Lament

Chapter One

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a short story I wrote when I was around ~14 or early 15. I hope you enjoy it!

I should start from the beginning. My story will make more sense if I start from there.

It started on June 9th. I awoke in the middle of the night with a startled jolt, my skin damp from sweat and my blanket tangled around my legs. My eyelids fluttered open as I thrust myself into a sitting position on my bed. Allowing my frantic breathing to steady, I took in my surroundings. The blue glow of the early morning ignited my room with a pearly luminescence. Through the gap between the door and the floor, a gray smoke began to leak into my room. I immediately stood and rushed to the door, wrapping my palm around the knob.. My hand was instantly met with scorching heat, causing me to recoil as my hand pulsed with searing pain. I covered the knob with a blanket in order to turn it. As soon as my door was open, my room was consumed with the smoke. I coughed and wretched, dropping to the floor to avoid inhaling the thick air.

Maneuvering across the floor, I made my way to my sister's bedroom, which was located conveniently down the hallway. Scraping my elbows and knees across the carpet to push myself forward, I rushed to get to her. I found her upon arrival, concern shooting through me as I found her to be curled up in the corner of her room. Standing and racing over to her, true panic began to explode in me. I scooped her up into my arms and dashed out of the room, surveying the household. I couldn't tell where the source of the smoke was, but I couldn't see any flames. I took a turn down the hall and ran toward the front door. Finding the second door handle to be generously less hot, I threw it open and leapt to the ground, across the porch. My body slammed against the ground and skid across the dirt. Turning my head to the house, I watched as a fiery inferno exploded out of the front door and consumed the porch.

I pulled my sister further into my arms and scooted away from the house. My neighbors rushed outside, feebly attempting to stop the fire. In the haze of the moment, somebody tore her out of my arms and helped me to my feet. As I put weight onto my leg, I realized that a large, deep gash was torn into my thigh. A few people assisted in dragging me across the path to the ditch.

"Is there anyone in the house?" Somebody asked me. I shook my head blankly, staring up at him. I recognized him as Blake Turner, the son of the local doctor. We'd exchanged no more than a few glances throughout school and church; I didn't even have classes with him. Blake turned to the house and began to assist the rest of the neighbors in hooking up hoses. Residents from the entire area had come to help us at this point. I tried to stand myself up, but my legs collapsed from under me. I took comfort in the fact that my sister was being taken care of by Mrs. Joseph, a kind woman who had taken an interest in us since my early childhood. Dr. Turner rushed over to me, "Are you hurt?"

"I cut my leg. I want you to take care of Violet first." I replied, pointing to my sister, who rested across the ditch. The Doctor ignored my request and began to examine my leg. His brow furrowed as he saw the scarlet stain. He ripped a strip of fabric off of his shirt, tying it as a tourniquet around my upper thigh. Somehow, I felt no pain from it. I merely felt a tight pressure from the cloth.

"I have to go get my tools. Are you going to be alright?" He asked, standing.

"I'll be fine; can you just take care of my sister?" I asked.

"I'll make sure she's okay. I'm going to leave you with my son. Blake!" He called, turning toward the house. Blake turned around and ran over. "Stay with her. Keep the fabric tight around her leg. Keep her awake too; just talk to her." The Doctor said before running back to his house.

"How are you feeling?" Blake asked me, sitting down and holding the cloth tight around my leg.

"I've been better." I responded blankly.