𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝! - jason grace

prolouge, cassia's first love (edited)

A scream is ripped from the little girl's throat. A hand claws at her, it begs for her tiny fingers to wrap themselves around the calloused palm. She tries to scream again, but smoke infiltrates her mouth and sears her throat. It's getting hard to see now.

"Soon, soon my darling. Oh, my little bird." The hands of her father cup her round face.

"I promised you a way out didn't I?" All the little girl can do is let shining tears race down her cheeks.

"Oh please don't cry." The father presses her tiny body to him. The flames edge nearer. They are in a perfect circle. The only part of the small room not alive with hot flames.

A burnt match is clutched tightly in the farther's left hand. Its blackened end starts to crumble, the limp piece of wood snaps. It startles the girl, she struggles against her father's grasp to no avail. She puts her small hands against his chest. She pushes and pushes. He only holds her tighter.

"No!" She chokes out, one of the few words in her limited vocabulary.

"Quiet, you'll wake them! What would your mother think?" He hisses angrily. Then, seeing her terrified face, presses her close again. He begins to rock her and sing a quiet lullaby. From the view over his shoulder, she can see a window not too far away.

Flames guard the passage, jeering and looming from either side. There is no time for fear, however. Her father is lost in the song, he's so far away now.

As quickly as she can, she slips underneath his now loose grip. Her father still kneels on the floor, his eyes closed. He's still singing. She puts her hands tightly to her face and holds her breath. Then, she runs. The flames quiver in excitement at the possibility of a final meal. They tear at her nightgown and tug at her hair. She can feel the excruciating heat on her hands and feet.

She keeps running anyway, she has to. But for some reason, although the flames pull and grab at her, her clothes do not catch. Although she can feel the tongues lick her nightgown, it never catches, never.

When she reaches the window, she bangs and pounds, she thrashes with terrifying urgency. The glass doesn't budge. Her skin burns. She lets out a sob of frustration and pain. Smoke is everywhere, down her throat, in her eyes. The flames roar in her ears. Her father's lullaby is still carrying through the small bedroom. She looks back at him, the flames starting to lick his knees, a final sob of desperation leaves her lips.

She pounds once more, and the glass just shatters. The shards fall in a shower around her, like freshly fallen snow. She can feel tiny pieces penetrate her skin, and stains of blood begin to seep through. It bothers her for a second, but only for a second. She lets out a cry of relief and begins the climb.

_______

The ambulance arrives quickly, its red and blue lights flashing. A firetruck, too. She always liked to draw firetrucks with red crayons.

A neighbor is still cradling her in their arms. After she fled the house, she screamed until her throat was raw and wandered to the next door she could find.

She cries as the firemen pull her father's body from the house. She cries as they are both placed on dollhouse beds and rushed to the emergency room. She cries as they take her father away, the doctor tells her he needs special help. Special help they cannot offer at the hospital.

They bandage her arms and marvel at the barely singed nightgown. It's so white, so pure. Her grandparents come, they flutter around her like nervous birds. She has to stay overnight, they stay with her. She imagines her father eating jello-like the jello she enjoyed for supper that evening. She smiles a little, then closes her eyes.

A/N:

i don't like this. (edited)