Ashes

4.

There is something beautiful about the way fire destroys. Flames twist like boneless arms reaching to no fixed length. White light engulfed inside an orange body simmers calmly as if daring something to block it.

The ignition of my lighter sparks at the movement of my thumb, a single tear-drop of fire flickering to life.

"Tilley!" I fight the urge to groan aloud at Emersyn's shrewd yell. "Tilley stop!" My thumb slips and the flame is gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

"Hey Em," I greet the frenzied eyed Emersyn, clad in pink spotted track pants.

"Stop setting fire to the ants, Tills!" Em orders, snatching the lighter from my hand, a wry scowl twisting across her thin lips.

I allow a loud huff to escape my mouth, folding my arms over my knees. The tiny six-legged bodies hardly ever catch alight. For years, Tyler and I had been trying to uncover an effectual method for killing ants. Tyler had always refused to squish them as he'd claimed that the ant's last kick at revenge would be to sink its tiny pincers into the tip of his finger.

"Dad made lunch," Em tells me, stretching one arm out in front of her to help me stand. "And it's super hot out here, let's go inside."

I accept Em's outstretched hand, stealing one last glance towards the disjointed trail of ants below me as she pulls me to my feet. Every so often, I'd been unable to protect my younger brother from my father. By Dad's hand, I'd be rendered unconscious or sedentary, and subsequently, he'd progressed onto Tyler. Tyler would sit with me once our father had finished with him, and shortly after I'd regained mobility, we'd find our way into the darkened outdoors, set on unearthing a new way to eradicate the green ants. We'd never exchange words. We'd simply pick up from where we'd left off each time.

Em's father stands at nearly a head shorter than both his wife and daughter. His back is to us as he works in one corner of the horse-shoe shaped laminate bench top, piling home fried chicken cloaked in lettuce and tomato between palm sized bread rolls. Sunlight filters in through the creamy white shutters that line the window panes stretching along the back length of the countertop. The hairless patch invading the wisps of greying brown hair upon Evan's head seizes the sun's rays like a mirror, casting them in our direction. I almost have to squint to see past the intensely reflective bald spot.

"Found her, Dad," Em says, moving to lean against the bench next to where her father stands.

He swats her hand away as she attempts to swipe a slice of tomato from his chopping board. "Try that again and there will be no lunch for you." Em sends her flawlessly perfected eye roll in Evan's direction. "You sleep alright, Tilley?" he says to me, his ever red cheeks claimed by an amicable smile as he slips a glance in my direction.

I force a nod, my eyes sliding to the floor. Upon returning to Em's place after my visit to the burnt remains of mine, the two of us and Lilo had settled into Em's single bed, in the hopes that sleep would soon arrive. Well, maybe Em had hoped for sleep. I, on the other hand, didn't want to let my eyes shut. If I close them, sleep will contend with the tired strands of my brain, and darkness will take its place. If I fall asleep I will have to wake up. My eyes will open to the reality that this is not a dream.

"One or two, Tilley?"

"Sorry?" I croak, my gaze snapping back to Evan's sympathy stained eyes.

"Just give her one," Em quietly murmurs to her father. He places a sandwich on a small ceramic plate, handing it Em, who passes it along to me.

"Thanks," I tell her, accepting the plate.

Em sets her own plate laden with two sandwiches down on the painted black circular table in the middle of the kitchen, pulling up a matching chair. My teeth sink into the sandwich before i even reach the table. Food hasn't crossed my mind since the fire, but my stomach hasn't given up thundering inside me.