it won't stop raining inside their apartment. they've collected buckets upon buckets; red and shiny, blue and stout, yellow, purple, striped and polka dotted. they tried to fix the leaks but nothing worked. as if a rain cloud lived inside the ceiling fan. the constant drip drip drip. splat splat splat. a poetic reminder of life's frustration. outside a car is burning. the flames roar. the children roast marshmallows on long knives; innocence meets destruction. suddenly the children look up; they remembered. they start shouting and laughing thinking how silly it all is. they run up the stairs down the hall; two lefts then a right; apartment 36. they open the door run inside and grab every bucket they can. thirty kids or more running around with buckets hanging from their hands. down the stairs again and into the hot shining street. and in one great sweep they all lift the buckets over their head; into the air the water flies; in slow motion you can see the millions of droplets that make that heavenly elixir. it falls in a splendid curve dousing the fire of all its glory. in the sizzling remains it seems to whisper with great joy, "Take hope, you lost ones!"