Renegade (h.s.)

Mission: Burn

H:

The stench of burning flesh is acrid, toxic... unbearable.

The reality that it's the smell of my parent's melting flesh makes the aroma insufferable. I vomit as quietly as I can, dry heaving in the den closet as the shouting of the masked figures grows louder.

I can't quite hear what they're saying, the roar of the fire coupled with my quickened heartbeat creating a dull hum in my ears that drowns out everything else. I'm frozen in place, knees aching as I hunch over, the images of the last hour flashing through my brain like a horrible film: my family and I watching a movie, the bang of wood splintering as the intruders broke in, my mother shoving me into the coat closet and telling me to stay quiet, the bullet piercing my mother's skull, my father clutching her unconscious body before another shot goes off and he falls backwards.

And me... helpless and cowering as I watched the scene unfold like a coward, paralyzed by fear.

My view is partially obscured by the slats in the closet door, but my father's pained eyes meet mine too clearly, the flames licking at his legs. Despite the blood leaking from his stomach and trailing down his lips, he still clutches his wife's lifeless body. I want to look away from what's left of her face, to allow the last memory of her to still be the one of her laughing over the movie we were watching just an hour ago, but my mind won't let me.

I have to look, I have to see it. To burn the image in my mind and use it as fuel for my hatred, for my revenge.

A dry sob chokes me and I quickly cover my mouth so that the intruders won't hear me hacking on the smoke that's spilling from the kitchen and quickly spreading. Despite my obscured vision, I reach out towards the handle, wanting to be with my parents in their last moments, but my dad shakes his head as discreetly as possible and I draw back with stinging eyes.

Sinking further into the closet, the heavy footfalls of the masked men grow louder as the two of them enter the living room and pour the contents of metal tins over my parents.

With a horrified gasp I realize that it's kerosene and my mind screams at me to stand, but my legs are trembling too much. I keep my father's gaze as the light fades from his eyes and another light takes over, a match igniting a blaze that quickly engulfs their bodies.

The fire quickly grows out of control, the wood floors and cabinets easy kindling for the fire. The smoke fills my lungs and I try to hold in my coughs and sobs as the men make their exit, the chaos wrought.

Through the haze and blinding flames, a different and more putrid smell singes my nostrils: burning flesh.

Red hot rage almost as ferocious and wild as the building fire fills my heart so fast and intense I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming out in agony and hate.

All I want to do is fly across the den and strangle the two monsters that stormed into my house and killed my family. But, I know it would be futile... even at fourteen, I know just how weak and afraid I am.

I know I wouldn't stand a chance against the murderers.

If I tried to go after them the way I am now, the intruders would simply finish off the Styles clan in one go. I can't risk giving away my position, can't risk them knowing I saw everything. I need to survive.

I need to avenge my parents.

But, the flames continue to lick their way across the hardwood floor, creeping closer and closer towards my hiding spot and the men have stopped at the exit, arguing over the roar of the fire.