Often, when discussing free speech, navel-gazers will use a classic example of why not all speech is protected. They state that shouting "Fire!" in a crowded theater is speech, but should not be protected. This outburst contains no expression, and serves only to frighten the theater's occupants. As the theory goes, this mere word would whip the calm movie watchers into a panicked frenzy. These people would go so far as to trample the young and weak underfoot, trying to escape the imagined blaze.

Yet, supposedly, the word "Fire" also draws us near. Rape victims are told to yell "fire" rather than "help." Helping another human being is something no passerby would want to do. Yet, if this passerby thought there was a fire, his curiosity would be insatiable. He would run to the scene for a better view of this display of the blaze.

This morning I woke to a news story on the radio about the US Army starting controlled fires at Fort Bragg. The purpose of this is to maintain ecological balance in the habitat of the red-cockaded woodpecker.

I used to work in a place with monthly fire drills. This workplace was a dreary county bureaucracy, and most employees hated their jobs. The monthly fire drill was a cause for a celebration. It was always on a day with nice weather. Most of these listless cubicle-dwelling wage slaves were quite glad to leave the office for a few minutes in the sun. We were all reluctant to return to the building when the alarms ceased.

Today, as my classmates and I sliced and probed formalin-soaked human brains, the alarm sounded. Few of us were eager to leave this task. While most of my classmates stayed behind, I left the building in a calm and orderly fashion. I hold nothing but the deepest respect for Fire Elemental. Eventually, a fire engine arrived on the scene. The number and quality of simulataneous noxious noises emanating from this vehicle were quite impressive. This blaring sign of an actual fire was enough to drive even my most reckless classmates from the building.

The engine parked on the opposite side of the building, and we could not see what happened. Ten minutes later, the alarms stopped and we reentered the building. What was the cause of this episode of fear, uncertainty, and doubt? Was it an alarmist of some sort, a lever pulling equivalent of our friend in the theater? Was there a minor fire that was easily extinguished? I did not find out today, so I doubt that I will know tomorrow.

During my afternoon nap, as I drifted off into REM sleep, I dreamt that the Army set fire to the woods around my apartment. As I wandered among the still-smoking stumps, I saw a Russian guitar-playing friend of mine. In the ashes, he had found an electri guitars, a resonator guitar and a trombone. Apparently, the pleather cases had protected the delicate instruments from the heat. I woke up, relieved to see trees out my window.

Today, I learned something during the fire drill. I had a moment of self-discovery as I did the sensible thing, abandoning my belongings and swiftly making for the door. If you are being raped somewhere in my vicinity, yell "Help! Rape!" I am not one that feels the need to personally investigate a fire.