Almost every night for more than 10 years, Kirk Alexander, 48, ordered a late dinner from his local restaurant Domino’s Pizza. But for the past two weeks, he hasn’t called for even once.

“A few of my staff mentioned that we hadn’t seen his order in a while. Then I found that it had been 12 days since he last ordered, which is not like him,” Domino’s general manager Sarah Fuller said, feeling she could no longer ignore Kirk’s recent absence.

Sarah has known Kirk since 2009, when she started working at the Domino’s Pizza as a deliver driver and often made the short trip to Kirk’s home about six minutes away. She knew Kirk worked from home, and neighbors said he seldom left. She also knew that he had some health problems in the past. Something, Sarah worried, was wrong.

Around 1 a.m. on May 8, Sarah sent delivery driver Sean Hamblen to visit Kirk’s home. Sean arrived at Kirk’s home and knocked on the front door several times. There was no answer. He later noticed that the lights and the TV in the home were on. When he called Kirk’s phone, it went straight to voice mail.

Sean drove back to the restaurant to tell Sarah and they decided to call 911. Soon, officers arrived at Kirk’s home. So did Sarah and Sean. They heard a man calling for help from inside. Officers broke down the door and found Kirk on the floor in need of medical attention at once after suffering from a heart attack. One day later, they might have been too late.

So is keeping an eye on regular customers part of Domino’s business plan? Not really. “Kirk is part of our family here and we feel like we need to do something.” Sarah said.

On Thanksgiving weekend, the Heffelmire family gathered for a meal at their home. After dinner, the family went down to the finished basement (地下室)to relax except Charlotte's father, Eric, who was in the garage(车库)to fix his truck.

Around 8 pm, Charlotte decided to check on her dad. She walked through the kitchen. When she opened the side door to the garage, black smoke rose up into the kitchen. She could only make out her father lying on his back, trapped under the truck. He'd removed the front passenger-side tyre(轮胎)and raised the truck on a jack(千斤顶).The truck had slipped off the jack, and now the whole weight of the wheel was on his chest and shoulders.

Charlotte ran to the front of the truck and struggled to lift it. Eric was still conscious (有意识),and he cried, “You got it! One more try!” She tried again and was able to tip the truck backward just enough for her to pull her dad by the shirt with both hands from under the truck.

She pulled him across the garage and 20 feet down the driveway. Then she ran back to the garage, which had been on fire. “I was afraid the car was going to explode(爆炸)says Charlotte, so she climbed into the truck, which faced forward, turned the key, and pressed the gas pedal(油门). The car was slowly driven out of the house.

Safely on the driveway, Charlotte stopped the truck and ran back to the basement. “There's a fire! Everybody get out!” she cried as she picked up her three-month-old niece and ran out. Outside, she handed the baby to her mom, and then ran around to the burning garage. She picked up a garden hose(水管)and sprayed the fire while calling 911.

A few minutes later, firefighters and an ambulance arrived. Charlotte was treated for second-degree burns on both her feet and face. Her dad had injuries on his chest and shoulders, as well as minor burns on his face. The garage and the house were damaged but the family survived.

The Heffelmires are staying in an apartment while their house is rebuilt. "Charlotte is a remarkable kid,“ says her dad. Charlotte, however, simply says, “I was saving my family and my house. I wasn't going to let my dad die.”

Because my stories keep my heart pounding at night with the possibility of it all, when I can’t get words on paper, I want to scream. All my energy pools at the bottom of my heart, where it continues to yell at me all day long, “Write! Write! Write!” I have to quiet the voice like a hidden pet, shushing (发嘘声) it over and over until I get the chance to leave, laptop in hand, stories pouring out of my mind.

What poor, unfortunate lives we artists live! We’re tortured by our words, whether they’re circling around in our minds at 3 am or written on paper, looking sad and regretful that we’ve put them there. Our words laugh at us before and after they leave our bodies.

I messaged a writing mentor (导师) when I found myself running in circles. With only a small window of time to myself each afternoon, I found it hard to write. If only I had more time, I could finish my book. If only people would leave me alone, I could become an accomplished writer. It was everyone else’s fault.

Small — my mentor told me to start small but keep going. “Do what you can, when you can. Let that be enough during the busy seasons.” In her eyes, she was once me. She was once crazy with tasks that kept her hands pushing, pulling, grabbing and moving endlessly. She recognized herself in the way I talked with starry eyes about my dreamy writing goals and plans. Essays, articles and short stories flowered in my rich mind.

In a few wise words, she gave me the freedom to write in small periods of time she called “the cracks of the day”. She argued that I should run after publishing with the same desire as ever. But in her patient voice, I heard a gentle reminder of stopping running so hard and instead slowing to a sustainable pace.

So I write. I submit. I live, and I dream.