The Courting

Thirteen

Kimberly's eyes were lost again. Forlorn. And Angelo's last hope tailed behind them. She'd run downstairs, not caring about the fire that had begun to burn the kitchen and living room, blowing waves of black smoke like fatty bubbles. Thick fire covered half the room, and when Angelo went down there after here, he immediately lost himself in a torrent of bitter, lung-gripping smoke. He knew the fire was behind him and on his left; that's the only way he was able to find the exit at the back of the house--through the same broken glass door. There was still a great deal of smoke outside, and when Angelo hold his breath any longer, he released it and immediately fell prey to a coughing fit. It overtook him with impossible authority, and each time he tried to intake oxygen--which was practically every second--a blinding punch was traded for it. It was impossible to breathe, and he thought that he was going to die in the maze of smoke before he could reach Kim.

Eventually though, he made his way out the side of the house, where the fire was absent. Soon it'd take over the entire house, though. He wouldn't be here when that time came.

He had to jump a fence to the neighbor's house, because the fire was too strong at the front of the house, where the burning bodies lay scattered like a grotesque constellation.

Once he reached the street, out of breath and energy, he saw Kimberly. She was, like she'd been before, staring up at the cloudy night sky, with her arms outstretched. And there was a beam of light shining a spotlight on her, piercing from out of the clouds. She and Angelo were the only living people in the street. The beam was dusty and dim, but it was definitely there. He even heard a low hum coming from that direction.

Then she started to float upward. She's ascending. The humming grew louder, and Angelo began to cry out her name, running towards her. When he stepped under the light, it began to burn him, like he was inside a compact steam room. Terrified, he leaped out of the rim of light.

"Kim!" he cried again.

She was climbing the blank air slowly, as if her soul was attached to a winding fish line. She was thirty feet in the air now. Forty feet. Fifty.

Angelo was weeping, collected like trash on the floor, his tears seemingly gushing out of every pore in his body. What was happening? Was he dreaming? How could this be?

"Angelo!" she shouted through the infinite gulf between them. He looked up, barely able to view her through the screen of tears. He needed to hear it one last time. At least one more time. God, please, let her say it one last time. But she didn't say that she loved him. Instead, she began laughing hysterically. "I told you! I told youu!" she shouted joyfully, even as her tiny figure disappeared behind a cluster of lifeless clouds.