The Miracle

Two

The fire brigades were able to put out the fire, but they were late - far too late. The house was badly charred to the point of distortion; one could barely identify anything as it was all burnt to ashes. That, however, was the least of my concern. Sunday was in that same house. The horrid thought of the fire swallowing up my brother sent shivers down my spine. Not only was my brother dead, his body was left with nothing but smoldering ashes. It was unbelievable, horrifying. Even though I had witnessed the incident live, I couldn't wrap my head around it.

This was my entire fault. How could I have fallen asleep without blowing out the fire? Number one mistake. The Second was pouring water into the flames. Had I known it was only going to aggravate it, I would have added some detergent into the water before pouring it or, in fact, never have run out of the room without taking Sunday with me in the first place. The hindsight made me realize how stupid I was. And my stupidity - my mistake - had led to the death of my brother. My heart was so heavy, I cried. I let it all out, closing my face with my palms.

"Mimi, don't cry. Your parents will be here soon." Aunt Liz, as we fondly called her, wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Her full name was Elizabeth. She was light-skinned, of average height, and voluptuous. The proximity of her apartment to ours made her the closest neighbor to us. We stayed in a neighborhood where there were sparse residential quarters, and owing to that, we seldom saw the other neighbors leave their homes. The few times we did, the greetings exchanged between us were quite banal, with no emotions whatsoever. Hello. Good morning. How are you? Fine. That was it. The only neighbor we had a relationship with was Aunt Liz. Hence, it was her house I had run to for help.

I had banged on her door ferociously for some time before she responded with a bark from inside. "Who's that person that wants to break my gate?"

Her fiery voice made me flinch a little. "It's me, Miracle." I whimpered.

There was a momentary silence before she spoke again. "Miracle?"

"Yes, your neighbor."

"Oh, you're the one knocking like that? I thought it was some thief." I heard her footstep approaching. "What are you doing out by this time of the night?"

"Our house is on fire."

"What did you say?" She sounded alarmed, and the gate made a raucous sound while it was being unlocked.

"Our house is on fire!" I cried out.

"Jesus Christ!" She finally opened the gate and came out. She was putting on a nightgown and bonnet on her head. She looked yonder to our house and saw the fire. "Oh my God! Where are your parents? They're not home?" She held my shoulder.

I shook my head, crying.

"Let me call... Let me call the fire brigade." She dashed into her house.

It had taken long for the fire brigade to arrive, and that had given room for the fire to expand and ruin the house. Their coming was completely of no use, as far as I was concerned. Aunt Liz had phoned Mum and Dad while waiting for the fire brigade to show up. I didn't tell her Sunday was in the house. I was scared, scared she was going to let my parents know, and also scared she was going to blame me for his death, even though I already felt guilty.

Aunt Liz consoling me didn't stop me from crying. If anything, it made me cry more. The dark sky was gradually becoming deep blue, indicating it was almost dawn. Yet Mum and Dad hadn't shown up. I wasn't even waiting for them. I was just angry, angry with myself, at everything, with God for not saving my brother like the bible story described he did the three: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the burning furnace. I had prayed, yet God didn't answer. Why?