Feverishly trying to activate the lock. Safely inside, I realize how out of breath my injured lungs made me. I am in my comfortable bed as I slowly drift off to my coma like sleep. I wonder if I will have such terrible pain every night from my injuries like the pains I have just incurred. No, General Toe’s isn’t that good. Even from Uncle Chen’s Chinese takeout. I’ll never do this again!

---

Edited on 2005-09-09 03:01:36 by Squad514

Additions:
Devon and I tighten the shoulder straps of our air packs as Lutz swings the engine onto south Garner Street. In two blocks, we’ll be there. The chief orders over the radio, “Engine 510, take a 1 3/4 inch line in the front.” That is a fire hose that is one and three fourths inches in diameter. It can safely deliver up to 175 gallons of water a minute. “The fire hasn’t spread to the house yet.”

Deletions:
Devon and I tighten the shoulder straps of our air packs as Lutz swings the engine onto south Garner Street. In two blocks, we’ll be there. The chief orderes over the radio, “Engine 510, take a 1 3/4 inch line in the front.” That is a fire hose that is one and three fourths inches in diameter. It can safely deliver up to 175 gallons of water a minute. “The fire hasn’t spread to the house yet.”

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Oldest known version of this page was edited on 2005-09-09 02:57:28 by Squad514 []

First Fire

I could see nothing as I crawled into the hot, smoke filled garage. My heart was running a mile a minute yet we’ve gone just three feet into the dark abyss. I clenched the fire hose with my gloved right hand. There is an over whelming sound of fire consuming something I can not yet see, but who’s heat has already made my shirt sticky with perspiration. My heart has now run two miles. I have only crawled four feet. . .

The spring break after my probationary year as a fireman had been a quiet one. Sure we had responded to a couple of automatic fire alarms and one small accident, but there had been no calls of importance. Saturday night was shaping up to be more or less the same. I was in the fire station’s T.V. lounge. Saturday Night Live was on. All evening, I had seen only one other firefighter at the station. Devon had just finished his probationary year a month or two after mine but he had five years experience as a volunteer fireman in New Jersey. I, on the other hand, had never been a fireman until I joined the Alpha Fire Company∞∞ and I was still waiting for MY first fire.

I was drifting in and out of a light sleep while sitting in one of the overstuffed TV lounge chairs when . . . BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP . . . it happened. The loud, staccato alert beeps of my fire company pager startled me. The station’s radio came to life, “Company 5 fire, ambulance 5 . . . Reported Structure Fire in the Borough of State College.” Barely out of my slumber, I was running for the door to get my fire gear as the 911 dispatcher repeated her call. It was my call!

I jumped into my fire pants and boots, a red suspender over each shoulder, then the ten pound coat and helmet. The clothes that will protect me are fastened as I run for the fire engine. In mere moments I had climbed aboard and was in the nozzle seat. This fire will be mine. Devon was next. He joined me on the rear facing jump seats. Lieutenant Chris Kline, ‘CK’, got in the front passenger seat. We call it the “Officer’s Seat.” He’ll be the boss until a chief gets on scene. I didn’t even notice that driver/operator Lutz had gotten in the drivers seat, gotten the engine running, and was pulling out of the station.

As we sped down Easterly Parkway, Devon and I look at each other. The open cab of the fire engine allowed us a whiff of an odor I have since come to know . . . the smell of burning processed wood and paint. The smell of a house fire. The radio crackles and a Chief gives his on scene report, “Centre County, 502 on scene of a working fire in a one story single family. The fire is in an attached garage.” But the radio and siren are just background noise as my mind races;

Devon and I tighten the shoulder straps of our air packs as Lutz swings the engine onto south Garner Street. In two blocks, we’ll be there. The chief orderes over the radio, “Engine 510, take a 1 3/4 inch line in the front.” That is a fire hose that is one and three fourths inches in diameter. It can safely deliver up to 175 gallons of water a minute. “The fire hasn’t spread to the house yet.”

The engine stops in front of the home. I follow Devon off the back of the engine. He takes some hand tools and goes with CK. I grab 75 feet of hose with a nozzle (the working end) and drape it over my left shoulder. With my right hand, I take the last 75 feet and flake it out as I walk over the snow covered front yard, away from the house. This will keep the hose from getting kinked when the driver gives us water. I turn and move quickly to the front door, the hose falling off my left shoulder, one fold at a time.

The home is an ordinary ranch house with the garage attached to the right side. Shrubs line the walkway to the front door. Because of the weather, a light cloud of smoke fills the air and darkens the once bright snow.

I enter the front door and meet up with CK. There is a light haze of smoke throughout the home but no sign of fire in the house. CK tells me, “Mask up, the door to the garage is in the kitchen. We’ll open it after we get water.” I drop the last fifteen feet of hose in the living room, the nozzle at my knee. I put the air pack’s face mask on as I feel the hose stretch and expand with 140 pounds of pressure. Our driver, Lutz, has sent us water. I pull the straps on my mask tight around my face. Picking up the nozzle, I follow CK to the kitchen, with Devon right behind me. Breathing heavily through our masks, CK’s muffled voice asks, “You guys ready?” The noise from the garage is now coming through the wall like a rock concert. We both yell back through our masks “YES!”

CK opens the metal fire door between the kitchen and the garage. Instantly the temperature starts to climb. I can no longer see CK or Devon as the pressurized smoke pours into the home’s living space. CK nudges me from behind, “Lets go ‘Beech.’ Through the door and to the right.” I start to crawl through the door. The hose in my right hand, my heart starts to race a mile a minute with adrenalin. Sweat across my brow, I’ve only made it four feet when I run into what I would later learn to be a car. I can feel a terrific heat coming from my left but I can’t see anything. I start to turn toward the source of heat as I yell to CK, “The fire’s to the left. I can feel it!”

After crawling another five or six feet I begin to see what looks like a distant flame. Dark red in color, it looks to be far off in the heavy smoke. Unable to see anything else, I open the bail on the nozzle. 150 gallons of water rush out toward the not so distant flame as the hose pushes back with an equal force. Over the jet like noise, I can hear someone breaking open the garage door. With that, a rush of air feeds the fire that had banked down. Just as suddenly, the fresh oxygen blasts the fire and I am enveloped in oranges and reds. The wall I was crawling along erupts into flame. My jeans sticking to my legs, my shirt to my arms, sweat dripping from my eyelids; I swing the nozzle along the wall to my left, whipping the stream of water back and forth like a mad man.

Most house fires can be extinguished with only a few hundred gallons of well-placed water. This one was no different. After a few minutes of exhilarating fury, the smoke starts to clear and the heat dissipates. With no visible fire, I close the nozzle.

As I stroll out the garage door, a feeling of accomplishment and confidence comes over me. I drop my air pack at my feet as I sit on the front bumper of engine 510. To cool off, my coat is pulled halfway down my arms letting my body heat lifts off me like steam. The sweat in my cloths starts to freeze. My first fire fight was won.

Across the street stands a young new mother holding an infant child. Her husband, a young masters student from Europe, holds a blanket around his family. At one in the morning, who else was going to be there for them?