twisted beautiful things

xxxix. wildfire

xxxix. wildfire

'a kerosene beauty queen, looking for her matchstick king
to burn into my heart, hand into the flame
we could set the world ablaze 'cause

baby, you're all i need

come now, set me free
like a wildfire'

(demi lovato)

>>>

kennedy

The world is on fire and everyone is determined to burn.

Most of them are mere shadows in the smoke and ash, figures crawling all over the belltower, falling silently over the edge. One by one they jump with nod horror or fear or sadness in their faces. Just-blank.

Around us the earth had turned into an orange glow of a wildfire; the air smells like burnt flesh and smoke filters into my lungs, making me cough and wheeze. Flames leap from the buildings surrounding the belltower, spreading rapidly as if it were feeding on the lives of those they claimed.

I'm on the roof, teetering on the edge. I have no memory of how I got here, but I am certain I am not dreaming anymore.

Elsie woke me up.

To save me, I realize. And to save the other souls who are drowning in their own thoughts and fears disguised as a harmless dream as they walk to their death.

The space next to me is filled with a girl I don't recognize. I think she's a freshman. Her eyes are blank as she hoists herself onto the edge.

My instincts wake up just in time to grab her by the wrist.

"Hey," I try to keep my voice calm. "Don't." I tug her by the arm, pulling her to me, but it's like she didn't even hear me. She keeps surging forward, only to be held back by my grip on her wrist. Her eyes don't ever shift to mine, no emotion within them. They are just trained downward below, where bodies lay crumpled and scattered on the sidewalk.

And there's so much blood.

So much blood it rises a pink mist into the air, and I resist the urge to gag. All around the tower, hundreds of other people are walking our direction-to jump off this very roof.

My grip loosens just for a moment as I suddenly remember all of my friends, and the girl takes the opportunity to slip from my fingers and disappear over the edge silently, as if she were never even there. It takes me by shock at first, but by the time I recover she's already dead, broken and battered and bloody and bruised among the pile of the dead.

I want to mourn her loss. I want to cry. I feel it pushing at the edges of my eyelids, the tears demanding to be free. But I can't break down now, not when I am the only person awake to see what is going on.

Just like Tara said, these people were killing themselves. While they're in their dreams, their bodies are walking to the belltower where so many lives have been lost.

My heart almost stops when I realize how close I was to dying, but the thought is fleeting because I hear my name being shouting over the roar of the fire from the floor below.

It's Gianna. Hurrying towards me from the right side of the roof, looking frazzled. Her costume for the play is ruined, her flaming curls streaming behind her.

Mascara streams down her cheeks as she runs towards me, almost tripping over her torn dress. She still looks beautiful somehow, like a warrior goddess.